I study my wrinkled hands, closing them in to fists and releasing them again; trying to remember every place they’d been. Manipulating pencils, climbing trees, punching numbers, devouring wrapping paper, curled around drum sticks, hiding under girls’ skirts, pummelling mens’ cheekbones, holding new born children, messing up hair, tracing the the keys of a keyboard.
“Dad?”
Junie enters the hospital room holding a bunch of fresh wild flowers, “Mom wanted me to bring you these.”
I gather my strength and push my palms in to the mattress, bringing myself up to a sitting position, groaning without meaning to – like all older people do. She rushes to my side, grabbing an elbow, “Dad, you have to take it slow,” She pats my pillow a few times and lowers me back against it, “You’re not 21 any more.”
21. When I had it all figured out. I grunt in reply and take a few short breaths in, trying to calm my hammering heart. There were days I could run 10 miles, now I’m lucky to be able to make it to the toilet and back without needing a rest.
“Are your brothers coming by?” I take a sip of the water she offers me, the straw gets stuck on my lip as she pulls the glass away and a few drops fall on the grey hairs scattered across my chest.
She turns to open the curtains and I squint in the sunlight, “Shep’s in Houston, but Abe might come by later.”
My breath hitches a few times, like it’s tripping up a ladder and Junie shoots me a worried look, “Do you need your oxygen?”
I shake my head and cough a few times, waving her away when she brings the face mask towards me, “I’m fine, I’m fine.”
There’s a knock at the door and it opens it few inches, Junie looks up and I can tell it’s no one she knows, “Sorry, I… I was looking for Zac.”
I can’t think of any one whom I would know that my children wouldn’t, so I close my eyes and feign sleep in presumption that it’s a nurse come to poke me with useless needles.
Junie goes to the door and slips through it quietly, bringing it shut slightly behind her. “He’s sleeping right now, can I help you?”
“I was hoping to speak to him, it’s ok, I’ll come back another time.” The voice sounds like an old record, scratchy and worn – but playing a tune you’d know any where.
“Does he know you?”
My chest feels as if a car is parked on it and I struggle to speak, “Junia,” It doesn’t carry far enough and I listen to the other woman back peddle and eventually leave.
I am clutching fistfuls of sheets when she reenters, “Dad?”
“Who was that?” My throat is filled with gravel.
“Probably just another stalker.” She tries to lighten the mood, but my heart is burning a hole through my ribs and I can’t manage to find anything light about the situation.
“No, Junie, who was that?” My eyes search hers, she looks confused.
“An old lady, around your age I suppose… Why? Have you been hiding a mistress from Mom all these years?” She smiles and rubs the back of my hand careful not to knock my IV. Her fingertips feel like silk as they travel over the bones straining against my leathery skin; she is an automatic comfort and I feel my insides start to settle.
I think about when I could fit her in the crook of my elbow. How perfect she was, and how I never longed for any thing more. Time had such a way of equalising the world; whether you were always thinking about it or too busy to care – it passed for every one just the same.
“Hey,” I grab her hand in mine, “You’re not going to sell off all my collectables when I die are you?”
She lets a laugh escape and if I could watch her do that for an eternity I would. “Dad, what the hell?”
“Because I’m counting on you. Those boys, they don’t care – but I know you do. You’ll keep them for me, won’t you?” I squeeze her fingers and she squeezes mine back. She blinks slowly at me, the way her mother does, and nods. “Ok, sure.”
“You’re a good sport Junie.” My eyelids start to feel heavy and my head rolls to the side a little, I take a deep breath in as I prepare to slip from consciousness for a while.
from Tumblr
via IFTTT