by Mike Befeler
The next morning I read a note I’d left for myself. It told me I was going on a field trip and to look at the picture on my dresser so I’d remember what Marion looked like.
At breakfast, I was reacquainted with my two buddies. Meyer waved his arms around and knocked over the salt shaker.
“You seem pretty hyper,” I said.
“This is a special day. I turned eighty-five at five A.M. this morning.”
“Hot damn,” I said. “This calls for a celebration. I’ll take you and Henry out for some puu puus and a drink before dinner. You up to that Henry?”
Henry nodded and continued to attack his pancakes.
“I’ll line up a cab and we’ll meet in the lobby at four this afternoon,” I said.
* * * * *
At eleven I spotted Marion in a crowd of gabby women, waiting in front of the prison. She wore slacks and a gold blouse. Classy looking old broad. She gave me a hug and we climbed on the bus.
The driver clicked on a microphone. “Good morning, folks. We have a short drive today. It’ll only take us ten minutes to get to the Hoomaluhia Botanical Garden. I want you all to be good. No rowdy behavior on the bus.”
There were a few chuckles.
When we stepped off the bus, the driver unloaded the picnic materials. After stuffing our faces with hamburgers and hot dogs, Marion and I strolled along a path that had small signs identifying the variety of plants nearby.
“Did you ever garden?” she asked me.
I thought back to the distant past. “Not much. I planted vegetables a few times. Never could get the corn to grow, but the zucchini went nuts. I’d drop some seeds in the ground and by the end of the season, these oblong dark green blobs had taken over my yard.”
“I grew some zucchini, too,” Marion said. “I had a little cock-a-poo that growled and attacked some zucchini I left on the patio. He must have thought the zucchini was an alien life form.”
“My dad had a saying regarding gardens,” I said. “Tend your garden like you would live forever and live your life like it was your last day.”
“Seems appropriate advice, particularly at our age.”
“Yeah. But I never followed it.”
We continued the conversation and then out of the blue Marion said, “Paul, I’ve been thinking of you and your memory problem.”
“Have you figured out a cure for me?”
She laughed and held my arm. “No. I’ve tried to imagine what it would be like if we had some sort of more permanent relationship.”
The hair on my arms shot up like I was in an electrical storm.
“What do you have in mind?” I asked, afraid of what I’d hear.
“You know. Living in the same apartment. We could save money that way. But I have to be honest with you, as you have been with me. I’m not sure I would like that you don’t remember me from day to day.”
I stopped walking, turned toward Marion, reached out to hold her hands, and looked into her blue eyes.
“I wish I didn’t have this messed-up memory,” I said.
“You seem better some days than others. I recall you remembering the circumstances of us being intimate. And that was the day after.”
We were getting into dangerous territory. “There are rare days when I can remember things from the day before. But most of the time it’s a blank.”
“So if we lived together, you wouldn’t recognize me most mornings?”
“That’s it.”
“I wish there was some medication that could help you.”
I thought of saying “Viagra,” but decided now was not the time to be flip. “The doctors have pumped me full of pills. Nothing seems to work.”
“I don’t know if I would like being a stranger to you most mornings.”
“Yeah. I don’t particularly like it, either.”
Her look softened. “At least you won’t get tired of me.”
“That’s true. You’re an exciting person to me every day.”
“I don’t know whether I like that or not,” she said. “I’ll have to consider this some more.”
I gave her hand a squeeze. “I wish it weren’t so, but I do have this problem. I think we should keep things the way they are. You don’t deserve the hassle of dealing with my memory problems all the time.”
“Oh, Paul. It’s not that.”
I held my hand up. “I know. But at this age we have enough to take care of for ourselves. You don’t need the additional burden. And besides, we can continue to see each other. Now let’s explore the rest of the garden.”
We walked on in silence, admiring the rhododendrons planted along the path.
* * * * *
Later that afternoon, after my kickboard laps, I put on a wild aloha shirt to wear for the celebration of Meyer’s birthday.
Meyer and Henry arrived as the cab pulled up. We piled in the back seat.
“Pearl’s in Kailua,” I told the driver.
“No problem,” he answered.
Pearl’s was a mob scene. We finally found a small table that we squeezed around, each of us defending a small space from the boisterous youngsters around us.
“What’s the occasion?” I asked the waitress in her short black skirt.
“Friday afternoon. It’s always like this. What’ll you boys have?”
“I don’t usually drink,” Meyer said.
“Hey, this is a special event,” I said. “Have one drink. I’ll take care of getting you home afterward.”
Meyer and I ordered glasses of wine, Henry a beer, and then we asked for the biggest puu puu platter they had.
“If we stick to these drinks, they won’t have to kick us out for drinking too much,” I said, sipping my Merlot.
The waitress delivered the food and we started to fill plates with buffalo wings, fried cheese, egg rolls, calamari, and beer-batter zucchini.
A man bumped into our table and almost landed in my lap. He grappled with the edge of the table and extracted himself without an apology.
Once we sorted out our plates, Henry pointed at my plate and said, “I want that piece.”
“Are you nuts?”
He pointed again. “I want that buffalo wing.”
“What’s wrong with the piece on your own plate?”
“Too small,” Henry said.
I pictured throwing the buffalo wing at his face, but it was Meyer’s birthday.
“Your mother must have spoiled you as a child, Henry,” I said, and switched plates with him.
Henry munched on the food.
“How’s it feel to be even farther over the hill?” I asked Meyer.
“Except for not being able to see and that one other problem, not bad.”
“Stay away from excessive liquid refreshment and you’ll be fine,” I said.
Henry had ripped through his plate of food when all of a sudden he said, “I don’t feel good.” He placed his hand on his stomach and toppled over, knocking plates, glasses, and calamari to the floor.
I knelt down beside him. He was unconscious. “Someone call 9-1-1,” I shouted.
Chapter 21
There was a sudden silence in the restaurant, and then I heard the beeps of someone punching in numbers on a phone.
The paramedics arrived in five minutes and started giving Henry oxygen. Then they lifted him onto a stretcher and carried him toward the door.
“Where will you be taking him?” Meyer asked one of the paramedics.
“Castle Hospital,” he called over his shoulder.
“That’s the same place I visited you,” Meyer said to me.
It took us half an hour to get a cab. When I told the driver our destination, he didn’t say, “No problem.”
* * * * *
“I don’t know what we can do,” I said to Meyer, when we arrived at the hospital.
“He has no relatives in the islands, or friends for that matter. He should have someone with him.”
I thought back to what I had read about how Henry had acted. No wond
er he had no friends. Still, he didn’t deserve to be abandoned in an impersonal hospital.
After a half hour wait, we were directed to a room with two occupants. Henry lay motionless on one of the beds.
“Henry, this is Meyer. Paul and I are here.”
No reaction.
I looked at the blank walls and beige curtains separating Henry from the other occupant. What a place to spend your last hours or days.
“Hi, Henry,” I said. “You need to pull out of this so you can teach me some more baseball statistics.”
At that moment a young kid in a white coat came in and checked Henry’s pulse. The kid nodded to us, then tested Henry’s reflexes, and looked into his eyes with a penlight.
“How’s he doing, Doc?” I asked.
The kid pursed his lips and slicked back his brown hair. “He’s in a coma. Not much we can do.”
“Chances of survival?”
“Fifty-fifty. We’ll know in the morning.”
“We have to stay here with him,” Meyer said to me.
“Why not? I can’t think of a better thing to do than watch someone die. Although, I could use some dinner. I never had much of a chance to eat the puu puus with Henry keeling over.”
“Go grab a bite in the cafeteria,” Meyer said. “I’m not hungry.”
“I’ll be right back.”
“While you’re gone, I’ll have someone call Kina Nani to let them know what happened and where we are,” Meyer said.
I ate a turkey sandwich, washed it down with an iced tea, and returned to the death watch.
Henry lay there, unchanged, while Meyer paced back and forth.
“Ever consider how you’d like to die?” Meyer asked.
“No,” I said. “I kinda focus on how I’d like to live.”
He broke into a wan smile. “Now that I’m losing my sight, I’ve been thinking more about my quality of life. I’ve always wanted to live to be a hundred. Now I’m not so sure.”
“Since I wake up each morning in a brave new world, I can’t remember giving the matter any thought. I don’t seem to be bored. It took me most of today to get oriented. Then I ended up at a picnic, with Marion hinting about living together.”
“You sly dog.” Meyer punched me on the shoulder.
“I couldn’t foist my memory problem on her.”
“You’d have someone to be with.”
“I’m having enough of an adventure just being with myself.”
“You should consider it.”
“Right now, let’s consider how Henry’s doing.”
* * * * *
Around nine P.M. a nurse came in and said, “Unless you’re family, you’ll have to leave now.”
“We’re all the family he has,” Meyer said.
The nurse shrugged and left the room.
We pulled our chairs up and sat next to Henry’s bed. He remained immobile.
“I’m still worried that I may soon need to move into a care home,” Meyer said.
“What?”
“If my eyesight deteriorates and my incontinence problem doesn’t improve. . . .”
“You’d desert me?”
“That’s why it would be good for you to get together with Marion.”
“We’ve already discussed it. But if you leave, my main memory crutch besides my journal would be gone.”
He smiled. “I’m glad you think of me in such a positive light.”
“I might not remember who you are each morning, but by the end of the day I appreciate what you’re doing for me. Besides, you can’t bail until the murderer calls to answer the stamp ad.”
“Yeah, if he ever calls.”
We continued our watch, but there was no change in Henry. I finally tracked down some paper and pen and documented the day’s events for my journal.
* * * * *
“What the hell?” Jolting up from sleep, I found myself sitting in a chair. I was in a hospital room. An old guy with a white beard was snoring in a chair next to me and another guy was stretched out in bed.
“Where am I?”
The guy in the chair blinked his eyes and came to. “Paul, you must have dozed off.”
“You were sawing z’s pretty hard yourself. Who are you and why do you know my name?”
He stretched. “I’m Meyer, and we’re here because Henry’s sick.” He pointed to the stiff in the bed. “You need to read those sheets of paper on the table.”
I picked up a handful of pages, wondering if this guy Meyer was nuts or not, and began reading.
“Holy shit. We’ve been here all night, watching this guy Henry who might die.”
“We should be able to get some breakfast in a half hour or so.”
“Are we homeless or do we live somewhere?” I asked.
“You live in a beautiful retirement home.”
“I’m confused.”
“You have a memory problem, Paul. You forget things when you go to sleep. That’s why you write down what happens each day.”
A gurgling sound came from the bed. Meyer and I both looked over at Henry. The body shook, and his eyes opened.
“Henry’s coming to!” Meyer shouted.
He fumbled around, finally latching onto a cord, and pushed a button on the end. An alarm bell rang. Moments later, a nurse rushed in, followed by a kid in a white coat.
“He’s conscious,” the kid said. He took Henry’s pulse and checked his eyes. “The worst is over. I need to ask you gentlemen to leave while I run some tests. It will take several hours.”
Meyer headed out the door, and I followed him.
“Now what?” I asked.
“We’ll go to the front desk and have someone call a cab for us.”
When we were settled in the cab, I said, ”Did you see that look on Henry’s face when he opened his eyes?”
“No. I can’t see well enough to notice more than general shapes.”
“He looked as contented as an angel.”
“Now don’t get weird on me, Paul.”
* * * * *
We arrived at this building I had never seen before, then entered a large dining hall, and ate some breakfast.
“Doesn’t seem right without Henry here,” Meyer said, as we chowed down on fried eggs.
“I don’t remember.”
“Do you remember Marion?”
“I read about her. We apparently have something going. What’s she look like?”
“You’re going to find out. Here she comes.”
An attractive old lady hobbled toward our table. She put her hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just heard that Henry’s hospitalized.”
“We had a pretty tough night,” Meyer said.
“Not as rough as Henry’s,” I added. “But he’s pulling through.”
* * * * *
After breakfast, at Meyer’s insistence, I went up to the apartment he directed me to and found a journal by the bed. I spent part of the morning catching up on my life and adventures.
Late that afternoon we returned to Castle Hospital to visit Henry. We had been the only visitors from Kina Nani. From what I read, I could understand why none of the women came.
Henry’s son, Ralph, was there, having flown in from Portland. He even seemed like a normal person.
When Henry fell asleep, Ralph started talking to us. “Dad never was interested in playing baseball when I was growing up. But what a mind. Because of him, I knew more baseball facts than any kid in my school.”
“How did he and your mom get along?” Meyer asked.
“They had a strange relationship,” Ralph said. “She was a warm person. She took care of all the emotional support in the family. Dad was the breadwinner and kept to himself. Somehow they seemed to complement each other.”
“I wonder how they hooked up in the first place,” I said.
Ralph laughed. “That was one of the family mysteries. All I know is they met at a mathematics symposium. Mom was coordinating the event and Dad was one
of the speakers. Maybe within a group of mathematicians, Dad appeared normal.”
“When was he diagnosed with Asperger’s syndrome?” Meyer asked.
“When I was a teenager,” Ralph said. “I always knew my dad was extremely single-focused. I’d visit other families and see how my friends’ dads acted, and I realized something was different. Mom dismissed it as ‘the mind of a mathematician.’ But, clearly, it was more than that.”
As it approached dinner time, we caught a taxi home.
* * * * *
When I returned to my cell at Kina Nani, I pondered my existence. How soon before I’d end up like all the vegetables in the hospital? I seemed healthy, but you never knew when your clock would stop ticking. Or the murderer might get me. And if I survived that, what was in store for me? Living in this rat hole by myself? Still, I had to be fair. I lived on a beautiful island. I had my eyesight and could look out at the trees and mountains of Hawaii. I wasn’t stuck in some devastated city, desert, or gloomy plain. I was just feeling sorry for myself after visiting the hospital. But why couldn’t I enjoy each day as it came? Waking up was an adventure for me. Why not relish each new day? Because I couldn’t remember shit from the day before. You could say all you wanted in relation to living the moment, but there was something to be said for continuity.
Then there was Marion. From what I read, a hint had been dropped regarding living together. I seemed to like her. But it wasn’t right to burden her with my leaky memory.
So, what were my options? I could jump off my balcony and make a statement on the pavement below. That wasn’t my style. Things weren’t bad enough to resort to that.
I could mope around and say, “Woe is me.” That would be pretty stupid, although there were a lot of old people doing that.
I could suck it up and accept my fate. Realize I’d been dealt a mixed hand. Accept the crap with the crapola.
Or I could try and do something about my situation. My memory wasn’t going to get any better, but I could get involved in something. I could become part of the Kina Nani welcoming committee and greet new residents: “Hi, I’m Paul. Welcome to Kina Nani. This is a great place, if you like being around old people. Please join me at a meal. Experience the old fogies chewing, drooling, and farting. You can have your own cane or walker. Medical care? Don’t have a clue since I can’t remember. Meal hours? Got me. They should be written down somewhere. Activities? I’m sure there’s something other than eating, sleeping, and peeing. Friendly staff? Yeah, this nice young girl stopped by and crammed pills down my throat this morning. She seemed to be okay.”
