A Price for Homemade Soup

My head slams against the window. I open my eyes and see blurred views of the passenger seat in front of me. It’s shiny and black I think, probably leather. I hate the smell of leather and don’t understand why someone would pay the extra money for leather seats. The car shakes again as it hits another bump on this damn county road. I turn my head to the left and stare at the driver. It’s Mike.

I’ve never been fond of Janey’s godson Mike. He’s not really the responsible type, having become a lawyer and all, right out of grad school. I don’t know why a kid would waste all his money on reading books and regurgitating old stories of lawsuits and legal cases. Seems like there’s much better things a guy can do with his hands and mind. I just don’t understand the rules of this world anymore.

“You awake back there?” Mike says. He has an unusual happy cadence to his voice.

“Now I am, you son-of-a-bitch.” I try to right myself in the seat but lack the energy to do so, for some reason. I wonder how long I’ve been in here. We must have gone to town for a grocery or something. “You’d think after driving these roads for so many years you’d know which bumps to miss.”

“Sorry. Just trying to get you home quickly.”

“It’s not like we have far to drive from Stop ‘n Shop. You kids these days are always in such a goddamn hurry to get places. Why don’t you settle down for once and just enjoy the benefits He’s given to you.”

I look out the window and realize there’s snow on the ground. That’s unusual. I don’t recall there being a weather forecast or it being December actually. “Why’s it so damn cold outside?” I say. Mike stares ahead and turns the wheel to avoid the next pothole, I guess.

I move my hand to scratch the damn psoriasis patch on my left thigh, although it doesn’t seem to be itching at the moment. I’ve had that thing for twenty years now at least. Janey used to call it my desert southwest. Ha, at least I think she did. I used to laugh at such silly things. I wonder why she hasn’t mentioned it in a while.

Actually, I don’t seem to be feeling much of anything right now. I try again to sit up straight in the seat but can’t seem to get over this leaning towards the window. My mind is awake, but my body must still be sleeping I suppose. I look down at my foot and wiggle it. It moves, but why the hell am I wearing a brand new stinking white shoe? I told Janey I didn’t want any new clothes this year – that it didn’t make sense. No need to try to replace old things that still work and wear. That woman is going to drive me to the poorhouse one day, you just wait.

“You feeling okay back there, Paps?” Mike says.

“Keep your eyes on that road you nut.”

I think Mike laughs or something. “You comfortable?”

“I’m sitting in a damn leather seat. Of course I’m not. These things are slipperier than all get out. What a waste.” Mike scratches his head. Keep that damn hand on the wheel.

My god.

It’s snowing I think. I look out the window and see trees with icy glaze covering all the branches. Well look at that. When did it start snowing out? I thought we were still just cooking barbecues last week and Janey was having a sunbathe. “Why is it snowing in damn September?” I say. I never will quite get this Indiana weather.

Mike doesn’t answer. Now I smell his damn peppery cigar smoke scent. He always smokes those things – seems to think they make him a smarter lawyer or something, or at least more credible. More worth that ridiculous hourly rate he likes to charge people.

All these kids and their greed. I just don’t get it.

“If them roads are slick, you better stop taking these curves so fast,” I say. I swear this kid will be the death of me some day.

“We’re almost there, Paps. You know the county keeps the roads sanded this time of year.”

“In September? My god you’re trying to shit with me. Just focus on the damn road.”

That Janey and her silly godson. I tell you, I don’t know why we ever agreed to watch out for him after that Viet Nam war. Just because a kid loses his parents, doesn’t mean he needs a circle of stand-ins to take their place. He was babied so much by everyone – no wonder he likes to wear those really tight suits.

My eyelids start to close. I lean my head against the cold, slippery window. Although maybe my head was here the whole time, and it’s just gone numb. I try to keep my eyes open, but they don’t seem to work anymore. Everything feels droopy and loose.

That’s old age for you I guess. You never know when things will give out on you.

I wake up with a start and feel the pillow sink beneath my head. Janey always did buy feather pillows for some reason. I just don’t like it. They drop faster than a dog in a mush pond. Now my neck’s got a crick. “Janey!” The room is dark because the blinds are pulled shut. It must be goddamn supper time by now. How long did I fall asleep?

Come to think of it, this mattress is lumpier than I remember it. Lumpier or harder, I can’t quite tell the difference. My whole back side is feeling numb, and heavy. I’m uncomfortable, though, I know that. These sticky cotton sheets don’t seem to be helping. This room is freezing.

I turn my head to the nightstand and see baskets. Why the hell are there baskets of flowers on my side of the bed? Pink and purple or gray? Well I’ll be, Janey’s gone and tried to sweeten up the place or something. I told her I’m allergic to the damn things.

That they make my eyes itch. I can’t even see the alarm clock behind them. I cough and run my hand up to my chest to poke it. I don’t really feel anything but these silly cotton sheets. “Janey!”

I hear footsteps and then the door opens. I slowly turn my head to the left so I can see her. She wipes her hand across her cheek. Sniffles her nose. See, she’s allergic to these damn things too. “What’s with the flowers all of a sudden?”

“I’m sorry. I forgot.” She walks over to the other side of the room and lifts the baskets off my nightstand. She’s wearing a nightgown it looks like, although I can’t tell the color. This room is so dark with the windows shut. “Open the blinds too. I’m missing the whole day out.” Janey balances the baskets on one hip and pulls a Kleenex out of her pocket.

She holds it to her nose.

“Did you know that Mike thinks he’s Al Unser, Jr. or something with the way he drives that car? Like he’s in the Indy 500 or something, zipping around.” I cough.

Janey just stands there and stares.

“The window’s not going to open itself,” I say. Janey wipes her eye with the tissue and puts it back in the pocket. Yup, she’s allergic to these silly flowers too. I just don’t get it. She walks over to the window by the dresser and pulls up the blinds. There’s no difference. The room is still dark and gray.

“My god how long did you let me sleep?” I try to pull myself up into a sitting position, but I just don’t have the strength to really move. See, that’s what happens when you lay in one place for too long when they let you sleep. Your joints start to lock up.

“Are you hungry?” Janey says. Her voice is soft and quiet. She sets the baskets down on the dresser and walks back over to me. She sits on the edge of the bed. I take a breath and fill up with a whiff of her skin powder. It’s soft and lemon cake like, as always. I love this smell.

“I really can’t tell,” I say. I don’t feel much at all in my stomach – definitely no growls. “When was the last time I ate?”

Janey’s face quivers. Her eyes are getting all allergic again. “Not for a little while,” she says. “I reckon I better eat then, shouldn’t I, Woodpecker.”

Janey smiles and laughs and then sneezes and wipes her eyes. A lot. “I’ll get some turkey noodle soup on, then. Your favorite.” She slides her hand along my leg and stands up. Grabs the baskets and walks out of the room. The smell of lemon powder and tulips lingers behind her. I take in a breath and shut my eyes. I feel comfortable once again.

I reach for the remote control and try to change the channel. I honestly can’t remember how long I’ve been sitting here. I must have spaced out – that’s old age for you. The mind flickers on and off once in a while. Oh, well. The T.V. is playing a polka party or something. There are people strumming instruments and dancing in circles. I kind of like this show, actually. Not sure why I got the remote to change it. I remember when Janey and I use to polka back in the barn dances back in the day. Gosh that’s been so many years, hasn’t it? She always used to wear that yellow and red checkered dress. Her ginger hair all pulled up into a bow. Gosh she looked so sweet.

Mike walks into the room. He’s wearing a tight white T-shirt and gray sweat pants. His dark hair is all mussed up – like he slept crooked or something. “Well, Mike, what’re you doing showing up here like you just got out of bed? Don’t you have a nice suit or something that you wear to work?” He looks at me and rubs an eye – what is it with people and their allergies these days? Or maybe he’s just woke up, but that’s strange.

“Can I get you anything, Paps?”

“No, sir. How about you just get yourself a woman finally. Someone to take care of you and comb that hair.” I laugh at my little joke. Mike has never been one to have much luck with the ladies. That’s what babying will do to a kid. Make him weak and unattractive to the women.

I lean back into my chair and wiggle my feet on the ottoman. I love this recliner. It’s been here in my spot for so long. It knows the curves of my body and how my hip swings to the left a bit. I rest my head back and relax. My whole body feels tingly and numb, but nice. Not sure how long I’ve been sitting here or how I got from the bed to this seat, but that’s old age for you. You sometimes look over the little details. I wonder if Janey ever made me that soup.

“It’s a nice day out,” Janey says, walking into the room. She looks at me with tired eyes – more bags than usual. She just isn’t aging as well these past few years. It’ll catch up to you I guess. Turning 79 is supposed to be a milestone, I suppose. But it sure ain’t pretty on the eyes. I mean, look at me. All withered and wrinkled and wrapped in this maroon blanket. You wouldn’t see me like this forty years ago. I’d be out digging up trees and planting corn and dredging the ditch. Oh, but even such things like that got old after a while. I guess we’re all meant to progress into sitting in chairs and watching polka parties on T.V. I guess we’re all supposed to slow down and shrink at some point.

“Can I get you anything,” Janey says. She holds a rosary in her hand. “She’ll be here in a moment.”

“How about that soup?” I say. “If there’s any left over. It was good.” I’m not quite sure if it was tasty or not, but it’s appropriate to say such things to your lady folk now and again.

Janey sticks her hands in her pants pockets and hunches forward. Come to think of it, that’s probably a new outfit. I can’t remember her having a blue shirt with black pants.

There she goes – out spending all our money on fancy clothes when there’s no need to get such things. I’ll have to talk to her about that later, after the soup. I just don’t have the energy for an argument right now.

“If there’s none left, I’ll take whatever,” I say. “You always know what’s good.”

Janey smiles, and Mike puts his hand on her shoulder. I flinch. For a moment they look younger and stronger and twenty years ago. But that’s just these cataracts – messing with my vision now and then. I remember how Mikey used to shiver when watching cops and robber shows. When he’d have a sleep over on the couch. I remember how Janey used to smile at such things.

Janey walks out of the room, and Mike follows. This is such a nice living room – always been my favorite. I like the large sun window and the view of the neighbor’s bean field across the way. Not that they’re good at taking care of it or treating the soil, but the trees that surround it are always in full bloom, if the season’s right. Course now they’re just covered in ice and that snow.

The polka party gets wilder as the music speeds up.

The smell of salt and turkey broth starts to fill the room.

I look at my hand and realize I’m still holding the remote. I move my arm over to the end table to return it to its rightful spot. My skin looks slimy and white. It sags in bunches. Gosh, time sure catches up with you. I don’t remember it being that bad before. I must have lost some weight.

There’s no room for the remote in its spot. Janey has filled that part of the table with a glass paperweight. In fact, the whole table looks cleaner and new. It is new. When did she go out and buy that thing?

I look around the room and notice yellow drapes, and a brown leather couch. What the hell – did she go on a shopping spree for Christmas or something? The whole room is out of whack. There are photos of family on tables and book cases. My favorite Kentucky basketball blankets and signs are all gone. All of my sports stuff is missing. It’s all her stuff now.

When did she go and change everything? How long was I asleep for? My god.

The doorbell rings. I hear the kitchen door open. Then some mumbling.

A lady in a white outfit walks into the room, carrying a bag. She can’t be much older than thirty. Her skin is crisp white. There you go, Mikey. There’s a nice woman for you.

If you knew how to talk to one.

She walks over to me and sets the bag on the ground. She takes my hand. “How you feeling today, Carl?” she says.

“Who the hell are you?”

Mike and Janey stand over her shoulder. They stare at me. Why is everyone looking at me like this?

“What the hell happened to this place?” I say. “Why did you change everything?”

The woman squeezes my hand and then reaches into her bag. She pulls out a needle and prepares it. Little juices squirt all over as she tests it.

“It’ll be okay, Carl,” she says. “Okay in a minute.”

Janey pulls a tissue out of her pocket. Wipes her eyes. Why is she tearing up now?

“What’s going on?” I say. I start to shiver.

Something isn’t feeling right about this.

The woman pricks me with her needle. I panic.

Then slowly the world starts to fold. Everything stretches and then goes to gray.

A sharp pain shoots through my hip. I open my eyes but see nothing. I open them again. Only drips of light and carpet fill my vision. Maybe one more time will do it. I take a breath, but my gut hurts. My whole torso’s set on fire. I open my eyes again and steady them. The room is sideways.

“Janey!” I try to turn my head but can’t move a lick. Everything is too sharp and too painful. I see the bottom of the dresser not far off. Something brushes the side of my face. It’s a blanket, hanging off the bed. My god, I’ve fallen off the bed. Those damn sticky cotton sheets.

“Janey!” I try to swing my leg over to right myself, but really don’t have the energy to move more than an inch. Please, God, give me some help here. I may have gone and broke my hip. Shit. I hear footsteps running down the wood floors in the hall. Coming this way.

“Paps!” Mike says. He squats beside me and then rolls me over onto my back. “Shit, can you move?”

“Does it look like I move? I’m sprawled out like a horny catfish down here. What’s with these damn leather sheets?”

Mike pushes lightly on my arms and chest. “Can you feel this?” Janey walks into the room.

“Carl!” She rushes over and kneels beside Mike. Why is Mike still here, anyway? Doesn’t the boy ever go home? Is he mooching off all our food and electricity?

“Stop making such a ruckus,” I say. I feel some movement in my elbows and feet. I find some will. Thank you, God. “Haven’t you seen a guy slide off a bed before?”

Pain throbs in my gut.

“Does it look like I busted something? In my belly?”

Mike raises my shirt. His face cringes. “No, Paps. The scars are just a little red.”

“What scars?” He doesn’t answer, but straightens me some more. What the hell did they pull out of me?

“Should I call an ambulance?” Janey says. She’s sniffling again.

“Don’t get all so upset,” I say. “I’m sure these old bones are fine.” Janey starts dialing on the cell phone anyway.

“Just lay there still,” Mike says. “We’ll find out what to do.”

“You guys act like you’ve seen a polka dance or something.” I close my eyes and see the spinning movements of Janey in that red and yellow dress. Jutting her head and arms back and forth. Like a woodpecker.

I find the wonderful comforts of sleep.

Janey stands next to my father on the platform and squeezes her arms around her chest. She wears that silly straw hat with blue flowers – the one I gave her for our first Christmas. It’s hot and sunny out so Janey glows. Her pretty pastel dress is blue and green. She’s trying not to lose it again, but tears run down her face. My father puts his arm around her shoulder. He’s crying too.

I feel the weight of the backpack and the stiff starch in this new, raggedy uniform. The men at the recruitment office sent it over last week. We took some photos of me in it first, and Janey laughed. It was the only way we could make light of the situation.

The boys in Korea need some help. Our forces are spent and the manpower has not rekindled since the battle in Europe not so long ago. I didn’t want to do it. I prayed and pleaded and even asked Janey to marry me just to make things harder to steal me away. But nothing worked. They called my number. Picked me out of that damn hat and now here I stand in this line for this train, holding this backpack. Feeling the weight of a nation over some silly battle in some silly far off place. Feeling the heat of the sun and all the tears. I’ve never seen my father cry before.

I try to be strong. I try to hold out hope that things will end and the war will settle and this trip will be canceled and I can go back to Janey and feel the grip of those two, sweet arms. There’s so much I want to say to her. So much I want to yell, but I can’t. I don’t know how to form the words to speak it. I don’t know the combination of love’s and you’s that will come across in a way that’s not considered weak, or corny. I just don’t know how to do it. I just don’t want to go. I’m sorry, Janey. If I make it back from this trip I’ll be good to you. I’ll be great. I’ll pick you up into my arms and swing you around and we’ll laugh and play and then we’ll get married and then we’ll have kids and then we’ll live happily until we’re old and gray. Be strong, Janey. And wait for me. I promise you that I will come back.

My father lowers his hat and wipes his brow with the back of his hand. The blue denim of his overalls starts to circle with sweat. His face is gray. His face is weak. I barely recognize him. I don’t know what to say.

I look up from the patch of dirt and see her walk onto the porch. The wind kicks dust into my face, and I sneeze. It’s the mid of summer and still no rain and this silly garden has cracked and croaked. I don’t even know why I try to plant more. Try to raise vegetables and beans and corn. I don’t know why I do any of it. Janey puts her hand on her hips and leans against the metal pole that supports the roof over the porch. She looks towards me but doesn’t notice. I just can’t believe it happened.

I drop the packet of seeds and rest on my knees. I look at the gray hair that suddenly has decided to creep into the dry patches on my forearm. I smell the dirt and the crisp oniony flavor of gardens gone by and produce of old. I look back at Janey. She still tries to keep it together.

I should be up there with her, holding her tight and putting my arm around her shoulder. I should be consoling her. Explaining that it’s okay. She lost the baby and that was that. There won’t be any more options for such sorrow. Not after what they did to her – to save her all for me. I know it’s tough but we know tough and we will stick with it and we will carry on. I know she cries. I know she hurts.

I don’t know why I can’t stand up. I don’t know why I can’t just drop these seeds and these tools and forget about the looks and the guys and the farmhands and my brother and just walk over to her and hug her and tell her not to worry. Not to give up. I wish I could just move.

“I’m not making anything for supper,” she says. She shouts it in my direction but by the time it fights with the wind that blows it reaches my ears in just a whisper. I remember – I told her in response that I’ve been working hard and that I deserve a nice meal for all that I do for her.

I can’t believe I’d say such things at a time like that.

My stomach hurts.

I’m staring at a black crack that juts across the bedroom ceiling. It’s splintered in two and both of its arms seem to stretch the length of the room. This old house is settling – almost as old as me, in some ways. Mike walks into the room carrying a pillow.

“You okay there, Paps?”

“This house is going to fall apart around us. Going to split in two.”

“I brought another pillow to put under your lower back. The nurse said it could help.”

“I don’t know no nurse and don’t give a damn about a pillow.”

“C’mon, Paps. It’ll make things feel better.”

Feel like what? I’ve been laying in this bed for hours now drifting in and out of sleep. My body is in the center of the mattress, deeply encroaching into Janey’s half. It doesn’t matter. These pillows are heavy, and I have no ability to move them, or myself. I’m trapped.

“The nurse said you have to stay flat for a little while longer. Just until the bruising gets better,” Mike says. “I don’t know nothing about any bruising.”

“You had a nasty fall there last week. We thought it might be the end of it.” Mike stands at the side of the bed and pulls back the cover. He pushes the pillow in my direction.

He’s wearing only a tank top and shorts. Why would he be here wearing that in this cold weather? And it looks like everything is two sizes too short. I really don’t understand this boy.

“Shouldn’t you be in court or answering a phone or lawyering right now?” I say.

Mike leans over me until I feel his breath on my face. He smells like cigars. It makes me cough. I see my body jump up and down as he slides the pillow under me, I think. He taps me on the head and says something. I don’t know. Then he walks out of the room – his footsteps have a hurried pace.

I feel the mattress spin and then the room. I turn my head towards the window and there sits Janey. Not sure if she’s been there the whole time or if this is new. She has on her glasses with silver rims that match the colors of her hair. She’s got thick hair. It’s pulled tight in curls from her perm, but it’s nice. She wears a pink sweater over a yellow nightgown and watches me.

“I don’t know,” I say. It’s harder to speak than it should be. My throat is dry and sore.

Janey shakes her head back and forth. She holds her gaze on me.

“You thinking you need your half of the bed back?” I say. “Well have at it. I never asked to be lying like this.”

“Oh . . . Carl.”

“What’s all this business about, anyway? I need to go out and check the garden and make sure everything is done by supper.”

Janey leans back in her chair. Crosses her arms.

“Is that all you’re going to do? Sit in that chair and stare at me? I’m surprised you’re not out shopping – buying all these new clothes and furniture. No need to get my permission first?”

“Carl, you have to take it easier.”

“Of course you’d say that. Now get me out of this bed and get me some soup and some supper. Goddammit, why is it that all you people do here is stare?”

Her skin starts to quiver. I shake my head and feel a wave of pain in my waist. Then it’s gone.

When was the last time I went to the bathroom? When was the last time I did anything?

“Janey.” Suddenly I can’t seem to control myself. “What’s happening to me?”

I feel like my body is gone and all that is left is my head.

Janey’s face rolls up into a frown. My mouth is dry. I click my teeth, trying to search for moisture. Search for anything but the taste of nothing.

“Dammit, Jane, what’s going on?”

“I can’t keep telling you this.”

“Tell me what? I’m trapped here like some damn hostage person.”

“You shouldn’t be upsetting yourself like this. You have to rest.”

“I can’t feel anything, Janey. Why can’t I even feel my hands?”

“It’s the medicine. You know that.”

“Know what? I don’t even know how I got here.”

“Carl.” Janey slides closer to the bed and takes my hand. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to take so long.”

“What are you talking about? Has Mike got you in some kind of cult?”

“You weren’t supposed to suffer. They told me it wasn’t going to hurt you like this.”

My neck goes stiff. What is she talking about?

“What wasn’t supposed to hurt like this?”

She closes her eyes and more tears dribble. How many times have I seen her cry? How many times have I made her? I’m so sorry, Janey. I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have ever upset you. I’m sorry.

“They said they couldn’t take out any more. They just had to stop the blockage. They said there was nothing more they could do.”

“I know I shouldn’t have asked you about supper,” I say.

“I’m sorry. They said you wouldn’t have lasted this long. But you’re so tough. You’re so ornery.” She laughs. “You always were a strong old cuss, and now look at you. Hanging on so much longer. You’re so stubborn.”

“Janey, why are you crying?”

“Don’t you remember, Carl? It’s taken over you.”

What is she even talking about?

Janey squeezes my hand and raises it to her forehead. She brushes my knuckles across her face and cries.

What does she mean? How could any of this possibly be right?

I turn to look at her better but my eyes won’t open. I turn to stare at her pretty face and that silvery, thick head of hair. But I can’t see it. I can’t see anything but this field of black. I feel empty all over.

My body’s giving out on me. I’m weak.

Oh my God. Please don’t let me go.

I walk across the hardwood floor and down the hall towards the living room. My feet are light, and I trip and stumble, but I have enough strength to support myself with the wall. I have tons of strength. I’m super strength. Suddenly I feel like twenty-two. I’m not sick or dying. This whole talk is nonsense. Why does everyone want me to be so old?

The television is on – I hear the daytime talk show yacking even before I reach the room. Janey is sitting there by a card table, working on a puzzle. Separating the pieces into little red bowls so that the outside edges are apart from the trickier middle sections. She’s wearing a sweater – a bright new pink and green sweater that looks freshly knit and clean. Another purchase, I suspect. Whatever happened to the cardigan I got her for that 40th birthday party? I better go to the bank and get some more money. I better invest, and I better be frugal. How else are we going to make it another twenty years?

Something’s bubbling in the kitchen. Baking in the oven or simmering on the stove. I smell the sweet concoction of berry and apple. I used to love those pies – my mother would make them. Dad would yell when I tried to help – he said no boy of his would do women’s work. But I just wanted to help my Mom play with the fruit.

A lady on television shakes her finger in front of the face of one of those black men.

“That kind of program will rot your brain,” I say. I enter the room – lean against the wall to keep me upright.

“Carl, what are you doing?” Janey pushes away from the card table and rushes over to me. She grabs my shoulder.

“Get back. I’m not some cotton-picking invalid.”

“Carl, please. You’ll fall again.”

“I feel stronger than I have in years. I feel better than I have in ages. Come on, Woodpecker, let’s polka.”

I reach for her hand in an attempt to spin her around. She grabs my wrist and presses it against the wall.

“Mike!”

“He can’t hear you from across town.”

“Mike.”

A door opens from past the bathroom and, well looky there, here comes Mikey.

“This boy will be the death of us,” I say. I laugh.

My head is light and fluttering and dizzy.

“Yee-haw, boy. Come on, I’ll teach you how to dance.”

“We need to get him down,” Janey says, still holding onto my hand. Trying to keep me pressed against the wall.

“I can pick him up and take him to the chair,” Mike says.

“What is this? A bunch of fruits, that’s what.” I try to step away, but my legs fly in the air and Mike is holding me in his arms like some feathery girl and he carries me across the room past the card table and then onto the brown leather couch.

“I’ll slide off this damn thing. You watch.”

“She’ll be coming by soon. I’ll tell her there must be something wrong with the dose,”

Mike says. His face is red, and his brow is sweaty. For some reason, his skin is tan and smooth.

“Don’t let Janey go and get more sweaters,” I say. I rest on the couch and look up at the table behind it. There are photo frames and flower baskets and now there are even candles and boxes. “What’s with all this junk?” I say. Mike and Janey stand in the corner and whisper about something. Probably his shiny new tan. That boy ain’t right.

I stare at the table and look at the pictures. There sits me on a tractor in the field. There sits Janey in a group of women playing cards. There stand both of us at an altar wearing white. There we both are, smiling and laughing.

Those boxes are candy dishes – I gave them to her for her birthday one year.

Those baskets are handmade – they were done by my mother, back when she was trying to help keep the farm. Those candles aren’t candles, they’re trophies. My trophies. From fishing derbies and card tournaments and silly horseshoe contests at the fair. They’re all mine. Where did she find these things? I look back at Janey, but she and Mike have left the room. Someone rings the doorbell.

I remember. I remember it all.

Oh my Christ, I remember the fatigue. The stomach pains. I remember the aches. I remember the doctor at the veterans’ hospital saying it may be malignant. I remember them admitting there was nothing they could do. I remember them taking me away in an ambulance. Up to that hospital and those white sheets and those sharp knives.

I remember the old folk’s home. Surrounded by all of those sick and dying people. I remember the room. They trapped me in there and hooked me up to machines and sat there and prayed.

I remember my Janey, watching over me and holding my hand. I was so scared.

I remember. Janey’s right. Oh my shit, Janey’s right. I’m sick and there’s pain and I’m on medicine and I’m not right. Please, God. Don’t let this be happening. Please, God, let them find some way to stop this.

I can’t leave Janey alone. I just can’t. She’s all I’ve ever had and ever got.

That young woman in white walks into the room carrying her bag. She sits it on the ground and pulls out her weaponry. She attaches something to my arm and pumps. I slowly close my eyes and fade away.

I haven’t been a good husband. I haven’t been a good man. I’ve yelled for no reason and I’ve cursed and I’ve spit. I’ve controlled everything that Janey does. I’ve prevented her from spending and laughing and doing the things she wanted to do. But, oh, she so deserved to be happy. She deserved to enjoy rich things. She deserved so much more than I was able to give her. I’ve been such an awful person.

I don’t like who I’ve been. I don’t like who I am. I don’t like laying here and wasting here and wilting away into some tiny shell of a man who once was. I can’t use my legs. I can’t use my thing. I don’t even know what it looks like anymore. My manhood is gone.

My strength is all gone. Everything tastes bad, and everything smells like petroleum jelly. Everything looks like it has a grayish tint. Everything feels rough and coarse and dangerous. All of the sounds around me are faint.

I can’t sit through this much longer. I can’t take this any longer.

And young Mike. He’s a good boy, and he’s been good for Janey. He gave her the opportunity to be a mother in many ways. To love a child. To have a child. Gosh, why have I been so hard on that boy? Sure, he’s soft. And he’s pretty. And he doesn’t understand women. But he’s watched out for us and for Janey and now he’ll be all that she has left. I’ve been such a terrible person. A terrible father.

I need to repent. I need to pray, and I need to ask for your forgiveness. I need to get ready. I need to accept that this is it for me. That I’m dead. I need to finally realize that life is not lengthy and I am not invulnerable and I do not have the world at my fingertips any longer. This is it. I can’t feel a thing, but I know what this means. My time is now counted by seconds, not years. I really need to gather the strength to just say it. I really need to tell Janey I’m sorry. That I’m awful.

I just don’t know where she is. I don’t know anything anymore.

Janey lays next to me on the bed. It causes the mattress to ripple and shakes my head loose until I wake up and open my eyes barely and see the darkness of the room. I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep. Don’t know what day it is or what month. Janey slides closer to me but not under the sheets. Her shoulder rests against mine.

I’ve been dreaming. Dreaming of hot sunny days with her in the woods. Bright shiny moments walking down the gravel lane holding hands. Laughing at corn crops and dragonflies buzzing through the fields. Looking at her and seeing all of the warmth.

I want to tell her so much.

I try to turn my head, but nothing works any more. I can’t even seem to move a finger or a toe. I open my mouth to speak, but I can’t get the lips to separate. There is no sound in my throat. There is no energy in my soul.

Janey shakes the bed in an attempt to get comfortable. I know I’m still encroaching into her territory. That I’m taking up too much of her half. But I’m sorry. I can’t move, and I suspect that this is where Mike put me. She makes a sound – a giggle perhaps? It must be so late in the evening.

I’m sorry, Janey. I love you so much.

“It’s been so long since we’ve just laid here,” Janey says. By the scent of wool and corn syrup, I can tell she’s wearing a housecoat. A warm, blankety jacket that she sometimes uses to keep her warm in her evening clothes. Her night garments. She has two of them, both of which are starchy and red. My little woodpecker.

“It seems like ages ago that we used to enjoy it,” Janey says.

I want so badly to talk to her. Please, God, give me some strength to say these words.

“Of course, it’s not like you’d let me get much of a say in it,” Janey says.

I just want to hold her and start again. Start anew.

“But I put up with it, you old cuss. I sat there and I was quiet and I obeyed and I listened,” she says.

I know, Janey. I know.

“But you never seemed to acknowledge it. To really appreciate the efforts I gave. And now, here you are.”

Yes, I know.

My throat is scratchy and dry. It starts to squeeze.

“Oh, look at you, Carl. Look at us. Laying here like two overripe peas in a pod. Two pieces of corn all decayed and shriveled up. That someone forgot to pick. Who would have thought you would have lasted this long? Who would have thought we’d go out like this?”

I can’t say anything.

“I’d had it with you, Carl. I’d had enough. You may never have noticed, because you didn’t watch for or care about such things, but I stopped trying twenty years ago. I stopped working at it. You always had your ways and your comments and your rules, and that’s that. It’s like I never meant more to you than just a houseguest.”

The squeezing in my throat spreads. I can’t breathe.

“But I stayed loyal. I stayed honorable. I know you never were equipped to be the romantic. Or the partner. You and your father. You and all of you men. Always looking like we were just there, to take the place of your mother. To take care of you. To keep you entitled. But I never complained, did I, Carl. I never fought back.”

Janey, please stop. You don’t mean to have this tone. I’m so sorry.

“And then they said you were sick. That was two years ago, Carl. Two long years. They said you were sick and that it was the end and there was nothing much more they could try to fix it. And you didn’t care. You didn’t believe them. You said it was shit and meant nothing and that I should just pick you up and take you home and make you supper and that’s that. But gosh, Carl. If it really was the end, then why did it take two years? Why was it so long?”

Please make it stop. This can’t really be happening. This is just another one of those delusions or those dreams.

“And I celebrated. That’s right, Carl, I celebrated. The moment they said it had spread and it was the end, I took a sigh of relief. It was the first time in ages I felt peace. I felt relaxed.”

I can’t breathe.

“Of course I felt bad. You can’t live with someone for fifty-some years and not at least feel a bit of affection. And remorse. But I endured it so long, Carl. Your apathy. Your lack of sympathetic gestures. Your rudeness to poor Mike. And not once could you even say how much I meant to you. How much you cared. It was just thank you now and then for being that mother. For taking care of you like I should have been able to care for a child.”

Janey shakes. I’m shaking, although I don’t know if my body even registers it. If it shows any signs of life. This is too much.

“But you had to hang on. They put you in that home and they said it would only be weeks, but it wasn’t. They said it would just be another few days so I better make my peace with it, so I did. I prayed for you so much, Carl. Despite everything. I prayed and I worshipped and I forgave and I cried. Of course I love you, Carl. How could I not, when that’s what a girl of my upbringing was trained to do. But at some point you have to give back, Carl. You have to just let me live and let go.

“And I did things. Oh, I did things. As soon as they said you’d never leave that home I started forgetting your rules. Your strict edicts. I went out and spent money. I bought clothes. I bought furniture. My god it was the first time in forever that I was free. That I was able to act for myself and feel like a woman. And I gambled – I went to the riverboat and the bingos and the card matches. I know you hate all of that. That you’d just rather have me stay home and wait for you. But I didn’t, Carl. And I don’t regret it.”

My head is spinning, and the room is losing all color.

“And I’m sorry, Carl. I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to soften you. To assist you with such inherent roadblocks that prevented you and every man of your generation from appearing human. For showing affection. But that’s not just my burden. It’s everyone’s.

And I wish that just once you would have given in.”

I’m starting to feel my toes and my legs.

“But I do love you still. I love you, and I miss you. I miss that young man who went off to war on that train. I miss the promise and optimism of what we’d have when you came home. Of the family we’d start. Of the joy we’d share together. But it never happened, did it Carl? You barely wrote to me once you were over there. And it took you two years to get back. And once you did, I was broken. I had worried too much. I had prayed. And all I could do was fall back into your life and your arms and I said yes. We were married but nothing turned out the way it was supposed to, did it. And yet, you still hang on.”

I feel the dry patch of skin on my left thigh. I feel the throbbing emptiness of whatever they took out of me in my gut. Whatever foreign obstacle now grows there. I feel my chest and my beating heart.

“I mourned you long ago, Carl. I mourned that young man I thought you were and what we could be. But he never truly existed did he? Not really. And now, here I am, 79 and all alone. And then they said you should come home.”

I feel my arms and my fingers and the last breaths in my chest. I see clearly. I hear and smell. I think a billion thoughts all at once. A billion memories. All of them with a focus on my dear Janey.

“You have to go, Carl. You have to let me live. I’m not angry, not anymore. I’m not hurt.

I know, in your own little way, you did care for me – even when you demanded me to just cook and clean. I understand you. I know you better than anyone, and I was subservient. I was loving. And I was supportive. But you have to stop it now, Carl. You have to give me a chance to be my own.”

I feel the tingling and the separation as the things inside me start to close, start to shut down.

“Gosh, please just let me go,” Janey says. She’s crying, and she’s beating the bed, and she’s shaking.

My head feels heavy and dull. My head feels like mush. The movement in my chest stops. I take the last taste of air that fills my nose and my mouth. It’s Janey’s corn syrupy scent.

She rolls over and grabs my hand. She kisses my head. I can feel it. “You have to go, Carl. You have to do this for me. I forgive you, but you have to finally go. Please.”

My eyes close and then I swirl and then suddenly I’m afloat. I rise up in a swish, and I separate from the body and bone. I turn over and look down at Janey from a few feet above. She’s glowing in a shade of blue and white. The whole room fills with particles of light. Dancing optics of a million colors and shades.

“My god, Carl, I don’t even know how to live without your burden.”

Janey curls up next to my body as I float. I feel the warmth and the brightness behind me, pulling me upwards. No, don’t let me go. Don’t let me leave. I just need to tell her I’m sorry. That I love her. Everything she’s just said is true.

Janey sobs and squeezes my hand. “Oh god, Carl. You finally may have listened.”

She cries and cries while my whole spirit floats. I reach out to her. I brush her cheek with my hand. I send her a kiss that I wish I would have given her every moment of every day. Oh, Janey, I love you. I love you, and you deserved so much better.

I rise through the roof and into the sky, but I still see her. I draw up to the sun and the moon and the heavens, but I still feel her. I still need her. God, please let me have another chance. This is not the way to live a life. This is not the way to love a person.

Janey sobs, and I hear her as I go. The sounds of laughter and wails and a baby wait for me, and my parents and brother. But all I really want is to be with Janey. All I really want is another chance, another life with her.

But it’s done.