Excerpt from
"A Piece of the Continent"
Thin, wrinkled legs swung over the edge of the bed while the nurse readied the equipment. She bent to slide socks onto his feet.
"I'll tell you the same thing I do every morning." Her white uniform was neon against her darker skin. "The walk is good for you."
"How in the hell is it good for me? I'm fucking dying."
She helped him slip into another johnnie to hide the open flap. "You know how I feel about that kind of language."
"At 87 I've earned the right to talk the way I want."
"Language defines you."
Gerald frowned into the nurse’s warm sable eyes outlined with dark, lacy lashes as she gripped his elbow to help him stand. She was a head-turner.
"Language important to ya, huh? Are you some uppity educated woman?"
"Yes, I am. Don’t say uppity. Get with the times, old man. It's 1982."
"What should I say?"He kept a tight grip on the pole, rolling it down the corridor as his stockinged feet took tiny steps.
Shuffle. Shuffle.
"Just Alicia."
Well, Alicia, how are the kids?"
"What do you care? Yesterday, you said my sons would grow up to join a gang like other boys."
"Today I'm asking how they are. I've also earned the right to change my mind."
"They're fine. Thanks for asking, but you haven't earned any rights just by getting old."
Gerald stopped shuffling. "You don't know who I am."
"That's right. And you don't know who I am. You don’t know who my kids are. Here. Let's walk into the sunroom. The light's so nice in the mornings."
Gerald paused in front of a window looking out over a pasture behind the hospital. He rested one hand on the frame but continued to steady himself with his other on the cold metal pole.
His eyes still focused on the scene, he spoke. "I know enough. You're probably just another sad story. Knocked up by some young stud. You raised the boys all alone and struggled through nursing school. Now you walk old dying men up and down hospital halls, waiting for us to take our last breath."
She laughed with a voice like tinkling bells. "Knocked up?"
His head angled in her direction as he shuffled back toward his room. "Yeah. I'm not too old that I can't remember the process."
Her smile faded. "Not that it's any of your business, but my husband was the love of my life."
"You never talk about him. Did he run off?"
"You're such a bigot, old man. Yes, but not by choice. He died in an automobile accident."
"Booze?"
"You bet. The drunk that hit him must have guzzled bottles of the stuff. I hear he could hardly stand."
"Don't you ever get mad at what I say?"
When Gerald stumbled, she threw out a hand and caught his elbow. "All the time, but you can't help being ignorant. And I can't help being forgiving."
"I'll tell you the same thing I do every morning." Her white uniform was neon against her darker skin. "The walk is good for you."
"How in the hell is it good for me? I'm fucking dying."
She helped him slip into another johnnie to hide the open flap. "You know how I feel about that kind of language."
"At 87 I've earned the right to talk the way I want."
"Language defines you."
Gerald frowned into the nurse’s warm sable eyes outlined with dark, lacy lashes as she gripped his elbow to help him stand. She was a head-turner.
"Language important to ya, huh? Are you some uppity educated woman?"
"Yes, I am. Don’t say uppity. Get with the times, old man. It's 1982."
"What should I say?"He kept a tight grip on the pole, rolling it down the corridor as his stockinged feet took tiny steps.
Shuffle. Shuffle.
"Just Alicia."
Well, Alicia, how are the kids?"
"What do you care? Yesterday, you said my sons would grow up to join a gang like other boys."
"Today I'm asking how they are. I've also earned the right to change my mind."
"They're fine. Thanks for asking, but you haven't earned any rights just by getting old."
Gerald stopped shuffling. "You don't know who I am."
"That's right. And you don't know who I am. You don’t know who my kids are. Here. Let's walk into the sunroom. The light's so nice in the mornings."
Gerald paused in front of a window looking out over a pasture behind the hospital. He rested one hand on the frame but continued to steady himself with his other on the cold metal pole.
His eyes still focused on the scene, he spoke. "I know enough. You're probably just another sad story. Knocked up by some young stud. You raised the boys all alone and struggled through nursing school. Now you walk old dying men up and down hospital halls, waiting for us to take our last breath."
She laughed with a voice like tinkling bells. "Knocked up?"
His head angled in her direction as he shuffled back toward his room. "Yeah. I'm not too old that I can't remember the process."
Her smile faded. "Not that it's any of your business, but my husband was the love of my life."
"You never talk about him. Did he run off?"
"You're such a bigot, old man. Yes, but not by choice. He died in an automobile accident."
"Booze?"
"You bet. The drunk that hit him must have guzzled bottles of the stuff. I hear he could hardly stand."
"Don't you ever get mad at what I say?"
When Gerald stumbled, she threw out a hand and caught his elbow. "All the time, but you can't help being ignorant. And I can't help being forgiving."