Shores of Beginnings
After a long day of unpacking and paperwork, Frank let the
nurse guide him to his bed. He tried to imagine himself having a good time in
this place, but it just didn’t seem possible. After all it was a nursing home.
His children grew too busy to look after him, and he, not wanting them to feel
hindered by his presence, offered that they would take him to a nursing home.
Resistance, he expected; acquiesce, he got. When they dropped him off, he knew
it would be the last time he saw them, so he made it his goal to make as much
friends as he possibly could to keep him company for however long it is that is
left for him. But, until now, he hasn’t laid eyes on a potential friend.
Then he saw him. He was sitting on his bed, crouched near
his pillow and staring at the ceiling, as if imagining the sun and the moon and
the constellations he doesn’t get to see anymore. For a fraction of a second,
he pictured himself that way, but then he regained his tenacity. He was not
going to give in to loneliness—or let him, whoever he is, be swallowed by it,
either. He stopped for a second, and the nurse supporting his weight looked up
with concern.
“Are you okay, Frank? Do you need something?” The nurse
asked with a lilt in her voice that almost made him sway to the rhythm.
He shook his head and pointed to the vacant bed to his
right, “Can I take this bed? I like it here. I think I will make some friends
here,” he mumbled the last part, eyeing the man who is too deep in thinking
about the sky to notice his new company.
“Uhh, well, sure. Let me make it comfortable for you then I
can go change your data down at the office.”
Frank stood still while she did her best to make the bed
comfy. All the while he watched the old man who was now looking at the nurse,
following her every movement with his eyes. He looked curious and detached at
the same time. Like he used to be curious and energetic and spontaneous, but
life wore him down and only small parts of what he was still clung to his new
self. When the nurse was done, she beckoned to Frank and made sure he was okay
with his new bed. Then she left, leaving him with the other man.
Frank was silent for a while, trying to find a snarky
comment or anything to say to catch his attention, but he failed. So, he decided
to start the old-fashioned way.
“Hello, I’m Frank.” He said with a smile drawn on his lips.
He expected the other to just stay immersed in his reverie and was surprised
when he actually turned his head and nodded, “Charles.”
“Charles,” Frank repeated. “I’ve always loved that name. In
fact, I wanted to name my first-born child ‘Charles’, but my wife was a little
stubborn.” He smiled a little to himself, thinking about Edith. He knew he
missed her deeply. He would always share his wishes with her, and she would do
whatever she could to make them come true. He wished he had started repaying
her before it was too late.
“Stubborn, eh?”
Charles inquired. “What did you name him then?”
Frank could see the hints of a smile forming on Charles’s
lips, and that made his heart soar. He was making progress. “We named him
Brandon. Then Eleanor came along. And then Vanessa.” He paused for a second
then said, “They are really good kids.”
Charles eyed him doubtfully, “Why are you here then, if
they’re, as you claim, good kids?’
“I will ignore your rude comments.” Frank chuckled. “And I
will answer your question. I am here because I grew too old for them to be able
to consistently take care of me. They have their own lives after all. And
sometimes, you just have to be considerate.”
Charles nodded and kept nodding, and Frank was relieved that
Charles couldn’t tell he was lying. It would be too painful for him to explain
how disappointed he was in his children. But after all he loved them deeply; he
just wished they loved him as much as he did.
“Why are you here? Where are your children?” Frank prompted,
trying to shift the focus of the conversation.
“Haven’t gotten any.” Charles said monotonously, and Frank
knew he hit a spot he shouldn’t have. So, trying to make the situation better,
he said, “What about a wife? Have you gotten any?”
At that, Charles stopped twirling the loose string
protruding from the pillow and stared at Frank with an expression that was
quite unreadable. He smiled, but his smile was one that carried years of pain
and suffering and regret and bleakness that Frank couldn’t fathom. Instead of
urging him to speak, he decided to let Charles talk whenever he felt ready.
“She was the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
Charles said with a wide grin and a glimmer in his eyes. “I loved her with
every piece of my body; I was willing to do anything to spend just a little
more time with her.” His smile started to fade, and tears began welling in his
eyes. “Even now, I look up at the ceiling and picture her face plastered on it.
That way I can stare at her and have silent conversations with her that only we
can understand.”
Sensing Charles’s imminent emotional breakdown, Frank
started, “She really sounds like a good person. I’m sure she took good care of
you. Would you mind telling me her name?”
“Janet,” Charles whispered.
Frank smiled at how innocent Charles looked when he said her
name. “What is your best memory of her?”
“1975.” He announced. “She was a Broadway addict; so when
the Rocky Horror Show came out, I took her to New York, got us both tickets to
the show, and I spent the entire evening watching how happy she was. She
literally never stopped smiling the whole time.” Charles laughed. “The main
character’s name was Janet. Oh, how she loved that scene where they sang
‘Dammit, Janet’! She used to say it reminded her of us.” He shook his head
while trying to hide his smile. “She said I would make a perfect Brad because I
was so clumsy. And even though the show wasn’t that good, she made it all
worthwhile. As for her, she was at Broadway; she didn’t even care what she was
watching.”
Frank watched Charles reminisce and noticed how young he
looked talking about her. He knew Janet was his muse, and it isn’t easy losing
your muse. You had to dig deep inside you, trying to conjure a new one. And he
knew not everyone is that fortunate.
“What happened to her then?” Frank inquired cautiously.
“She died shortly after,” Charles paused. “Lung cancer.”
Frank just nodded, knowing that nothing he said would mend
Charles’s wounds.
“I then retreated to my little shell, trying to sort out my
life. I decided she was the one for me and I decided to honor her by never
marrying again. Every year, in her memorial, I fly to New York and buy tickets
to any Broadway show and pretend she is there with me. I honestly think I have
seen every Broadway show out there. I continued to do so since she died in
1980. Except this year though. This year, I came here.”
“You cam here? Willingly?”
“Yes.” Charles admitted. “What else do I have left? The
memory of her beautiful spirit is starting to fade, I have no children, I’m too
old to work or experience new adventures. I’m just too tired. I don’t want to
be staying at home when the realization dawns over me that I can’t even
remember the tiniest details about her.”
“And how is it any different here? You will still grow old.”
“At least, I will do it with a friend. I have no friends,
Frank. You have no idea how hard it is to spend 40 years of your life invested
in one thought and then watch it slip away while you stand, empty-handed and
unable to stop it from happening.” Charles insisted. “I came here looking for a
friend, and I still am.”
Frank looked at him deeply, thinking about the meanings
behind his words. He will get his chance here. He will have a friend here. He
believed that friendships can be made at any point in life; he just thought he
would have to convince the other person of letting go and opening up. But,
Charles, contrary to what he thought, was looking for the same thing. Maybe,
they both could be each other’s chance at salvation.
“Would you be my friend, Frank?” Charles questioned with a
grin plastered on his mouth.
“It would be an honor,” Frank affirmed, returning Charles’s
now-happy grin with one of his own.
