rapid heartbeat why his sorrow...
Four p.m. and they wheeled him up near me in the waiting room while i read making a universe that seemed so debaucherous but at least it was mine...and i only heard the sweet voice of the nurse who gently coaxed him from the wheelchair and into a softer one that wouldn't roll--these decorative red ones that were littered about the room--and i glanced up in time to see the painful transition and collapse before he settled, smiled up at the nurse and whispered his thanks for her help...and she was gone...
and i'm back to my story for just a few minutes before i hear--
"you checking in?"
i look up at him, and he's leaning forward, his green eyes open wide, and this genuine warm smile on his face--and it's only now do i get a good look at him, his 70 plus years & the two patches of hair that sit on both sides of his head like too-grey sheep's wool--and i see he's clutching a tattered green cap in his hand.
"no sir...i work here."
he leans forward, and arches his eyebrows...didn't hear me.
a little louder. "i work here."
he nods...and settles back in the chair that is too big for the overalls he wears that are even too big for the small body underneath those, as if each layer of him can just be peeled away until nothing--and i'm wondering where his family is...where are his friends? an old man who smiles so warmly at somebody who looks like me cannot be a miser...cannot be alone...i don't know what to say--
but i know that when i tried to read again the sentences kept repeating themselves and soon i'm catching glances upward...waiting for the barrage of children, grandchildren, nephews, nieces...whatever...
tho nothing. he sat there for a moment staring into space w/a troubled look on his face & the more i watched him the more i started to feel bad for him--and then he put his face into his hands...leaned forward & started to cry. for so many reasons maybe...maybe just for one, maybe for no good fucking reason whatsoever...maybe he was dying...maybe he knew it...maybe he was alone...maybe...maybe...
....maybe when he was finished weeping...the eyes i saw now would soon be passed on--and as i sat there w/my mouth open, trying to think of words--one word--to say, to make anything better, if only for a second--could i? impossible? they melted or made no sense to me--he was painfully getting back in the wheelchair...off to the unknown alone...still clutching that remains of a hat that once meant something.
Four p.m. and they wheeled him up near me in the waiting room while i read making a universe that seemed so debaucherous but at least it was mine...and i only heard the sweet voice of the nurse who gently coaxed him from the wheelchair and into a softer one that wouldn't roll--these decorative red ones that were littered about the room--and i glanced up in time to see the painful transition and collapse before he settled, smiled up at the nurse and whispered his thanks for her help...and she was gone...
and i'm back to my story for just a few minutes before i hear--
"you checking in?"
i look up at him, and he's leaning forward, his green eyes open wide, and this genuine warm smile on his face--and it's only now do i get a good look at him, his 70 plus years & the two patches of hair that sit on both sides of his head like too-grey sheep's wool--and i see he's clutching a tattered green cap in his hand.
"no sir...i work here."
he leans forward, and arches his eyebrows...didn't hear me.
a little louder. "i work here."
he nods...and settles back in the chair that is too big for the overalls he wears that are even too big for the small body underneath those, as if each layer of him can just be peeled away until nothing--and i'm wondering where his family is...where are his friends? an old man who smiles so warmly at somebody who looks like me cannot be a miser...cannot be alone...i don't know what to say--
but i know that when i tried to read again the sentences kept repeating themselves and soon i'm catching glances upward...waiting for the barrage of children, grandchildren, nephews, nieces...whatever...
tho nothing. he sat there for a moment staring into space w/a troubled look on his face & the more i watched him the more i started to feel bad for him--and then he put his face into his hands...leaned forward & started to cry. for so many reasons maybe...maybe just for one, maybe for no good fucking reason whatsoever...maybe he was dying...maybe he knew it...maybe he was alone...maybe...maybe...
....maybe when he was finished weeping...the eyes i saw now would soon be passed on--and as i sat there w/my mouth open, trying to think of words--one word--to say, to make anything better, if only for a second--could i? impossible? they melted or made no sense to me--he was painfully getting back in the wheelchair...off to the unknown alone...still clutching that remains of a hat that once meant something.
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
seantastic:
You ever read Richard Laymon? Horror and porn in the same book. It's like junk food for the mind. Great stuff. Anyway I wish you would write some dribble like the rest of us so we dont feel so inadequate.. or how ever the fuck you spell that. ~~~~ ramen noodles~~~
roxxee:
... 