Waiting on Eleanor
He poured the last of the milk into his thick dark coffee that, as always, was in the mug that bore the marine’s symbol. He shuffled to his front porch, coffee dotting the floor, and sat in the worn rocking chair he had made from the old oak tree some years ago for his wife when she was pregnant with their first. Clint, his old labrador, appeared from the backyard and slumped at his feet with his head still held high for rubbing.
“Morning, Mr. Frank!” a voice greeted, startling him. He often forgot he had neighbors now; a young married couple.
“Mornin’, neighbor,” Frank greeted with a voice like an old lion and a gentle wave.
“Katie is going to drive into town in just a bit. Can she pick you up anything from the store? Sure she wouldn’t mind.” the young man asked.
Katie? Katie was his daughter. She couldn’t drive yet. She was only ten and was at school. Wasn’t she? No, Katie was at college a few hours away. He couldn’t mean his Katie. There were, after all, lots of Katies.
“No but thank ya all the same,” the older man spoke quickly realizing his neighbor was waiting on his reply.
Almost as if on cue, a young woman with honey colored hair emerged from the house, waved at Frank, and headed toward town in her jeep. He had once owned a jeep like that one. Her’s was almost a replica right down to the sticker in the back window.
“Come on, Clint. Let’s go check the orchard.”
Clint jumped to his feet and led the way to the orchard that inhabited the land beside Frank’s old farm house. This land, including the house and orchard, had been in his family’s possession for generations. Each generation had added something new to the land, improving it in a small way and marking it as their own. Frank, in his turn, had added fruit trees to the orchard that had once been dominated by pecan trees. When he passed, his daughter and son would make their own marks.
Frank had his daily routine set and worn in like his favorite work boots. Coffee, a walk about the perimeter to check for damage, a modest breakfast, an unnecessary visit from a home health nurse, and then he would spend the afternoon waiting for his wife to return from work and the kids from school. While he enjoyed being a retired marine, he was not good at being retired and found various ways to distract himself throughout the day.
His walk lasted almost an hour. He enjoyed the warmth of the sun on his skin and the smell of the ripening fruit on the trees. Frank found purpose in the old orchard. The trees needed nourishing and protecting from the elements. He would cut off the dead limbs for firewood. There were even rope swings he had hung for the children. They were dingy now and covered in mold. He should get new ones.
Frank finally slumped into his rocking chair to take off his muddy boots. Eleanor would have a fit if he tracked mud through her clean house again. After working, the last she liked to do was clean mud off the wood flooring. The kitchen waited patiently as he walked in reaching once again for the coffee pot. He poured some milk into his cup and sat at the table where Eleanor had left breakfast sitting out for him. He must have not seen it when he walked through earlier. It was his favorite too; eggs with jalapenos and buttered toast. He’d give her a kiss when she came home. He ate not realizing the effort it took to lift the fork to his weathered lips, washed his plate, and sat back down to enjoy the rest of his coffee.
Clint, hearing a car pull into the yard, bounded for the door barking a greeting. Tonya, the home health nurse, walked into the house without knocking or pausing to ring the doorbell. If she had, Frank wouldn’t answer hoping she would go away without pestering him. She had,in fact, learned this the hard way.
“Good morning, Mr. Frank! I hope you left some coffee for me,” Tonya sang as she crossed to the kitchen.
“No, but I can make you another pot,” Frank offered.
“No, no. I need to cut back anyway,” Tonya smiled bright. “How are you feeling today?”
“Pretty good for an old man,” he repeated this line everyday.
“Very good! I’m just going to take your vitals quickly,” she pulled out a blood pressure cuff and a stethoscope. “Did you go walk in the orchard this morning?”
“I did. Clint and I went and checked on the trees. I needa take the tractor out and mow it. Soon it’ll be a jungle if I don’t.”
“Well best wait till tomorrow. It’s supposed to storm in a little while. Always raining in July. Where are the kids at?”
“At school of course! That’s where they're supposed to be…..No. Did you say July? Eleanor must have taken them to the zoo. Jaime likes to look at the tigers.”
Frank paused and stared at the table feeling hurt. Why hadn’t they woken him to go with them? They usually did. He liked taking the kids to the zoo and sweeping his daughter onto his shoulders so she could see over the other people. They would always have a picnic near the zoo’s lake. But then how did Eleanor make him breakfast? It had still been warm when he had eaten it.
“Mr. Frank, would you like to play a few rounds of cards? I think I’m gettin’ better,” Tonya’s sweet voice pulled him back into the present.
“Sure! If ya think you can beat me, let’s play,” Frank chuckled.
Tonya shuffled the cards and dealt as she always did on her visits. She settled into her chair familiar with it’s curves and edges and the uncomfortable way the back of it pushed into her spine. In the distance, thunder crackled. The storm was coming as promised.
They played until Tonya had to leave. She threw some clothes into the washing machine for Frank and folded some she found in the dryer. She mopped up the coffee that had escaped from his mug earlier too. Tonya handed Frank some pills that he sneered at with contempt. He had become better at taking them and she had to fight less with him.
“Are you going to work in the garage, Frank?” Tonya pulled her purse on her shoulder giving the house a once over look.
“No. This weather has me needin’ a nap.”
“On the bed or in your recliner?”
“Recliner I think.”
Frank let Tonya help him stand but he didn’t really need it he thought. He didn’t want to make her feel unwanted. He settled into his old brown recliner with a sigh. He was already half asleep with Tonya walked out the front door.
She could see Katie and Jamie waiting on their porch. Katie’s three kids were playing tag off to the side with her husband now that the storm had passed. Laughter was music but it didn’t seem to reach the two on the porch.
When Frank woke again it was well into the afternoon. A ham sandwich waited for him on the kitchen table with a handful of chips keeping it company. Eleanor and the kids must have come home while he was napping and then headed back into town.
Frank headed out to his garage to tinker around with some of his projects. He had several ongoing ones but decided to keep working on the stick horse he was making for his son Jaime. It was going to be a chestnut colored horse with a dark black mane almost the same color as Jamie’s dark hair. He would paint the stick chestnut too. It would look quite fine when he was finished. He wanted it ready for Jamie’s seventh birthday in a few weeks.
“Oh damn it, Clint,” Frank muttered to his dog. “I left the sander on the other cabinet. Too bad you can’t fetch it huh?”
As he stood, Frank’s foot caught on the edge of the chair causing him to lose his balance. He crashed into one of his tall metal tool boxes and then found himself on the floor. The lights danced in front of his eyes and he could faintly hear Clint barking.
He woke in the hospital later that evening when the sun was dipping down low. A woman with honey colored hair was sitting on the edge of his bed clasping his hand. There were tear stains on her face and her brown eyes were red. He knew her face. He had watched it change over the years. She looked so much like her mother now. She even had her mother’s lopsided grin when she smiled. She had his nose though. It looked better on her he thought.
“Katie?”
“Hey, Daddy,” her voice croaked and new tears flowed.
“Why are you crying, sweetheart? I’m alright.”
“Do you know what happened, Daddy?”
“I was in the garage workin’ on a stick horse for Jamie’s birthday…”
Frank looked at Katie again. Jamie couldn’t be turning seven, not if Katie was this old.
“It’s okay, Daddy. It’s okay,” then she turned toward the open door. “Jessica!”
“Yes, Momma?” a girl mirroring Katie came inside the room. “Grandpa’s awake!”
“Grandpa?” Frank whispered unsure of himself.
“Jessica, go find Uncle Jamie and Daddy and tell them to come here please.”
“Yes, Momma.”
“You have kids?...Yes, you have three. No, that’s not right.”
“Daddy, look at me,” Katie’s voice was soft and soothing. “Daddy, look at me. It’s okay. Everything’s okay. Just relax.”
“Don’t tell me to relax! How would you feel if you couldn’t remember everything and ya felt crazy? People thinking you can’t take care of yourself,” Frank snapped, snatching his hand out of his daughters and watching more tears flow down her face. Nothing made sense to him.
Jamie and another man walked into the room quickly.
“Dad?” Jamie tried to get his attention.
The other man went to Katie placing a kiss on the side of her head. “Come on. Come with me. You need a break.”
Katie allowed herself to be pulled out of the room behind the man Frank didn’t recognize.
“Dad? You okay?” Jaime asked patting his shoulder gently.
“No,” Frank was now crying but he didn’t realize it. “I’m going home now. Get these damn cords off of me.”
“You can’t, Dad. We have to stay here. You hit your head pretty bad. Dad! Katie, call a nurse!”
“No, no! I don’t need a damn nurse. I need to go home. Your mother will be worried sick! Why didn’t you bring her? Inconsiderate….” he trailed off as he ranted.
A nurse dressed in lilac scrubs ran in brandishing a syringe in her hand.
“Hi, Mr. Frank! I’m going to give this to you. It’s going to help you relax okay?”
“No, no! Don’t you dare…”
It was too late. Within minutes, Frank felt himself go slack and relax back into the bed. Sleep called out to him like an old friend. The last thing he saw were his son’s, no his neighbor’s, overflowing eyes; they matched his own.
While Frank slept, nurses moved in and out of the room as did his children. His grandchildren visited too but he was unaware of all of this. In his dreams, he was reliving the day he taught Eleanor how to fish. She had worn a simple dress and he had teased her for dressing up for the fish. He had stood behind her on the shore of a little pond, placing his hands on hers, as he taught her to throw a line out and reel it in slowly. He even had to bait the hook for her because she thought it was too cruel to hook the crickets. She was all bright eyed and grinning when she reeled in her first bass.
He woke as his dream faded to the gentle light of morning. His eldest granddaughter, Jessica, was sitting on the floor beside the chair her mother slept in trying to rouse her.
“Momma, can I have some money for the vending machine? I’m hungry.”
“Yeah, baby. Get some out of my purse.”
Frank had always thought his Katie was a great mother. She was gentle and loving, and her kids were mannered and well behaved. She had once brought Jessica over as a baby begging her mom and him to help her calm the child. He had sat and rocked Jessica to sleep in his rocking chair.
“Katie?” he croaked after Jessica left.
“Morning, Daddy,” she croaked back, sleep still in her eyes.
She stood and sat on the edge of his bed.
“Where’s Jamie?”
“He’s outside sleeping. I’ll go get him.”
Katie ruffled her hair as she went to get her brother. They walked in the way they had used to walk into the kitchen for breakfast, still half asleep and dragging their feet. Frank’s lips smiled.
He remembered everything. He had been a marine; a damn good one at that. He had married the most beautiful woman in town and then had two kids.He had walked Katie down the aisle at her wedding eleven years ago. Jamie had been divorced and moved into the farmhouse with him. Together, father and son, they had built Jamie a fine house right next door. He had held Chloe’s hand, his second granddaughter, when he buried Eleanor after she died from cancer just four years ago.
Somewhere off in the distance, Eleanor was calling out his name. She was home.
Frank didn’t hear Katie calling out to him or Jaime shouting for the nurse. He didn’t hear the beeping of the machines. He remembered everything and there was freedom in this. Frank closed his eyes and let the peace take him as he replayed a day the whole family had gone to the zoo. They had even had a picnic.
Anxiety
He is my ever present companion, Anxiety. His voice, warm like a sping breeze, makes me question everything. If I listen to him long enough, I believe him. I let him sweep me off my feet and fill my head until my heart might burst. We are so well acquanited now that my body has a physical reaction when he’s near. Heart racing, my lungs stop working, and then he puts his weight on me as if he wants to hold me there. He told me once he was just trying to keep me safe.
Liar.
Sometimes his grip on me is stronger, and when he realized I was starting to fight back, he became angry. His voice was louder and he tried to keep his grip on me. I’ve never walked away unscathed but I haved walked away. I have beaten him. He is there though. He walks with me. Whispers in my ear so gently. He will always be my fight, my demon, but I do love a good fight.
@finder
Just one more...
They watched her carefully as she glanced through the menu one more time. She had already finished her standard glass of red wine. Tonight though she wanted a second one though or maybe a cocktail to spice things up. They were weary though. This could end badly.
"Emery, we are fine with you getting another drink if you eat something too." From Laurel's tone this was not a suggestion.
"I would like a mojito and a plate of fries please," Emery ordered with an excited smile. To her friends, "I ate a lot today, I promise!"
Emery was hypoglycemic meaning alcohol was more poison than treat. It would happily leave her ill and confused as her sugar levels plummeted. Alcohol might make her laugh come more easily but it cared little for her personally. Adam, her boyfriend, had been woken up more times than he cared for after a night out with her shaking and sweating, needing him to bring her something to eat to steady herself again.
Her mojito came filled to the top with a few mint leafs floating. Stir, sip, and she handed her drink to her boyfriend.
"I can't handle that. Here you go. Mojito on me, babe. Oh that was too much. Where are the fries?"
Just another day
She sat on the couch equipped with a latte and her laptop. The light tapping of the keys mixed with the music she had playing. Her fingers moved with feroucity and determination. She was a writer and this was her natural state of being. Unitl it wasn’t. Fingers ceised in action, brow furrowed, eyes glaring at the screen rereading what she had already written. A sigh escapes her lips and her head sinks into her hands. She remains frozen like this for some time. Then her head bounces up and a smile lights her face as she looks lovingly at her screen.
“No, that won’t work.” her smile fades and she resumes her former position.
“Why can’t you do what I want you to? It’s really not that hard.”
She often speaks to her characters out loud. I wonder if she hears them too?
“It won’t work anyother way! It has to be this way! Just die already! Damn you!”
She pushes the laptop roughly onto the couch and paces across the floor like a disgruntled cat. Stop. “Maybe….no.” Resume pacing. Stop. “That wouldn’t make sense.” Resume. Stop. “I’d have to rewrite the whole thing though. Is that really what you want?” Sigh. Resume.
Beaten and tired she slumps to the floor next to the couch and rereads her work once again.
“I just need a break. Just a break. Time for lunch.”
She walks out and I can hear the sound of a wine bottle being opened. It sounds like a generous glass to me. I wonder in to check on her. She’s cutting vegetables with rigor giving them her frustration. Soon a salad appears. She takes it and her wine to the balcony to eat.
Abruptly she runs back into the living room and types with haste. Her sudden burst only last a few seconds before she is again staring in frustration. She walks, fists clenched, back to her half eaten salad. Another glass of wine is poured which eventually becomes another glass and another. She says it helps loosen up her thoughts. I think it just makes her act more ridiculous.
“Oh, I’ve got it!”
She runs back in dropping all the dishes onto the coffee table. She’ll forget about them. She always does. Her fingers fly across the screen. There is the occaional “oh” or “wait” along with a brief pause but for the most part she keeps up her flow. She stays there for almost an hour with her fingers barely stopping. Her eyes are focused and her face is lit. I like when she is like this. She looks so happy, so accomplished. But as always….
It doesn’t last. The light is low in the apartment now. She’s sitting in the strangest position with her laptop held close like a lover. Her eyes stare in disbelief. She throws herself down on the couch with a low moan.
She falls asleep, laptop open, on the couch finally. She will repeat this process again tomorrow. Same page of her book, new bottle of wine, and a fresh salad. I move onto the couch with her to sleep beside her. Humans are strange. I chose her but I don’t quite understand her actions; especially the talking to the computer screen. Truly, though, what would writers do without dogs to watch over them?