Meet Richard, an old man who has touched my heart.

 

 Richard’s Room ©

            He sat alone, bones aching, lips cracked and bleeding, hunched over the wrought iron arm of his wheelchair.  The wheelchair barely moved as he leaned hard into the old rusty wheels.  Taking in as much air as his body was able, he forced it out in a thrust forward, which took him a good four boards across the old wooden floor.  Sunlight streamed through the window past the ripped cotton curtains. 

They hang on by sheer stubbornness, he thought.  “A lot like me.”  Taking another deep breathe, only to burst into a coughing spasm that turned the front wheel and moved him back a board.

 “Damn,” he cursed, “I don’t like being old and old doesn’t like being me, so let’s get on with it.”  Richard was dying and he welcomed the possibility, but held on to the present with great fervor. 

He could fool some, but he couldn’t fool himself and he knew it.  “If I’m going to be here at all, I’m going to make it to that damn window and look at the beauty I’ve lived here to see, if it kills me,” he muttered.

Every morning it was the same process and although it took until 3:00 p.m. some days, he always completed the journey.   He wheeled himself across the twelve-foot room to the window.  He began sitting by the bedroom door, angled toward the sunlight streaming through the window.  His throne, as he so liked to call it, sat on boards two through seven.  He knew every bump in the floor, every slick area and what every board had been put through.

Rolling back and forth over boards seven through ten, he noted the indentations of the wheel chair with oily tracks moving to the ninth and tenth boards.  Coiling like a snake across the boards, the oil slick missed the second half of the eighth board completely by the right wheel. 

A one-inch blue stone had lodged itself in the tread of the right wheel. He remembered the occasion well.  He had been prodding his nurse, Gretchen to take him out to the garden and she had finally given in.  She pushed him out the back door to the walk. 

“I want to see the flowers,” he grunted.

She spun the chair around with ease on the sidewalk and headed for the garden. 

“There’s a lot of stone here.  I don’t want you getting stuck.”

“Nonsense.”  He motioned forward, sweeping his withered hand off his lap and out, almost falling from his chair.  “Keep going.” 

Three feet into the stone, the left front wheel came to a stop.  The right front wheel continued without any sense of direction.  Pulling back on her heels, Gretchen forced the chair to the right and held it still.

“Hey! What are you doing?  I want to pick a flower over there in the garden.”

She dragged the chair backwards and kicked at the pebbles that lodged in the tires.  She pulled hard, spewing loose dirt and fragmented pieces of stone into the air.  After an exhausting fifteen minutes, she pulled the front wheels over the curb and onto the walk. 

“Never again, Richard, never again.” Her lips scrunched to one side and her eyebrows raised, she pulled him around the back of the house and brought him inside.

It may have been short lived, but for Richard it was a wonderful moment. 

“Gretchen,” he called out, wanting to thank her for that special time in the garden.  But she didn’t answer.  He knew full well she wouldn’t.  She dressed him in the morning, got him in his chair, and brought him his meals.  She got him ready for bed in the evening.  Nothing more, nothing less, because that’s what he wanted. 

“Good!” he exclaimed, “she’s finally listening to what I say.  I’ve told that woman again and again to leave me alone unless there’s a meal ready.  Damn fool is always rushing in here when I knock something over.  You’d think I was an infant.  I have to holler until she gets out.  Well, she’s listening now,” he muttered with faint disappointment.

In his mind, he knew he loved when Gretchen came running in at odd times, to check on him. 

“I can hear you,” growled Richard, hearing the creak of the floor boards on the other side of the door.  Of course, her perfume had reached him a few seconds sooner.  He lifted his head in an arc to catch a sniff as the breeze carried it off through the window.  Gretchen opened the door and surveyed all four corners of the room. 

“What did you do now?” she said, half smiling. 

“You’re too nosey for your own good,” he growled. 

“Here, have a drink of water with a bit of whiskey in it,” smiled Gretchen with a wink, handing it to him.

Richard grasped the cup in both hands, while resting it on the torn leather arm and anxiously slurped down the liquid. 

“There’s no alcohol in this - its pure water.”

“Well, I’ll be, you’re right.  You’re very cute when you’re angry you know.”  Gretchen turned with the cup and spun on her heel on the 15^th board.  She was out the door when Richard noticed the fire she put in him.  He sliced his hand over the rubbery wheel and with all his energy forced it forward, taking him on an angle all the way to the 15^th board.  As he reached the board, he leaned back on his throne, tilting his head to the right, exhausted.  He knew that she did it for him.  She was a wonderful woman and he appreciated her very much.  She gave him the incentive he needed to reach his goal. 

Wheezing slightly, although invigorated, he lay his head to the right and rested.  Staring toward the floor behind him, he noticed the rubbery substance on the 7th board.  Richard went into his thoughts, as he did a lot lately, revisiting absent friends, flirting with his youth, communing with the past. 

Richie leaned his elbows on a nightstand that stood a foot from a pale white wall.  He  listened to his mom and dad discuss where the furniture should go.  Slopping down a jelly sandwich, he surveyed the room. 

“Richard, I don’t want you eating in here…if you spill something, I’m not going to be happy,” scolded his mother. 

“I’m not gonna spill anything,” Richie announced crossing his legs behind him to scratch an itch.  As he did, a blob of jelly slid off the bread, down the back of the nightstand, and onto the floor.  Eyes wide, he pulled the bread up as another blob was about to fall.  His dad saw the guilt and fear in his eyes and noticed a small drip of jelly on the back end of the nightstand.

“Joseph, where should we put the nightstand?” 

Richie’s eyes sunk in his head as he fumbled to stand up and back away with the remainder of his jelly sandwich in hand. 

“Let’s see,” said dad surveying the room.  “I think we should slide it back against this wall, right here.” 

Joseph slid the nightstand up against the wall over the blob of jelly, while scooping the drip at the back with his pinky.  Richie’s stomach did flip-flops as his mom walked around and around, deciding if that would work. 

“Okay, that’ll do for now,” she said.

            Giving a quick wink to Richie, his dad licked the evidence from his finger and led Katherine toward the window treatments.  Richie was relieved - and that’s when he realized that his dad was cool.

Richard lifted his head slowly, “Damn aches and pains, I’d rather live in my memories.”    Age doesn’t make the man.  I turned 103 last week and I defy anyone to keep me down.”   He straightened himself up and turned his body slightly to lean to the left.  He gazed at the 11^th board, just behind him. As he pushed forward, the left wheel barely missed a ¼ inch knick, resembling a half moon.  

“Probably from lifting the wooden school chair dad bought for me when I was seven.  It was a good chair, except the front left leg had a nail that wasn’t flush with the wood.  It scraped the floor once, before dad put a protective cover on it,” he reminisced to himself.    “That’s when I decided to build a good solid chair when I was old enough,” he said aloud.  He glanced across the room to the solid chair that sat proudly at the corner of the window.  “That’s my chair - solid as a rock and going to outlast me,” he said smiling.  “It’s funny when I look back.  I built that chair when I was eighteen years old.  My dad never looked so proud.  He bragged to all the neighbors and it sat by this very window for all to see.  Kind of ironic - now I wish I could sit in that chair and tell the world that I’m still here for all to see.  But, I guess this wheel chair will have to do.” 

Richard’s head swung down.  Drawing in a long breath, he lifted his face toward the chair for one more look.  It had a straight back with an intricate design running up the main poles and onto the arms.  Seven three inch slats on the back curved out slightly for comfort. 

“My best job ever,” he said, putting all his upper body weight onto the left arm of his wheelchair and resting his head.

After a half-hour of drifting in and out, he continued on his persistent voyage across the floor.  He knew how many breaths it took to get to each board.  And once he reached the floorboard with the knot the size of a quarter, surrounded by dark aged wood, he knew he was over half way there.   He knew he had reached a landmark.  He had a ways to go yet, but he literally lived for goals.

A deep breath in and pushed out with all of his withered might, his arms forced the right wheel to turn slightly.  Board and a half.

Alright, that’s more like it, he thought.

No turning back, not that he ever would.  The knot kept calling him.  He could see it in his clouded vision.   Squeezing his wrinkled eyelids almost to a close, he forced all of his energy on the ominous quarter sized knot on the floorboard ahead of him.  It was as though he had a wager with it.  He was going to make it to that board and that was that.  While the board sat fervently, staring him down, fading in and out of focus, in Richard’s mind, it seemed to state:

“You’ll never do it.”

This infuriated him and made him want it all the more. 

“I’m arguing with a floor.  Who the hell do you think you are?  You’re not even a floor.  You’re one measly board in the floor,” he puffed.

But, Richard knew that wasn’t true.  That particular board was nailed down to the center beam.  It was solid as steel and seemed to be saying that.

The spot faded out of focus once again as Richard’s eyes waned in the frustration and effort to see it. 

“What is it about that board that annoys the hell out of me?”  His shoulders sagged from the arched position brought on by his frustration.  His mouth dropped and his left eyelid rested heavily on his face.  His right eyelid soon followed suit, slowly creasing, flickering to a modest twitch…

“Rich, hand me the board, right there son.”

“I already got one Dad.  It’s sweet - no marks at all. 

“No, hand me the one over there,” he said, pointing to a board lying up against the wall.

Rich rolled his eyes.  It was his house now and just because his dad was helping him to replace a floor board that had warped, it didn’t mean he should tell him which board to use.  After all, he was twenty-nine years old and knew all he needed to about carpentry, he thought.

“That knot’s right in the middle of the board.  You’ll be able to see it as soon as you come in the room.  I want a perfect board.”

His father’s face lifted from his work, eyes pensive.  Fumbling for words he reached out and took Rich by the arm and walked him to the board against the wall.  Rich drew back. Wow! This is really important to him, he thought. He followed him to the wall.

“Put your hand here son.”  He placed Rich’s forefingers on the knot in the board.  “This isn’t an imperfection son.  This is God’s work, a sign of his love for life.  This is what’ll make this floor special.”  He turned and looked at his son with pride and sadness.  “See the beauty son…don’t forget to notice the beauty that’s all around us.  And when you can’t get out, you’ll be able to appreciate the beauty from the inside.”

Rich shifted his weight and looked for a bright spot on his dad’s face.  I have know idea what he’s talking about, but what the heck, thought Rich  “Okay. Dad, I’ll hold it for you.”  His father’s inquisitive look disappeared into a full-blown smile with eyes that sparkled crystal clear.

“Alright then son, we’ll do it together.”

…Richard took a deep rugged breath and exhaled like a foghorn, and startled himself awake.  Pulling the creases of his eyes apart, he pushed his head forward to focus on the knot in the floor.

“Beauty from inside.  I never understood - beauty from inside” he repeated.  “I never understood what he was talking about.  Not only is the floor as a whole beautiful, but each individual board has a story to tell.  This one is telling his.  It’s allowing others to see what’s inside.”  Rolling his eyes from side to side, cocking his head back and forth. “How could I have been so stupid?  103 years old - I might as well be four.”  He paused.  “No, at four I probably did know, but I let my own belief of what life was supposed to be like, get in the way.”

It came to him in a flash.  This knot gave him a goal for the past fourteen months he was confined to his wheelchair.  Fixing his eyes on the knot, squinting for a better look, a tear fell freely from his right eye.

“My good board, I’ve done you a disservice.  I’ve never accepted you for what you are and what you’ve done for me.  My father was right.  You’re beautiful and you’re full of purpose.”  In a rush, his face fell to his hands and he sobbed.  Rubbing his eyes with his hands and the sleeves of his sweater, he peered through outstretched fingers.  He remembered watching his son Erik playing quarters with his best friend Mike.  The two kids moved the throw rug from the center of the floor and played for hours.  

 “You gave me good and wonderful times,” he said nodding off to sleep…

Hey! Erik, see if you can beat that one,” snapped Mike as he scooped up a quarter that covered 3/4 of the knot in the board.

Erik held the shiny quarter on his thumb and forefinger, flipped it three feet into the air. End over end, shimmering in the sunlight, it hit five boards out.  Dancing, sliding and spinning across the boards, it fell and covered the knot completely.

“How about that one,” yelled Erik as he jumped to his knees to survey all points of view. “I’d say it’s a slam dunk, wouldn’t you,” he yelped as he sprang to the bed with his hands waving in the air.

“You live here,” argued Mike.  “You probably do this in your sleep.”  He swiped the quarter off the floor and pocketed it.

“Hey! That’s my quarter,” said Erik as he promptly pounced on Mike’s back.

…Richard woke abruptly as his head slipped off his arm.  His hand labored in an effort to  search through his right front pants pocket.  A cough drop stuck to his fingers with a wad of lint.  He slowly pulled them from his pocket and discarded those in the small bag attached to his chair.

He slid his hand down deeper this time.  He felt something solid.  He stretched his fingertips forward and leaned back to get further access past the folds of material overlapping on his leg.  He got it - something that he held between his middle finger and his index finger.  He slowly pulled it out, careful not to let go.  His hand cramped with arthritis.  Out it came - an old silver quarter.  Richard held the quarter tightly in his hand and poked it between his knees on the leather seat of his chair. 

“Time to move forward Erik,” he said with a tear in his eye.  Richard leaned into a push and slowly fell asleep from the effort and the memories of his son…

“The floor’s ablaze, three’s gone.” cried the red helmeted man.

“Where is he?  What happened?” cried Erik’s mom, Elizabeth.

A hand covered in soot and shaking, reached out and took Elizabeth Forest’s hand in his and pulled her close.  It was Mike, Erik’s best friend.  They held each other until Richard got there. 

And, the tears continued. 

Mike stammered as he tried to explain what happened.  “There was a back draft on the third floor when Erik went for the little girl.  He passed her through a hole in the wall to me, and that’s when it happened.”  He could barely speak.  His eyes were cloudy and cringing from the sting of smoke.  His jacket was caked with soot and his left hand burned.  “He told me to stay on the other side, so we could get her out quickly,” he said sobbing.  “It happened so fast - it should have been me.”
            Richard wrapped an arm around Mike.

“It’s not your fault Mike.  We know you watched each other like hawks.  If there was anything you could’ve done, you would have.”  Richard squeezed the water from his eyes and rubbed his fists hard into them.

Elizabeth reached for Mike’s other hand.

“Your hand’s burned.  Someone should look at it.”

“I’m fine - I’ll be fine,” he said burying his head in his arms.  “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he said.  He sat down into a crumpled heap against the fire engine.  Elizabeth buried her head in Richard’s chest. 

“He’ll be back as a new soul,” she murmured.  “He’ll be back.”

“I know sweetheart, I know.”  Tears rolled down his face and he wiped them away.

#

The funeral was somber and wet.

Mike walked slowly up to the podium.  He breathed a heavy sigh and leaned forward gingerly.  “You never know how long you have,” he began.  “Erik was only 35.  He used to say, ‘I love ya man,’ and I’d tell him to knock it off.  But, buddy I hope you know that I loved you too.  He was my best friend. We did just about everything together.  We always tried to be there for each other.”  He stopped to gain composure and choke back his pain.  Slowly he continued, catching his breath while rubbing his sleeve across his eyes.  “This firehouse was blessed to have a guy who cared so much about people.  He gave his life to save a little girl.”  He sniffed and wiped away the fresh tears.

“He’s a hero.”

Richard tucked his head down and covered his eyes with one hand while choking down his sadness.  Elizabeth wrapped her arm around Richard and squeezed him tight.

“He always said he wanted to make a difference,” Mike glanced upward.  “Erik!  I know you’re listening buddy - I just want you to know you did make a difference - a big difference.  I love ya.  Keep an eye out for me, will ya!”

…Richard awoke sobbing.  Mike’s life as a fireman was filled with close calls and danger, but he managed to retire at 55 as captain of the firehouse.  Perhaps Erik was watching over him, he thought.  Richard dried his tears, focused on the window, took a deep breath and gave the old stubborn wheels a full half turn and one more.  The strength came from his heart, not his brawn.  He made it to the center of the room, to the knot in the floor.   

“For you son - thank you.  I can feel your spirit here in the memory of this room, lending your strength to me.  I know you think I’m crazy.  Crazy old fool doesn’t know what he’s talking about.  But I do and I don’t care who hears me.  I know you’re here with me son.  I used to be so good with words, but I’m not so good anymore. But I need to tell you something important.”  He took a laboring breath. 

“I love you and I wish that I’d gone before you.  You’re my only son and I wanted so much to go before you.  I know, I know…you died doing what you love to do, but it’s always a father’s hope I guess, that he goes before his children.  I love you son.”

Tears rushed from his eyes, rolling through the vortexes and conduits of his storybook face, streaming, saturating and strenuously searching for a reservoir to release his sadness.

Almost unnoticed through his sobbing, the chair crept forward three boards.  Richard’s head came up as he felt the movement. The chair came to a stop.  The corners of his mouth lifted and the last two tears streamed down his weather beaten face, landing on the boards in front of him.  Richard knew every board, every slant and every slick spot in the floor.  There were none there beneath the wheels of his chair.

“Thank you, Erik.”

“Blessed and cursed all at the same time, I am.  Blessed to have had such a wonderful life and cursed that it is not yet over.  Your mother - God rest her soul - died two weeks after you, at the age of 67.  I still remember how she used to tell me that I’d go on to another life after this one.  And she’d meet me there.  Well, I’m ready to go.  I hope she’s waiting for me, because I miss her greatly and I miss you too.”

“My life was so full of joy and laughter when Elizabeth was here.  Now, it’s hard to get up in the morning.  But I do, and you know why?  Because I wanna go out with the setting of the sun, with the excitement of the buzzing bumble bee or to drift off with the wind as it sifts through my window.  I refuse to go, lying in my bed with the shades pulled down and the smell of mildew surrounding me.” 

He paused to smile and continued.  “Life is invited into my room every day and every night and I’ll be ready when I’m invited into their world.”

Wheezing, pulling his right elbow onto the arm of his throne, he rested his head.  The weight of his eyelids closed out the light as he drifted off.  Thoughts floated within the realm of his mind.  Twisting, turning, climbing and colliding with old memories and memories yet to be…

“Elizabeth, give us a kiss,” he said pointing to his lips as he squeezed his right eye to almost closed. 

Giggling and running at full speed up to Richard, she planted a big kiss smack on his mouth and knocked him over.

Rolling in the grass playfully, Richard stopped and held Elizabeth’s face in his hands.  Elizabeth looked up and saw Richard’s face staring down at her.  A tear slipped from his eye. 

“I love you, Elizabeth.”

“I love you, Richard.”

He pressed his lips against hers, slipping his left hand behind her neck while placing his right hand on the small of her back and pulled her even closer.

Elizabeth ran her hand down his cheek and looked deep into his eyes.   

“I don’t ever want to be without you,” she said.

“Me neither.”

…The vision disappeared with the afternoon breeze as it filtered through Richard’s room.  He awoke staring at his hands.  He held them out in front of him, as though he still cupped Elizabeth’s face.  They quivered with age, but they remained in front of him as he smiled.

“I think I’m ready Elizabeth.  I miss you so.”

Richard measured the distance to the window with his eyes.  His memories seem to brighten the room.

“No more gloom and doom.  I’ve had many wonderful times in my life and many of my warmest memories are alive in this room. I’ve been fortunate enough to have been allowed to spend my last days in a room that has meant so much to me.”  He glanced at the table by his bedside and smiled at the 93 year old wooden sign that read, “Richard’s Room.”

Richard leaned back and let his hands drop to the outside of the chair. He gripped the old rubber wheels firmly, took a deep breath, pushed forward and slid into his memories once again… 

“Keep going  Erik- you can do it.  I won’t let go until you tell me.”

“Dad, look at me, I’m riding a bike.”

“Tell me when and I’ll let go.”

“O.K. dad, n-o-w, let go - wheeeeee!!!  I’m riding - I’m riding dad!”

“You sure are.  I’m really proud of you.”…

With that memory, Richard rolled over another board.  He leaned to the left and to the right, forcing his weight forward.  He slid his hands down the wheels and rolled two more boards.  He felt like his son felt - like he accomplished something.  Winded to be sure, but very proud.

Only nine boards to the window, but he was exhausted.  He rested his head on the left arm of his throne and stared at the sky outside his window.  Soon the creases of his eyelids fell together and his head tilted toward his lap and he slept.  

The sun slowly began its descent, as Richard lie still in his chair.  A gentle breeze brushed past his face and he lifted his eyelids slowly.  Stardust flowed through the window and danced in front of Richard.  It took on a human form.

“Elizabeth, is it really you?  Are you really here?”

“I am at this moment, but I’ll be gone again.”

“Why?  Take me with you.”

“Richard, I love you.  You’ll be leaving soon.”

“I’ll be with you - won’t I?”

Richard strained to reach out and touch Elizabeth, but couldn’t.

“Richard, I’m right here,” she said placing her hand on his heart.  “You have another life to live before we come together.  Embrace it and remember, afterwards we’ll be together again.  I love you Richard.”

With that, Elizabeth’s spirit simply disappeared.

“No, Elizabeth, don’t go - I miss you so much.”

Richard hung his head and thought of what Elizabeth had told him.

“All right, I’m going to make it to the window and I’ll leave with the setting of the sun.”  He pushed hard to the right.  “Damn it!  Come on!”

“Richard, are you all right?” came Gretchen’s voice as she opened the door.

“Yes Gretchen, I’m fine.”

“Would you like a paper and pen?” she said with a concerned smile.

“No, I believe I’m done with that,” he said quietly.

Gretchen turned on her heel to leave.

“Gretchen!”

Gretchen turned toward him.  Richard’s voice was different.  This was not Richard’s usual manner, not outwardly anyway.  “Yes,” she replied.

“Could you come here for a moment,” he whispered gently.

Gretchen walked across the floor and bent over to hear him.

Richard kissed her warmly on the cheek.  “Thank you for taking care of me.  You’re a very kind and gentle woman.”

Gretchen ran her fingers over his white hair, pushing it off his forehead and smiled.

“It’s been my pleasure.  You’ve done so much for me,” she said kissing his forehead. 

Richard smiled as Gretchen turned and exited the room.  She walked silently into the second bedroom, which was Richard’s library.  Books on spirituality, love, strength and life after death lined three sides of the room.  Her gaze went to the well-worn shelves, third row from the floor.  After Richard’s stroke, it was easier for him to access books from there.

Thirty leather-bound books by author, Richard Forest, stood side by side.  “My Son, the Quiet Hero”  “My Wife and My Soul Mate,” and “Loving Yourself,” read Gretchen aloud.  She remembered when she first met Richard.  He had written his first book, “My Son, the Quiet Hero.”  At that time, Gretchen worked for a very large publishing house and did nursing on the side.  She had also lost her son to a heroic deed.  She saw the title of the book and read it.  Her company wasn’t interested.  She badgered them until they finally gave in.

After that, Richard wrote one book a year. Three of them became #1 best sellers.

Gretchen fingered the remainder of books and remembered how she became his personal assistant, bringing him paper and pen every time a thought came to him.  She would sit and watch in amazement as his thoughts poured forth over the paper.

            It was sad to see him by himself, but Gretchen knew this was what he wanted.

Back in his room, Richard thought for a moment and positioned himself with all of his weight on the left side of his chair.  He placed his tired hands on the broken rubber.  Turning the left wheel once slowly, he gave it a quick short turn to catch that slick spot.    

He did it.  He caught the only slick spot in the room and slid forward seven boards. “wheeeeee!  I’ve missed that damn spot more times than I can remember.  But, I got it today.  Seven boards, Elizabeth - seven boards.”

Richard stretched his hands toward the windowsill.  Two boards remained and he hooked the tips of his fingers over the windowsill and pulled.  Leaning forward he brought himself along side the window, wrestling with the wheels to stay put.  Taking a deep raspy breath, he rested his arm on the sill.  Inhaling the fresh air, his eyes held the sunset in view. 

Richard’s eyes sparkled in the evening sun.  He relaxed his body and his legs fell away from each other.  The silvery, shimmering quarter slid from his throne to the boards below and it dipped, danced and darted across the floor.  As the breeze swept through his hair, the quarter flitted, and flew about the boards.  A smile remained on Richard’s face as the quarter spun to a stop and rested, completely covering the knot in the floor. 

They were together at last, until he would awaken to his new life.