It was quiet time at the hospice. The old man was sitting all by himself, wondering if he would still be alive tomorrow. He wasn't worried, just wondering. He presumed he was alone because he couldn't see. His eyesight had completely given out a couple days earlier. Only one ear still worked. He might have been able to walk, but he couldn't see where he was going and didn't care. Doctors could have patched him enough to keep him breathing, but he refused to return to the hospital again, and left orders he was not to be given any extraordinary treatment to extend his life, not even resuscitated . He would have ended it himself but the law forbad suicide, and the hospice workers weren't about to smuggle any weapons or poison in to him.
His own life nearly useless, he was adamant he didn't want to inflict his own helplessness on others. He could tell by the reaction of his children their visits were a terrible chore. Nobody dared make the inane suggestion that "oh you'll outlive us all." And nobody dared talk of that "happier place" fools wish off on the dying. The kids came, but he often made it easy for them. He would feign being asleep. Today one of the care givers had pushed him and his wheel chair into an empty library. They knew what he appreciated more than anything, solitude! In the library he daydreamed of his life. It was better than exchanging meaningless minutia with kids who waited his death.
Nevertheless an aide interrupted his reverie. "Mr. Jackson, a lady would like to visit you. She says she's an old and special friend."
"Unless she's a hot babe, tell her to get lost."
"She's lovely sir." Yeah, sure. He rather hoped she had a bible and wanted to save his ass from hell – nothing better than a rousing argument with a rabid evangelist. He stared off towards where he guessed she might be. This blind business took some getting used to.
Then a chair's legs grated as the aide pushed it across the floor. At least it was closest to his remaining good ear. Damn this dying was a pain in the ass!
Then he felt the guest's hand on his. She squeezed it gently and said, "Hello Lovie."
Lovie! It was her! Only one person had ever made up such a stupid nickname for him. He squeezed back and whispered, "Lay your head upon my pillow. . .."
She answered, "Hold your warm and tender body close to mine. . ."
Tears were rolling down his cheeks when he answered again, "Listen to the whisper of the raindrops
Blowing soft against the window."
A choked voice answered, "Lovie, you always fucked that up. it's 'hear the whisper' not listen to it.' "
His smile was spontaneous and his first real one in days: "You were the first girl who used the word fuck on the first date with me."
Again she squeezed his hand and he could feel her smile as she said, "You were the first guy to give me a bath on the first date."
"Oh god how much of that do you remember?"
"All of it, lovie."
"Me too. I think of us together every day. When I hear "For the Good Times" I cal almost feel you. Oh god I still love you."
She said, "I haven't allowed myself to think of you that way for years, but I'm going to cry if we don't stop."
"Still married to him?"
"No, he died a few years ago. I did try so hard to love him, and I did have a deep affection for him, but you were always there. Thanks for not trying to contact me. That helped."
"Still you remember. Tell me our story as you remember. Include the salacious parts. Let's see if you can give a feeble old man a boner."
"Fair enough, but I'll have to use caution. This old woman has been told to avoid excitement herself."
"You know I'm a goner. Maybe we can die together."
"That would be sweet. Anyhow, Lovie, I stopped in at the midtown bar that night so many years ago. I had just broken up with my boy friend. I don't think I was on the prowl but a long weekend loomed and I would be alone. Maybe I just wanted a drink. Like to hear it as I remember it Lovie?"
He squeezed her hand. A tear rolled down his cheek. "Yes, tell me a story."
The story:
Marian was thinking "It's Friday night and I had to break up with Gerry last week. Let's see what is happening at the old watering hole." She didn't much care for a drink, but the weekend loomed and she didn't like football or whatever dominated TV on weekends. Now in her forties, she detested being alone. She took a stool at the end of the bar, next to him.
He was standing, tall and rather handsome. But best of all he spent money and exuded confidence. He gave her the eye. She could tell he liked what he saw. Like all guys he was fascinated by her boobs.
This might be a happy, happy-hour. A sizable group of late Friday afternoon drinkers were in a mellow mood, none more so than the guy she sat next to. He was witty and loud, leading the conversation for everybody in the vicinity. As the others made their way home, he paid more attention to her.
She was easy to pay attention to, conversation stopper just by coming into a room. When he addressed her directly he acted as if nobody else in the world existed. Familiar with the bar scene herself she knew he would make a move sooner or later. The only question was whether she would go along.
