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Like Lightning
by Joe Miller “How do I look, doll?” he asked as I tightened his neck tie. His eyebrows rose expectantly adding another twenty wrinkles to his forehead. George’s eyes were cloudy but I could still see that old, faint twinkle. “Like the love of my life.” I said with a smile. George leaned to the side and glanced at himself in the mirror over my shoulder. “Boy, oh boy. To the nines, Jane. To the nines!” He made a loud click out of the side of his mouth and gave himself a wink. “When the joint sees me stroll in with a dame like you on my arm, they’ll hand the keys to the place right over, I’ll bet. You know what they say about my dancin’ feet.” “Like lightning.” I beamed. I couldn’t help it. “That fast; like lightning, they say!” He wiggled his hips awkwardly. I stepped back to the chair beside the bed and sat down. I smoothed out my jeans around my knee and looked at my hand. I still wore the ring George had given me. It was battered and soiled but looked radiant on my withered hand. It needed to be cleaned, but I couldn’t bear to take it off, as if a moment away from it would make me forget, too. “What time’s our reservation at Frankie’s, chickadee?” George asked, shuffling away from the mirror. He wore his navy blue suit with a bright green tie that Abby had given him one Christmas when she was still in grade school. His socks didn’t match; his slippers did. “Um, any time, dear. Your table is always reserved. Special treatment; just for you.” “Oh. Hehe. That’s right. Sure.” He smoothed over his few strands of silver hair across his scalp and contemplated a moment. “Would you like to go eat now, George?” “Uh, well, sure. I suppose we ought to hit the road then, huh?” George began to pat his pockets clumsily. “I’ll drive, doll. Just let me find my keys.” He shifted in a small circle surveying the room. I reached down beside me to grab the keys from my purse to play along. As I did, my cell phone went off, dinging loudly to let me know that I had a text message. I cursed under my breath and frantically rifled through my bag to shut the sound off but it was too late. “Ding. Ding? What was that? Ding?” His eyes darted from side to side though he looked at nothing. My hand gripped around the phone and I lowered my head to peer over my glasses. I found the mute button and switched the phone to silent. I knew better, but I’d forgotten to turn it off. The noise was one of his triggers. The screen was still lit up from the text message. Abby: How’s dad tonight? I glanced back to George. His gaze had landed on his slippers. He was breathing heavy. I had been through it enough times to know when it was too late. I stood up and called for the nurse. George mumbled rapidly as though he was reliving the last sixty years in thirty seconds, trying to catch up. Claire marched into George’s room as I helped him back to his bed. She looked tired. I felt bad having to call her in, but you could never tell if it was going to be a violent episode or not. “Alright, alright. Let’s go, Mr. Hannigan. Lie down. Relax. You in good hands with Mrs. Hannigan and me. Everything’ll be alright. Okay, now, okay.” George looked at me. His pursed lips quivered. His brow furrowed, his twenty wrinkles turning to forty. I held my breath, the only way to stop the tears whenever I saw that face he made. Sometimes it worked; sometimes it didn’t. Tonight it didn’t. I choked on a tear. “Jane? Where-What is this?” “It’s alright, sweetheart. I’m here. You’re okay.” I could see the nursing home room materializing in front of his eyes. He put his limp hand to his mouth and began to cry. Claire looked to me. I nodded that I was alright, and she left quietly. George continued to stare at me. “It-It happened again? I-I’m still here. Oh Jane. I’m so sorry.” “No,” I stopped him. “It’s alright. It’s not your fault. I’m here. I’ll always be here.” His face broke again, and he sobbed. I softly stroked his head. “It just happens so fast, Jane. One minute I’m here, and in a flash, I’m back somewhere else; like lightning.” “I know, sweetheart, I know.” He leaned his head back on to the pillow. After a few moments he dropped his head to the side so that he could look straight at me. “I’m sorry, Jane. I can’t imagine what I must look like to you now.” “Like the love of my life.” |
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