Lost in Play

Laughter fluttered in the air. A little girl was playing with a toy bear when she unintentionally wandered out onto the street. The whine of the breaks led in a grating shriek. When they had engaged, putrid smoke swirled from burnt rubber, and by the time the air-breaks hissed it was done. An old man came shuffling by as quickly as he could, practically dragging his walking cane behind him. He moved on pure adrenaline, ignoring the condition that has tormented his joints for most of his years as a senior citizen. He was screaming her name. The bus driver stepped out and threw his hands over his mouth as he heaved a lamenting chorus of guilt-ridden dread. He staggered back staring at her, eyes white and hands trembling. The old man cursed him as he went past, demanding he contact an ambulance. The driver did, stammering panicked confusion to the operator on the line. The old man fell in beside the little girl. She held out a lissome, tremulous arm, covered with bloody gashes and black grease from the radiator that had struck her down. She was pointing toward the heavens when she spoke her final words.

“Pa’pa… L…look…” She had said; her voice wan but touched by wonder. “There’s a girl, she’s beautiful….”

     Then her hand collapsed next to a rainbow colored teddy bear and before long she was asleep, never to wake again.

#

One hundred and one.

     Like a cruel joke, God had to add one more year. It was the morning of Gerald Heidrich’s birthday, and as always not a soul came to visit him, nor would he receive them with warm praise if they had. These days he found the fair extol of one’s success at escaping the ever-tricky hand of death to live yet another year upon this bleak and miserable earth a borderline insult, and he took it to mean as much. Most bothered not to disturb the wayward old man, even when he was exploring the vacant halls of the hospital with delight upon his haggard face; his grin no doubt perceived as a mere snare to offer him an ear to chastise. Leaning over his walker and dragging along with him his IV pole he went about his business, carrying a gaily rainbow teddy bear by its stuffed paw. The toy dangled from his frail grasp as he labored along his way, merrily forsaken.

     Gerald was often misunderstood as a despondent, peevish, old fellow, with little gratitude and a whole lot of temper. There were few that understood his truth. He had lived long enough to watch his wife, his daughter, and even his granddaughter pass away before his eyes. The latter of which, Macy, being the most vivid and tragic, as her death was recent and met by unforeseen means. While in his care an incompetent bus driver accidentally ran her down when she was playing in the street. He looked away only for a second before it was all over. He never forgave himself, and having been forced to mourn most of all the people he had ever loved on this earth, he has grown to loathe even his own being, believing he had somehow outlived all there was good to live for.

His final years were spent moping around the hospital with a diagnosis of some queer bone disease with a long, complicated name that he could barely pronounce. Often his condition crippled him anytime he sought to use his muscles for anything more than to punch buttons on a remote in a foraging search for the damn weather channel; though why he cared to know about the status of a hurricane brewing halfway across the globe escaped even he. He chalked it up to sheer, cold, unbiased, madness, being confined to his designated room nearly every day for three years. Recalling the astronomical fees he had once gotten after spending the night at a hospital in his younger days, he wondered how much of his social security would remain once he had finally passed; or would they just pull the plug the moment the piggy bank starts to raddle—either way, good riddance!

     It was only a few weeks past he’d had found meaning to go on in this barren wasteland the young had the gall to still call Earth. A new patient he had met by chance, working his way down a hall to scold some nurse for some distant reason he could no longer recall. She was beautiful; clad in a heavenly white gown, with the biggest, brightest blue eyes he had ever seen. The girl sat upon a cloud as a tranquil angel, looking onto him with a brilliant smile that instantly melted his heart. She had asked him why he was so angry, he had explained, and so she laughed. Her words that would follow he would carry with him until the end of his days.

     “Life is too short.” She protested, her smile never faltering. Then the elevator doors her nurse had been waiting on opened and they were gone.

     Gerald soon found her again, and had since spent countless hours talking about life and sharing stories. She was his friend; the last friend he had, and a friend he knew he would not have long with.

     When he had reached her room he knocked, and was answered by a woman in her mid-twenties with a pretty figure and an ugly scowl.

     She glared at him, crossing her arms as she answered coldly, “Mr. Heidrich.”

     Unfettered by her curt greeting he returned in a detestable tone, “Nurse, Ashley.”

     “Its Mrs. Donohue.” She corrected, seething through her teeth and rolling her eyes.

     The old man sighed, exasperated. “Yeah well, marrying the doctor doesn’t exactly qualify you as one; therefore I see no merit to share with you the same courtesy. Being that you are in fact merely a medical assistant, I thought I was being kind by hailing you as a Nurse, as apposed to what I would normally call you, which is, ‘Move-out-of-the-way-you-dumb-blond, I’m here to see Sidney.’”

     Somewhere in the room, a young voice cried out with joy, “Gerald!”

     The temperamental old man moved aside, and the fuming medical-assistant stormed out muttering words of bitterness under her breath. With she gone he was free to make his way inside where he found a little girl of five in a white gown laying upon a gurney, her blue eyes piercing and her perfect smile beaming. Her eyes were sunken and dark, as were her cheeks, the details of her skull sickeningly visible. She had no hair, nor even eyebrows. She was ailing and teetering on death; as ill as any could possibly be, yet she was so full of life. She scarcely spoke of the pain, though she often stopped in mid-sentence to cringe; waves of anguish overtaking her. The chemo bag hovered over her like a yellow demon to torment her with her own withering mortality, though it seemed not to trouble her even a little.

     Gerald offered her the gift and said in hoarse voice, “This once belonged to someone,” he paused, fighting back the old emotions. “Someone very dear to me. I’d like you to have it.”

     Her eyes lit up at the sight of it as she perked up in her bed, but she hesitated, giving him a guilty look as she said, “But… It’s your birthday, not mine. And I’m afraid I have nothing to give you.”

     “Your time is more valuable to me than any gift anyone could.” He said, smiling, his outstretched arm trembling under the weight of the bear.

     Still she was reluctant to accept, drawing from the old man a choke of laughter tainted with frustration as he insisted in a tone that was almost a plea, “Please, Sidney, just take it.”

     Excitedly, she grabbed the toy and pulled it in for a deep, long embrace.

     Gerald turned his walker so he could sit on the seat it was equipped with. Again he smiled, admiring the girl. “You know, that bear has not been held like that in many years.”

     Nearly hopping with exuberance that made Gerald exhausted even to watch, the girl held the stuffed animal against her cheek and sang, “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

     “You are very welcome, my dear.”

     After a moment, she flashed him a curious look and asked, “Could you maybe, tell me another story?”

     Gerald gave her a tired glance in return, feigning irresolution.

     “Please!” she pleaded, squeezing the bear in her arms. “They make me feel… strong.”

     The old man then conceded with a weary smile, saying, “Oh alright.” Then he began, “Once, long ago…”

     Tales of his life’s triumphs, and fantasies about warriors and pirates and mermaids filled her mind with wonder. He wove her a web of imagination that expanded beyond time and the universe, and before long she was sound asleep. He left, praying he would have the chance to tell her just one more story in the morning, and yet one more still. 

#

     Hours had come; hours had gone, the days and nights quick to follow. No more than a month had passed before her condition grew worse, no more than a dream away had she been in Gerald’s life. It was only then he had learned why he came to like the sweet, gregarious little girl. After a century of breathing, seeing three women that he so adored slip from his fingers, and carrying on with a life he no longer cherished, he found a friend who reminded him how to love again. This innocent little girl found death before a man whom has lived well beyond his years could even find happiness. Through his tales, he knew, she lived ages, and through her alacrity personality he rediscovered his own worth. So young she passed, never knowing her first kiss, never worrying of taxes, or stressing over traffic, or paying bills; wanting only to be a child, and to have a friend to play with. Though Gerald wasn’t much for playing games, he was however particularly fond of telling stories, and that seemed quite enough for her. She would oooh and awe, asking how and why, always intrigued, always listening. She feared sleep, and often begged Gerald to stay up past his hour to tell her the tales of a man who had a full life to live. He never quite understood why, until it was too late… always when it was too late.  

     One morning a knock came at his door. The medical-assistant walked in and announced, “Mr. Heidrich,” she let it hang, as scornful women often did when uttering a name that which they so very much despise. “You have a visitor.”

     She helped him out of his bed and after he had found his balance upon his walker he made for the door, allowing Mrs. Donohue to lead the way.

     A young lady in a red and black dress was waiting; her flowing blond hair held back in a bun, her heavy curls hanging at either side of her scalp like spiraling Christmas tree ornaments. In her hand she was carrying the gift he had given to Sidney: the rainbow bear.

     He nodded to Mrs. Donohue, and said, “Thank you, Nurse, Ash.” The ‘ly’ of her formal maiden name, ‘Ashley,’ lost to him by his nagging contempt. “Ill take it from here.”

     “Its Mrs. Donohue…” She snapped.

     “Don’t you have a few years of collage to complete somewhere?” he fired back.

     Groaning, she stomped off down the hall, muttering her disdain as always.

     Gerald gave his visitor a contrite glance. “I’m sorry about that. How can I help you?”

     “Are you Gerald Heidrich?” She inquired, her voice like smooth silk to his ears.

     “Yes, I am.”

     “I…” She stammered, her face turning flush. “I’m Denise Wright… Sidney’s mother.”

     “Oh, I am so very deeply sorry for your loss.” He said with dolor, wondering how white his face had just gone. “She was a friend.”

     “I know.” She was looking down at the bear now, trying to contain her sorrow; it was a look that he was quite familiar with himself. “She talked about you moments before her passing. She made me promise that I return this to you.” She held up the toy. “She kept saying that Macy wants you to have it… That Macy wants you to remember that she is still with you; that they all are.”

     If it hadn’t gone white before, he was surer than not as pale as a ghost in that moment. He swallowed hard, his quivering hands reaching to accept the stuffed-animal.

     “If you don’t mind me asking,” The woman said. “Who is Macy?”

     “M…my…” His words were caught in his throat. “My grand daughter. She passed years ago.”

     Wiping the tears from her own eyes she said, “Oh, I’m sorry.” She paused, thinking. “Sidney told us how she made a friend who had so many wonderful stories. Must have come from something you shared with her.”

     His own eyes welling, he shook his head and said, “No, I never told her about Macy.”

     A chill raced down Denise’s spine as she recalled her daughter’s very last words before drifting off into listlessness.

     The memory came back to her like a haunting dream before one was ever aware that they had fallen asleep.

What little strength the girl had to spare she stretched her finger out to touch her mother’s arm. Tears moistened her cheeks as she took her small, cold hand into the warmth of hers and asked, “What is it, darling?”

“Mommy…” Sidney breathed weakly, hot with fever. “Can I go play now? Macy wants to play.”

She leaned in and kissed her on the forehead, her sorrow dripping upon her daughters pink little nose. Forcing a smile she said, “Go on, Sidney. Go play.”

She imagined they were the hardest words a mother could ever say to a child. When the heart monitor screamed, and her hand went still, she knew it was true. Her mother moved in to rest her head upon her daughter’s quiet chest, crying. Her elbow knocked into the teddy bear at her side, sending it tumbling to the floor. When it had fallen, there came a faint sound on the languid air like the sigh of waves crashing on a somnolent shore. Denise perked her ears, and lifted her head. She swore she heard something over the flat-lining… something like children laughing in play.