Chapter IV

        Just as the previous days the sun rose and fell, paneling Charles’ room with a clockwork procession of pinstripes altering the tartar yellow walls to a new, just as horrid, rust.  The balloons which had once hovered in the corner near the door were no longer present.  Having lost their precious weightlessness days ago, the nurses had removed the limp plastic upon Charles’ disinterested grunt of approval.

 

Groaning with each crack of his joints, Charles dropped his legs over the side of the bed, sat up, and rested.  Stamina only belonged in the vocabulary of a young man.  Charles was preparing for his only source of exercise.  The journey to the bathroom.  With a deep breath, he tentatively placed his weight upon his feet while gripping the IV stand.  Moving himself inch by inch, barely lifting the rubber soles of his hospital socks from the tile, Charles made his way to the sliding door opposite the room’s entrance.  Pushing the door aside, he gripped the sink with his free hand and began to turn himself into position.  Upon finishing his arthritic pirouette, his hand shifted to the iron bar on the wall.  Placing his feet firmly before the toilet Charles began to lower himself, judging the distance by each crack, snap, and pop produced by his withered legs.

         

With a sudden click of the door latch, Charles was made aware of her entrance.  No nurse would enter that way.  There was always a knock, soft and considerate.  Charles knew who it was.

 

“Good Evening.  How are you doing?”

 

       Charles stared at the wall in front of him, imagining the woman standing within the doorway looking around.

 

“Where’d ya go?  Are you here today?”

 

       The woman curiously looked around the room.  Noticing the sheets pushed aside and the IV stand missing, she almost left the room assuming to find Charles wandering around the ward until she noticed the light escaping from under the door across the room.  Placing her bags on the floor, she silently stepped to the light and knocked.

 

“You in there?”

 

“No”

 

“Then who’s in there?”

 

“Nobody.  Get the hell out.”

 

“Well, if nobody is in there, then I guess I will just sit here and wait for my friend to come back from wherever he is.”

 

“Screw you.”

 

“Sorry, I don’t talk to the voices in my head.  It’s fine if they talk to you, it only gets weird if you talk back.”

 

        Charles flushed the toilet and prepared to lift himself.  After removing himself only a few inches from the seat he was hit by a wave of pain through his back, forcing him to reset himself upon the warmed porcelain. 

 

“Aw, s**t.”

 

        Inhaling deeply through his gritted teeth, Charles quickly resigned himself to the fact that he would be sitting for a while.

 

“Are you ok in there?”

 

“Yea, I just find it helps pass the time to admire the piss stains on the walls in here.”

 

“Would you like some help?  It sounded like you hurt yourself.”

 

“I’m fine.  Go away.”

 

“Well, I can’t do that.  I’ve come to work on your walls, remember?”

 

“I’ve tried to forget.”

 

“Say what you will, but that’s what I’m here for, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

 

        Moving back to her bags across the room, the woman retrieved a bucket filled with rags, sponges, and newly bought cleaning supplies.  Placing the assortment of bottles in the light, tinting the tiles behind each bottle with their corresponding hues, she proceeded to place a towel against the wall in preparation for the work ahead.

 

        Through the wall, Charles could only make a vague guess at what was being done.  The thick plaster wall, along with the hearing dilemmas that arise with aging, made him unable to make out anything more than the woman’s footsteps.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“I told you, I’m cleaning your walls.”

 

“My walls don’t need to be cleaned.  They are fine the way they are.”

 

“You told me that already.  But I’m still here and I am going to keep coming here until I get the walls to the way they should be.  You deserve to have a clean room.”

 

“You don’t know s**t about what I deserve.”

 

“I know all human beings deserve to have a nice room to be in.  You are a human being, aren't you?”

 

“Fine.  Do whatever you God damn please.  Just make sure to keep your trap shut.”

 

“Sure thing.”

 

        Emptying the contents of a lemon yellow bottle into the bucket the woman realized that she had no water to mix the cleaner in.  Putting down the empty bottle and picking up the bucket, she shuffled into the neighboring room.  Entering once more through Charles’ door with a filled bucket she announced her arrival as if returning home.

 

“I’m back.  Did you miss me?”

 

“Where’d you go?”

 

“I noticed that I didn’t have any water to use with the cleaner so I visited your neighbor and got some water from her sink.  By the way, Mrs. Rosenstein has such a great room.  I mean, it’s filled with cards, flowers, balloons, stuffed animals, and hand paintings.  She must have a really close knit family looking out for her.  She was so sweet too.  The minute I asked about the water, she was more than happy to help me out.”

 

“You were gone for thirty minutes.  How long does it take to fill a bucket with water?  It’s not like you were siphoning gas.”

 

“Well, I was about to leave when her son came in.  He was just as friendly as Mrs. Rosenstein, and pretty hot too.  So after I explained why I was in the room we all sat down and spoke for a while.  Apparently Mrs. Rosenstein is having an operation to remove one of her kidneys and her son has been visiting her everyday to make sure she’s doing ok.”

 

“Kiss-a*s piece of s**t. Bet he’s just trying to milk more money out of the old hag while he still can.”

 

“How can you say that?”

 

“Easily. Kiss-a*s piece of s**t.”

 

“You don’t even know him, how can you assume to know who he is.”

 

“Because everyone is the same.  Because just like everyone else in the world he is looking out for himself and himself alone.  Of course he wants her money.  They’re f*****g Jews.  He probably s***s gold.”

 

“Now that’s just plain offensive and racist.”

 

“You think I give a damn?  I’ll say whatever the hell I want.  This is my room. If you don’t like what I say, then you can do me the great honor of getting the f**k out.”

 

“No.  I’m going to stay right here and finish what I started.  I came here to do this, and I’m going to do it.”

 

“Suit yourself you stupid b***h.”

 

        The woman placed down the bucket in front of the wall and dipped a sponge into its contents.  Remembering the success she had with quick heavy rubbing, she began cleaning the wall at the same spot she had focused on prior.  After several attempts the wall refused to fade its color the slightest and the woman was forced to try another cleaner.  Returning to Mrs. Rosenstein’s room to clean out her bucket and fill it with new water, the woman was greeted by three new faces.

 

“The son’s family is there now too.  His wife, son, and brother were dropping off flowers from the local Jewish Community Center.  Mrs. Rosenstein sure does seem to have a lot of friends and loved ones.  I hope I’m just as lucky as her when I’m her age.”

 

“Just more vultures.  I wouldn’t be surprised if the JCC was looking to get some money for placing her name on a stone or some other damned foolish, overpriced memento.”

 

“Why do you talk like that?  Don’t you have any family or friends to see you?”

 

“What do you think?  Look at my room.  I didn’t exactly hire some f*g to come in and furnish it for me this way.”

 

“F*g?  I have friends who are gay, I don’t appreciate you using that word.”

 

“When are you going to get it through your syphilitic head that I don’t care what you think.”

 

“Whatever.  But you must have someone to come see you.  A wife?”

 

“Dead.  Twenty years ago.”

 

“A son? A daughter?”

 

“One each. “

 

“Well, why don’t they come and see you.”

 

“I told them I had some bimbo looking after me and they didn’t need to come around anymore.”

 

“They don’t come and see you?”

 

“Do you make it a habit to ask stupid questions?”

 

“Why won’t they see you?”

 

“Why won’t you learn to shut the f**k up?”

 

“Jeez, I’m just curious.  There’s no need to lash out.”

 

“This isn’t lashing out.  I’ll show you lashing out.”

 

“I’d like to see you try.  You can’t even get up.”

 

“I don’t need to.  I can just make sure the nurses don’t let you in anymore.”

 

“If you wanted to, you would have done that already.”

 

“F**k you.”

 

        The woman continued cleaning, making several trips between the two rooms.  After an hour of scrubbing the wall was no less stained than it was before except for the small spot the woman had worked on the whole time.

 

        Rubbing the sweat from her brow, the woman drained her bucket once more, said good bye to Mrs. Rosenstein, returned the empty bottles and cleaning supplies to her bags, and left.  Before shutting the door entirely, she poked her head in once more.

 

“I’ll be back again.  Hopefully I can see your face next time.”

 

        Charles didn’t respond.  He couldn’t.  Finally asleep after three days, he could not be stirred by any sound.

 

“Whatever.  Don’t reply.  I’ll see you later.”

 

        Charles awoke hours later.  The sun had set long before and the only light came from the fluorescent rod hanging above the mirror overlooking the sink turning the room into a series of expanding bars of dim yellow light.  Charles finished his day’s quest by returning to bed and using his arms to assist in throwing his legs back into the imprint left from weeks of bed rest.  Charles fell back asleep soon after, wondering when the woman would return.

Author's Note

Hope you enjoy this. I'm not sure about this chapter. I've been feeling kinda of uninspired recently >_<

Reviews

[Sweet_pale_cacophony]

I like the ending,it is open to a lot of possibilities..
it was nice to see the dialogue...