The Hateful Heavy Heart | 18+

06 - A Movie

Days passed before I saw Ruggiero again. Around five or six of them, at least. Of course, I wasn't counting, but after waiting an entire year before seeing him again, five and a half days not seeing him was far too long. I was making it fine, though. I couldn't get too dependent on his presence, right?

At the nursing home, Cleo was still biting at my ankles. Which was funny because she was a paraplegic and stuck in her bed well above my ankles, but Cleo had that sort of effect. She knew how to get under my skin by only grazing the surface. But today we were having a good day.

With her left hand, she was clicking through the TV channels, twirling her hair around her fingers with the other hand. "Have you been seeing Bill Murray these days? He's been looking mighty fine."

I made a faux gagging noise, pretending to be sick. "He's about thirty years my senior. I don't pay attention to any guy over fifty."

"Yes, because guys twenty years your senior are so much better," she remarked, rolling her eyes.

I laughed lightly and moved about the room, tidying up. It was the janitor's job, sure, but that didn't mean the room had to be filthy. "Well, yeah, take a look at Brad Pitt and Keanu Reeves. So much better than the deteriorating Bill Murray."

Cleo cleared her throat. I braced myself just in case she threw something at me. "You know I'm only a year older than Bill, right?"

"Of course, I do," I told her, picking up the broom and beginning to sweep around her bed.

"Nyasgem, Jace."

At that, I smirked. I couldn't see her as I focused on sweeping the floor, but I knew her well enough to know that she was scowling. "Almost forgot you were Hungarian. It's been a while since you insulted me."

I looked up to see her roll her eyes. "It's been a while since I felt the urge to." Her hand clutched tighter around the television remote and she continued to flip through the channels, even though there were only about fifteen at the most.

After Cleo, I moved on to a new client, named Maggie Grover. I didn't know much about her other than the fact that she was an astonishing eighty-three years old and that on top of going blind, she was also losing her voice.

I didn't know if it was an appealing or a discomforting change from Cleo. There would be no sly comments, yet barely any advice.

With her graying black hair and soft brown eyes, Maggie was a sweet woman, very soft-spoken because her voice was gradually disappearing. She didn't ask me a lot. She just kind of laid there, only asking for my assistance to maneuver around the room.

"Glad I'm not going deaf, too," she said, her voice a whisper and a small smile on her face. "Without my ears, I don't know what I'd do."

Since I'd never been blind before, I asked, "What does the world look like through your eyes?"

Her laugh came out in small breaths. "It used to look very clear. Like when you're peering through a pair of glasses with lenses prescribed to you. It was all so clear. It sort of looks like I'm looking through holes punched into a piece of paper. Can barely see a thing."

"I'm sorry," I told her. And I was. I couldn't imagine barely being able to see. I couldn't even imagine having to wear glasses just to see clearly; I had been lucky enough to have twenty-twenty vision.

"It's okay. I get through it," she assured me.

I nodded my head and gathered my clipboard from the stand next to the bed. "I'm happy to hear that. I'll leave you to sleep now."

❁

When I got home, I was more than surprised to see a certain Italian at the door to my apartment building. He was sitting on the step, a grocery bag resting on the ground between his legs. I didn't know what to say, so I simply asked him, "How long have you been sitting here?"