Good Times Bad Times

by C.P. Kemabia

  Mr. Bagley’s old beat-up car pulled into the driveway of the Flanagan Condo. He turned off the engine and kicked back in his seat to have a moment to himself. His head was downcast, his shoulders sagged, and his back ached a little.

  It sucks to be old, he thought.

  Senility was definitely an undefeatable foe to all living things. It was maliciously taking its toll, seeping into his once red-blooded muscles, withering his bones, moving his body slowly and surely toward an undesired reunion with the dust... And his cancer, that goddamn animal was precipitating the reunion! But there was still time…

  Mr. Bagley got out of the car, putting his mind to the physical task that lay ahead. The last of the possessions he’d left all packed up in his apartment were to be carted back in his car. He crossed the cobbled courtyard in a couple of steps, and entered the building through a cedar door. As he walked up the stairs to his apartment floor, he amiably nodded to a few tenants who were coming down. One of them, a bespectacled young adult who didn’t know about his moving out of the Condo, cared to lend a helping hand. But Mr. Bagley gratefully turned him down.

  The old man finally got inside his apartment. It was vacant, dull, and monochromatic, like an old black and white photograph frozen in time. Its walls were all half-baked in the pervasive afternoon sunlight that filtered through the skylight. A chilly draught was blowing through an open window, thus parting the curtains. Mr. Bagley stepped over to the window. Outside, near the condo fence, he saw a yellow cab drop off a woman he knew.

  It was Zoe Greaves.

  She lived a few floors up with her family. Mr. Bagley had always had an earnest admiration for Mrs. Greaves. He admired her bare beauty, her likeable character, and her devotion to her family. It was sort of pleasant to watch Mrs. Greaves sling her handbag over one arm as she headed toward the entranceway. It was like watching a swan swim across a peaceful lake.

  Maybe if I had found a woman like that, the old man thought to himself, things would’ve turned out differently.

  He wasn’t the only one to entertain that thought. Josephine, the wife of a dead old friend had come to the same conclusion. Even today, when he had met her to bid his final goodbyes, his widow friend had gone at it again.

  “I do sincerely hope that you’ll find someone, Winston. I mean, since you’re off to a fresh start, you ought to give yourself that fresh start. Besides, you’re still good-looking if you want to know the truth.”

  “That time has passed,” Mr. Bagley had said with a thin smile. “And there are other pleasures in life besides love or companionship, especially for an old fish like me.”

  Josephine’s face had suddenly puckered into an aggrieved expression. And Mr. Bagley had figured the souvenir of her dead husband was stirring up some emotional pains.

  “Trevor always said of love, that it was like –– the light in a cathedral. And in a cathedral, the light is everything. It’s only when you bathe in it that you feel the magic of the cants. And that experience, my dear, is the whole point.”

  “Trevor was certainly full of sage words,” Mr. Bagley had simply said. “May he rest in peace.”

  Even after the passing of her husband two years ago, Mr. Bagley had kept up with his habit of visiting the couple every Sunday for a cup of tea and pastries. Josephine and he had remained good friends. And he valued her friendship more than she knew, though he’d chosen to not tell her about his lymphoma, to keep her from worrying about when he, too, would pass. However, on this final day, he felt compelled to share something he hadn’t before.

  “I was in love once,” Mr. Bagley had said patiently, “a very, very long time ago, but it just didn’t go anywhere. Anyway, when you stay alone for as long as I have, there’re certain things in the human experience that you just stop relating to. ”

  “You’ve always been a little strange, you know.”

  A knowing smirk had formed on Josephine’s wrinkled mouth, and Mr. Bagley had smiled along with her. Their chatting had then gone on to include trivial topics, whereupon Josephine had shown him a newspaper article that addressed the chronicles of the serial killer billed by the news as the Bludgeoner.

  “Good Lord! I can’t believe someone would commit such atrocities! It’s just beyond my comprehension…”

  Mr. Bagley had taken the newspaper from her and quickly read through it.

  “You only see these kinds of crimes happen in big cities,” he had commented. “Maybe moving out to the country is actually what we, senior citizens, all need.”

  “What we need is more time, Winston –– and fewer maniacs in the world.”

  Mr. Bagley closed the window and stepped to the kitchen area where a large moving box was sitting by a vase filled with flowers. The box was laden with dusty valuables, old books, and other keepsakes for the most part.

  The old man heaved the box off the kitchen table, used his knee to steady it, and then, once he had a good handle on it, padded it across to the front door of his apartment. Midway through, something flew from the box and landed on the floor.

  Mr. Bagley didn’t notice. But I did.

  It was a Polaroid photo.

  By the time Mr. Bagley arrived downstairs, he found Zoe Greaves upon the first step of the staircase.

  “Incoming!” he called, the moving box slightly teetering in his grasp.

  Head down, Zoe hadn’t heard his footfalls, and so she startled when she heard his voice. The surprise rapidly dissolved into an endearing smile.

  “I’m sorry,” Zoe said. “I almost ran into you.”

  “Would you mind getting the door for me?”

  “Sure.”

  Zoe got the cedar door and held it open. “Your load looks pretty heavy; sure you can manage?”

  “Yes, of course. I’m parked right out front.” Mr. Bagley got outdoors before adding, “Besides, it’s not like I’m totally juiced out, huh?”

  Zoe chuckled. Her face brightened as a result. Her natural blush was returning after it had flushed on account of her heated remonstration against her husband.

  “So you’re leaving us today, Mr. Bagley?” she said.

  “Yeah,” he said lifting the box into the backseat of his car. “Please just wait until I’m gone before you celebrate, alright?”

  “Celebrate? Why would anyone want to celebrate? I mean, you’ve always been a good neighbor, never bothered a soul.”

  “And everyone in here loves the way I complain whenever they run interference with my peace and quiet.”

  Mr. Bagley slammed the car door. He was dampened with a little bit of perspiration.

  “I’m not keeping score, but I put out quite a slew of complaints in my time. And I guess that’s the reason why my invitation to the Condo’s Christmas parties somehow always gets lost, or comes to me after the party.”

  “I hardly go to those things myself, but I bet it’s just an organizational screw-up, you know.”

  “At any rate, I don’t mind. I’m just ranting. I never get to do that. It’s nice...”

  He looked back into the car, making sure the large box wouldn’t topple during the drive.

  “Well,” Zoe said, nodding her head with sympathy. “For what it’s worth, I won’t take part in the celebration, if any.”

  Mr. Bagley’s face wrinkled into a slow smile. A little unease grew out of the dead moment that followed. They were done with the pleasantries and, it seemed, had nothing more to say to each other.

  “Good luck with everything, Mr. Bagley,” Zoe said.

  She took a step toward the door.

  “Mrs. Greaves,” the old man called, “if you have a minute, there’s something I’d like to show you.”

  “Oh –– I’m in quite a hurry.”

  “I must insist. I promise you’ll be delighted and it won’t take long at all.”

  Mr. Bagley started making his way back toward the entranceway as Zoe was glancing at her watch. Her immediate reaction was to gently turn him down, for she was expected pronto back at the o
ffice. However, the old man had gotten her curious, and sparing a few minutes to satisfy her curiosity was better than spending the rest of the day all beaten up with a “what-if” kind of afterthought. The old man saw all these thoughts cross her face and came at her straight from the shoulder.

  “Shall we, Mrs. Greaves?” He beamed, leading the way, his gallant manner adding to his charm.

  Zoe looked at Mr. Bagley, and mildly smiled. Not because of the funny air he was putting on, but rather because for the first time since she had known the old man, he was suddenly reminding her of her own father.

  “Please, call me Zoe,” she said, following his lead.

  Chapter XVI

  THE PAINTING, THE DREAM AND THE GRIM TRUTH…

  MR. BAGLEY VERSUS ZOE