by C. G. Cooper
“I have a friend who stays on the phone with them and tries to get them to do all kinds of random things like bark like a dog and stuff.”
“They’re just doing their job,” Elmore said. It felt good to talk out loud.
“Whatevs. It’s still annoying.”
“I thought you couldn’t make calls from your phone.” He didn’t know why he said it. It was as close to a barb as he’d thrown in ages.
“Oh, I’m calling from a pay phone.”
“They still have those?”
“Of course they do. We don’t have flying cars yet.”
That made him laugh.
“I sure would like to see that.”
“Yeah, like in Back to the Future.”
“That’s a little old for you, isn’t it?”
Her voice came over with a hint of haughty condescension.
“Are you kidding? Marty McFly and Doc Brown are my jam.”
“Your jam? Is that a good thing?”
“Oy,” she said.
Silence seeped into the gap. He wondered if they’d been disconnected.
“So, what are you doing today?” she asked.
“Just putzing around the house.”
There he was again, using Eve’s words. Putzing. He couldn’t remember using putz in a sentence since calling someone a putz in grade school. He didn’t know whether to smile or feel uncomfortable at the long-forgotten word.
“Yeah, me too.”
“I thought you said you were on a pay phone.”
“Oh, right.” He could almost see her chewing the inside of her cheek. “I just went out for a walk.”
Where was this conversation going? If he was a cynic, Elmore might’ve thought Sam was trying to get something out of him. But he couldn’t afford to be a cynic, not with so much grief.
“A walk sounds nice,” he said, again with the blurted words.
“Yeah, it’s a beautiful day.” Pregnant pause, then, “Wanna come with me?”
The question stunned Elmore to silence.
“You still there, Elmore Thaddeus Nix?”
The recitation of his full name snapped him from his shock. It was what his mother had called him, both when she was proud of him and when he was in trouble. It was a good way to give a kid a complex. But coming from Sam’s lips, the incantation sounded like some sort of ironic joke.
“I’m here,” Elmore said, scratching his stubbly cheek. How many days had it been since he’d shaved? He’d never missed a day to shave. Not since his high school days when there wasn’t even anything to shave.
“Well, what do you say?” Sam asked.
“What do I say to what?”
“To a walk, jerk face.”
“Oh, well…”
“I’m not asking you to take a mortgage out on your home, Elmore Thaddeus Nix. I just thought…”
“Okay. Where should I meet you?”
“I’ll come to your place. That okay?”
“Sure.”
And then she was gone. No goodbye or anything.
Elmore didn’t know how long he’d been standing with the phone to his ear, until the dial tone shook him from his meanderings. The receiver went back in its cradle and he just stared at it, scratching his scruffy cheek.
Chapter Nine
It usually took five seconds for Elmore to choose his clothes for the day. Not that there was much of a selection. Eve had tried to add variety to his wardrobe, but it was one of the few things he’d resisted. He preferred practicality. Function over fashion. Plus, when you limited your selection, say from one to three options, there was no hemming or hawing about what to wear.
But this morning, after a good shave, Elmore stood over his pulled-out drawers and stared. He couldn’t pull himself together enough to pick a T-shirt or button down, shorts or light pants?
With a huff, he closed his eyes and let blind hands do the choosing.
He was dressed, hair combed, and waiting on the front porch when she arrived.
“Elmore Thaddeus Nix!” she said with a wave, like they were college buddies.
“Morning, Sam.”
“Which way should we go?” she asked.
Elmore had thought this through. Walking through his neighborhood wasn’t the answer. While he didn’t socialize with most of his neighbors, they knew him by sight. They might wonder what an old man was doing going for a walk with a teenage girl. He imagined explaining that she was his granddaughter, and then that she was a niece thrice removed, but he couldn’t lie. If it came down to it, Elmore would tell the truth: she was his friend. Zero in common and no physical attraction.
If that was weird, then fine, he was weird.
“The park?” Elmore offered. There were plenty of people at the park, but most people kept to themselves and their families.
“Sure.”
So they left the well-trodden streets of Elmore’s neighborhood and headed west. The park was a ten-minute stroll along a smooth, white sidewalk.
Along the way, Sam jabbered on about who knew what. Elmore found himself just enjoying her bubbliness, her utter lack of fear regarding their limited relationship.
“Do you think we can keep walking?” Sam said when they reached the park entrance.
“You don’t want to go in?”
“Yeah, I mean, well, I like the sidewalk, and there aren’t all those kids learning how to ride bikes.”
Elmore scanned the park path and didn’t see a single tot learning to ride on wobbly wheels. But he didn’t argue. Elmore Thaddeus Nix didn’t argue.
“Of course.”
So they kept walking.
Every once in a while, he chimed in with an “Oh,” or “That’s nice,” and even an, “Interesting,” but for the majority of the near hour-long walk, it was Sam who filled the silence.
She was an alien speaking an alien tongue, and he was learning by phonetics.
She talked about school and how she hated it. But she got good grades. Her favorite subject was history. He said he liked history, and for a time she went on about the Constitution.
“Ever wonder how bad it must have smelled during the summer at the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia? I mean, they didn’t have deodorant back then. They had powder. And they wore those damned wigs because they didn’t wash their hair. And their breath stunk. Probably not Franklin. He spent a lot of time in Paris, you know, and, like, probably learned a lot from the French?”
“I always wonder,” he said, his weary old voice falling like a feather in the air, “about the precarious position all those men were in back then. Each of them wore a potential noose around their neck.”
She turned, her eyes wide. “Right? Could you imagine wondering if you were going to be murdered just walking back to your hotel? Oh, and did you know Thomas Jefferson invented mac ‘n’ cheese?”
“He didn’t exactly invent it. He brought it back from Italy.”
“Still,” she said, holding out her arms like a balance scale, “Mac ‘n’ cheese, the Declaration of Independence... I don’t know...”
The memory came in a cold splash. Something he hadn’t thought about in ages. He’d been as nervous as he could remember. It was all he could do to keep his entire body from vibrating like a tuning fork.
He, in his pressed uniform and she in her pink summer dress. She smelled like flowers picked from the freshest meadow in the universe. His palms were sweaty and his brow flushed, but Eve hadn’t seemed to care. She’d been the one to grab his hand first. It sent a bolt of electricity up his arm that he still remembered, like sticking his hand into a toaster.
It happened like this. A crack in the sidewalk or a waft of something in the air sent him down a tube back in time, immersed him into a pool of recollection. One insignificant detail leading to another, more significant one. Until he was there, feeling everything there was to feel back then, heightened now by the prickling sensitivity of hindsight.
His mind was cast back thirty, forty years. Eve. So be
autiful. So full of life.
Life.
Live.
“Elmore?”
“Eve?”
That was when the real world came back with a snap. He was walking on a sidewalk. And it wasn’t Eve walking next to him.
“It’s Sam,” the girl said.
“Right, sorry.”
He thought she was going to let it go. Everyone lets slips pass by like a fart on the wind. But she didn’t. She waited a few paces and then asked, “Who’s Eve?”
His body winced, though he was proud that his face didn’t. He hitched a breath and answered.
“Eve is my wife.”
“Oh,” she said after a moment.
They walked on - an old man fading into the sunset and a teenage girl rising with the moon. He envied her until he didn’t. He’d lived a full life, a good one.
“Is it okay if we find somewhere to sit?” Elmore asked.
“There’s a bench over there by the pond.”
They strolled to the pond, Elmore’s legs doing their best not to wobble. Had it gotten warmer? Suddenly he felt like it was stifling.
They took a seat. A cardinal flitted away at their approach.
Sam was saying something, maybe commenting on the lack of ducks or the general disarray of the pond, but Elmore didn’t hear it. It was like she was speaking at the bottom of a well whose entrance was covered in insulation. She was all warbles.
Something flew across his field of vision and he flinched. What was that?
More muffled sounds. He looked all around. Clarity shifted to blurs. Back and forth.
He didn’t see but felt his hand grip the park bench. He didn’t feel but saw the world falling away but he wasn’t afraid. This was it. This was his time. He was going to see Eve and he wasn’t afraid.
Chapter Ten
Beep.
He was having such a wonderful dream. Eve was running along the beach chasing their first dog, Eddie, a border collie. She dodged the waves and sloshed through foam as they touched shore.
She kept waving to him, her smile lighting the world.
He reached for her on more than one occasion, but found that she was just out of arm’s length.
Beep.
The dog plunged into the surf and Eve jumped up and down, hands clapping. He stepped closer, reached out again. Still no contact.
Beep.
She turned, flashed him a grin – her grin, the mischievous one, the one that had hooked him and pulled him along for countless adventures.
“Come on,” she said, motioning to the waves. She waded in up to her knees. The dog was well out, past the breakers now.
Beep.
He spoke, but the waves broke around the sound. He was trying to tell her that the water was too rough, that it looked like a strong undertow. He saw the subtle signs, the shift of water toward the west end of the beach. He had summers on the Keys to thank for that insight.
Beep.
Eve turned and plunged into the first waves, water cascading over her body. Fully clothed, she plowed ahead.
Then the edges of the world collapsed and he felt himself falling. He looked down at his feet and found that his legs were buried, the sand sucking him up to the hips now.
He tried to call out, tried to scream for his wife. But she kept plunging, long sure strokes after the dog. And then she went under like a diver.
Beep.
Chapter Eleven
He moved his lips, careful at first. They felt like a ruined landscape.
“Elmore?”
That voice. Why was it so familiar?
“Elmore?” it said again.
He tried to blink. Why couldn’t he blink? Had he lost his vision? Why would God take his vision just as he’d entered Heaven? And why did he feel so thirsty? Shouldn’t he feel sated, feel a perfect sense of appreciation for the life he’d just left?
“Elmore.”
His eyes worked this time, batting to life. The light stabbed. It hurt. Slowly opening his eyes, Elmore took in the sterile whiteness of a hospital, and these flashes of white painfully seared his vision.
“Elmore Thaddeus Nix.”
Then he remembered. The girl. Sam.
“Sam?” he said, his voice no better than the croak of a baby frog.
He felt someone grip his hand.
“It’s me,” she said.
His vision was clearing blink by blink. All he wanted was to go back to his dream, back to Eve. But he’d been raised better. His grandmother always told him that you never ignored anyone, especially a friend, no matter the circumstance. She’d had all sorts of rules. Yes, sir. Yes, ma’am. Tuck your napkin just so at dinner. Never have more than one dollop of jam on your biscuits.
“What happened?”
“You fainted.”
He saw her now, her face painted in fatigue and worry.
“I did?”
She nodded. “How are you feeling?”
“Alright,” he lied.
Her face was about to break. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” he managed.
She looked around, as if about to utter a secret password. “The big C?”
“Cancer?” he asked.
It was the first time he’d said the word to anyone but himself. He hadn’t been back to the doctor since the day of his diagnosis. His grief had superseded any other self-awareness.
“They said you were dehydrated, by the way,” she said. “That’s why you blacked out.”
That made him laugh. He’d been dehydrated before, but not in the normal world. He’d learned his lesson then and almost made it a point to drink a glass of water every hour. He was as regular as the day was long.
“Now we know cancer can’t trump thirst.”
Sam didn’t approve of his dark humor. He wanted to explain it away as the babbling of an old man who’d seen better years and now just wanted to be left alone.
But that would’ve been a cruel spear thrust into their budding friendship. But did he really have time for a friendship? He had dying to do.
“When was the last time you had something to drink?” she asked. She sounded as sure as any nurse he’d met.
“Well, I… You know what? I can’t remember.”
He expected a jab like “You really should take better care of yourself,” but no lecture came. Sam just sat next to him, her hand on his. He keenly felt its warmth.
“How long was I out?”
“Not long, an hour maybe. You kept going in and out.”
“Like a broken television,” he said, grinning, trying to insert some levity, trying to make her smile.
“It’s not funny,” she said.
He nodded; his manner returned to grave and serious. “Of course it’s not. I’m sorry if I scared you.”
That’s when Sam came back. She shook off a portion of the worry and did her best to smile. However, like a healthy mother touching a leper, he could still sense her trepidation.
“I had to borrow your phone,” she said, pointing to his cell phone that lay on the bedside table.
“That’s fine.”
“You don’t have many numbers in there.”
“I don’t?”
“Most people have fifty, maybe a hundred.”
“Really?”
“I know a girl at school that has the phone number of every kid in our class.”’
“Impressive.”
She was stalling, filling time and empty air with words. Elmore let her do it. The fact that he felt lousy didn’t equate to trying much harder.
Sam nodded absently.
A nurse and doctor duo passed by not giving the room a glance. Elmore wanted to ask when he’d be released, but something held his tongue. He felt it coming like the thunder of a herd of buffalo over that far hill.
“How bad is it?” Sam asked. He knew what she meant. Why was everyone afraid of the word?
Elmore shrugged, tugging the IV in his arm. “I’m okay.”
&nb
sp; “You’re not okay. She leaned in, voice lowered. “You have cancer.”
He stared at her and those inquisitive eyes. Why did she really care? That’s what he wanted to ask, but didn’t.
He tried to explain it in calm and soothing terms, but the words felt like they came out like a jumbled bag of jellybeans.
“It’s… well, it’s hard to explain, is all.”
“Are you having chemo or radiation?”
“You have an opinion on which is better?”
“Don’t be a jerk. I’m just asking.”
“I’m weighing my options.”
Sam’s eyes went cold. “I don’t believe this.”
“Sam, I…”
Before he could get another word out, she was up and walking briskly to the door.
Can’t I just die in peace? he thought.
Chapter Twelve
The emergency room doctor sent Elmore home with clear instructions. Drink water.
Thanks kids, Elmore had wanted to say. He empathized more with the middle-aged nurse standing next to the pubescent doctor. Her look said, “You better take care of yourself, old man, because you’re not crowding my ER with your negligence.” He respected that. Gruff determination and control.
He took the bus home. He would’ve walked, but his head still ached and the nausea came and went. Best not to push it.
A day went by, then another. No call from Sam. No impromptu visit. He didn’t know her number or where she lived. Not that he would be that brazen. Elmore Nix believed people come around in their own time. At least the best did.
On the third day of being cooped up, he folded the newspaper and shoved it in the recycling bag in the garage. He was bored. Plain and simple. Bored to tears, to death – to everything.
He chuckled. Bored to death. Now that was a thought.
Eve could sit and stare at a shoreline for days and still not get bored. She soaked in every detail while he sat by, the dutiful husband, trying to match her enthusiasm.
He putzed around the house for an hour, rearranging the coffee mugs, sweeping the kitchen floor, then moving to the storage space over the garage. Too hot in there.