CURMUDGEON (2018 Watty Wildcard Winner)

Chapter Three - Richard

Like clockwork, a light tap sounded on the door just after the start of the eleven o'clock news.

"It's open!" he called out, as if it weren't always open. Doors at Everest didn't have locks. A pretense of privacy was maintained, but the charade wasn't lost on him. Strangers washed his underpants and strangers cleaned up under his bed. Strangers asked about his morning stool and peeked in on him while he was sleeping. Privacy was a privilege afforded to those who could still contribute to society.

The door swung open and a child with a shiny blond ponytail on the very top of her head bounced into the room. "Evenin' Mr. Bell. How you feelin' tonight?

Over her shoulder, Richard caught a glimpse of Stanley leaning against the wall in the brightly lit corridor. He wore jeans and a lilac button-front shirt. His legs were crossed at the ankles. He caught Richard's eye and smiled. Jerk. Looked like a darn wrinkled up old gigolo on a street corner.

The little girl peeked into the bathroom. They always did that. What were they looking for, anyway?

"That hip bothering you at all?" She asked.

"Only when I sit or stand," Richard told her. When he'd fallen off the curb in front of his house and shattered his hip, the doctors had assured him that the newfangled titanium implant would be better than the original. They'd lied. They always lied. Medical school probably had a course--effective falsehoods 101. He hurt all the time. It wasn't just his hip, either. Since they'd officially declared him an old man he hurt in every joint of his body.

Undeterred by his gruff attitude, the girl placed a hand on his shoulder. "Time to lay down then?" she asked.

"I'll be layin' down for eternity soon. I'd like to sit up and watch the eleven o'clock news now, if you don't mind."

She giggled as if he said something funny and took his wrist between her slim fingers. Glancing at the TV, she told him, "I really love her. She's so much more relatable than the woman who was on there before."

The woman who was on there before? Was she talking about Barbara Walters? Of course Barbara Walters wasn't relatable. She was iconic. She was untouchable. She was exactly what a TV personality should be. These pretty young things in short skirts were more concerned about looking like the latest celebrity than in finding incorruptible sources. Not that he had anything against pretty girls in short skirts, but there was a time and place and the nightly news was not it.

Nurse Ponytail let go of him and gave him a long look. "Can I ask you a personal question, Mr. Bell?"

That was new. Not once, since he'd moved into that place, had anyone asked permission before getting personal. Out of curiosity as much as anything he said, "You can ask. Don't promise I'll answer."

She tugged on the ends of her lavender stethoscope. "I just... you seem pretty unhappy."

He stared at her, waiting for something more than a statement of the obvious.

"Do you still enjoy life?"

It took a moment to even process the question. Enjoy life? Images flashed in his mind. He was a boy on the farm, swinging from a rope in the hayloft and landing in a pile of fresh, sweet-smelling straw. He was racing in the state track and field championships, the crowd screaming his name. It was his wedding night and he learned about the astonishing secret power that women held over men. He held his newborn child in his arms and thought his heart would burst with pride and joy. His wife was in a hospital bed.. His company gave him a gold watch and a pat on the back for forty-two years of loyal service. He buried his best friend. His daughter told him she just didn't have time to give him the care he would need and she was having him moved to a rehabilitation facility.