This started as a 750 word project, but grew exponentially, as I typed away.
There's no descriptive sex, a hint maybe of what had been in a different time. It is a story of an elderly man's experiences in the assisted living village in which he now resided.
Remember, its fiction, that means it is not necessarily true.
Comment if you wish, but don't tell me off for writing it.
Enjoy the yarn, or not. Its up to you really.
{.....}
My name is Bob, my wife is Merrie, and we were sympathising with Dad and the rest of the family after the expected, but sudden, passing of his wife, my mother, and my wife's mother-in-law, due to a brain aneurysm.
Sudden because we think she had passed before her body had hit the floor of the kitchen from which she had been pontificating about the lack of contribution to the number of great grandchildren numbers, but expected - sort of - as she was 86 years of age, and told everyone and anyone who would listen, that her time on earth was almost up.
As I had pointed out to Mum, Merrie and I had done our bit, contributing three to the cause. The fact that our kids were a bit slow in that regard was nothing that we could resolve, it was entirely up to them.
It wasn't but a few moments after that, that Mum collapsed.
We all helped Dad cope with the sudden transition of having someone who waited upon him hand and foot for so much of his life, to being alone, and as he decried often, 'No-one to keep his feet warm at night'.
My Dad was 87 when Mom passed, and two years had passed since that terrible day. Now he was making noises about going into assisted living. At his home, now without the true love of his life to keep him company, there was a housekeeper, Mrs Johnstone, who came every day at 8.00 am and left usually about 5.00 pm.
We'd hired and paid for her to cook Dad's meals, clean the house, do the clothes washing and all the other things that Mom used to do, except for that one thing which she wouldn't do, not that we asked mind you, because she
was
a married lady (hence the 'Mrs'); and that was to keep his feet warm at night, although she still giggled at Dad when he complained about the cold nights.
It fell to me to search out and suggest a place where Dad could live out the rest of his days.
He didn't want to live anywhere that told him that he was old, and getting older. Any place that had a name including one of the seasons was out - O U T - out.
The place I found was called, oddly, 'Welcome Village" and it was located on the banks of the river which flowed through our town. The village was built on a bay and there was a small beach where the residents could walk and paddle their feet, or if they were feeling especially spritely, swim.
The river was about half a mile wide, and a shipping channel was on the opposite side of the river to the village. The bay was quite shallow for nearly half its width until the bottom dropped away sharply to form the channel. There was a lawn between the village and the river, with trees dotted here and there where the 'inmates', as Dad liked to call them, could sit in the shade and watch the passing river traffic.
One thing I noticed was that there were more women than men in the village by about 2:1, so I knew Dad would never want for company.
After he had been living there for nearly six months, he rang me and asked if I would come and visit that weekend. The request was odd, because we visited every other day when we weren't busy and every second weekend. There had to be something important for Dad to want us to come this weekend.
"Sure," I said, "Is there a problem?"
"No," he replied, "Well, no, not really,..... maybe,..... yeah. Just come this weekend, bring Merrie please, she doesn't need to be left out of this."
We arrived just after 10.00 am, a few minutes before morning tea. We took our cups and found a table and chairs outside where we could look at the ships in the channel, and the sailing boats playing on the water.
While we chatted about nothing really, old memories, and so on, I noticed a woman in her 70s sitting in a chair looking at the river. There was a nurse standing either side of her, ready, it seemed, to attend to her every need when they arose.
Every now and then, she would lean to the left, at which point one of the nurses would straighten her up, tuck the blanket around her legs, and make sure she was comfortable.
A few minutes later, she did the same thing, this time leaning towards her right.
Again, one of the nurses would straighten her up, tuck the blanket tightly around her and ask if she was comfortable. The lady would scowl, and mutter something to herself, and the two nurses would smirk at each other.
I tapped Merrie on the shoulder and whispered to her, "Watch what's going on over there."
"Where" asked Merrie.
"Over there, that lady with the two nurses with her. Watch what happens."
Once again the lady started to lean to her left, and one of the nurses sat her straight up again, tucked blanket in around her, while the old lady muttered away to herself.
Merrie looked at Dad and then me and said, "What is happening with her? Is she likely to fall over, is that what is concerning the nurses. Is she quite frail or something?"
Dad answered, "You know, the first time I saw her do that, I wondered as well. But no, she's quite fit for her age, and is, in fact, a nice lady. Her name is Doris, she's a friend, but not in that way."
"In what way?" asked Merrie.
"You must know, Merrie. You know, 'Friends with Benefits'."
"Friends with....., ohh, sorry, I see. You know Dad, sometimes I think I've led too much of a sheltered life. Well until I met your son, of course. I've had my eyes opened since then, I can tell you. But, Dad, I wouldn't have it any other way now," as she grinned at her husband.
Dad looked at her and grinned, "Well no, I don't suppose you would. I'll tell you this though, Merrie, you are like my daughter to me, especially now with Amy gone. And the best thing ever to have happened to my boy here."
