Date: Mon, 11 Mar 2024 13:27:09 -0500
From: ronyx@themustardjar.com
Subject: Window Stories     Chapter 1

The following is a work of fiction. Any similarities to anyone are
purely coincidental. The story is intended for a mature audience. It may
contain profanity and references to gay sex. If this offends you, please
leave and find something more suitable to read. Ronyx stories are
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not copy or use without written permission. Ronyx is a prolific Nifty
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Window Stories    Chapter 1


When I opened my eyes, the room was dark. I turned onto my side and
looked at the clock on the wall. It was only 5:36. "Damn," I grumbled. I
hate waking up so early. I can never go back to sleep, and it just makes
the day longer.

I sat up and looked around the sparsely furnished room. I had been here
at St. Joseph's Elderly Care Center for almost eight months. And I hate
it. It was hard giving up my home that I had lived in for twenty-eight
years, but I had no choice. Now at seventy-eight, I can no longer take
care of myself. I had a stroke two years ago that partially paralyzed me
from my waist down. I have been making progress, and I have managed to
get around in my wheelchair. Nine months ago, I tried to stand and get
something out of the refrigerator freezer and fell. I lay for two days
until a worried neighbor called the police and asked for them to do a
safety check on me. If they hadn't, I would probably be dead today. I
had broken my hip in the fall, and I couldn't crawl across the kitchen
to the living room where my phone was. I drifted in and out of
consciousness afraid that I was going to die. I was relieved when the
police pounded on my door. I was able to faintly cry out, and they
busted down the door. I was taken to the hospital and remained there for
two days. My son, Roger, made the decision that I should not return
home. Instead, I was transported here to St. Joseph's. I have hated
every day since then.

I now wish that I had died then. As I lay on the kitchen floor that day,
I prayed that I would not die. However, if I had known what the
remainder of my life would be like, I would not have cried out for the
police to help me. Death would have been better than my current
miserable existence. I refuse to let my son visit. I blame him for my
current situation. I have begged him to let me return home. I have
enough money to hire a caretaker. But he refuses. He says I am better
off here. He doesn't have to worry about me anymore. Selfish bastard. He
enjoys his life while I wither away in here with nothing to do but lie
in this bed. I'm moved around constantly so that I don't develop
bedsores.

I squinted when the overhead lights came on. "You're awake," smiled Mrs.
Sullivan, my morning nurse. She walked over and plopped my pillow up.
"How are you feeling this morning, Mr. Reid?"

"When are you going to start calling me Phil?" I asked harshly. "I feel
like an object when you call me Mr. Reid."

"I'm sorry," apologized Mrs. Sullivan. "It's just that the
administrators prefer that we call you that. They say it shows respect."

"I think it's disrespectful when you won't comply with my wishes," I
grumbled.

She leaned down and whispered softly in my ear, "Okay, Phil." She stood
back and smiled. "However," she added. "If someone else is in the room,
I'll have to call my Mr. Reid. Is that okay with you?"

"Yes," I replied. "I guess it will do." I watched as she flitted around
the room tidying things up. Mrs. Sullivan is in her mid-thirties, I
would guess. She's rather heavy, and she complains that her feet are
always killing her. She has told me all about her family. I think she
believes that it will make me feel better if she includes me in her
family affairs. She has a girl who is twelve and a boy who is fifteen.
The boy is beginning to cause her problems. He feels that he is at the
age where he can make his own decisions. She says they argue constantly.
Her husband is a plumber, and she says that he tries to stay uninvolved
in raising their children. She spends most mornings complaining about
what is happening in their home. There have been many times I just
wanted to tell her that I really don't give a damn, but she is so sweet
that I don't want to hurt her feelings. So, I just pretend that I
listen, and I'll nod if she looks over and asks me, "Don't you think
so?"

This morning, she was worried that her son might be smoking marijuana.
She says he came in from school yesterday acting weird, and he had a
funny smell on his clothing. "Have you ever smoked marijuana?" she asks.

I hesitated a few minutes before responding. Of course, I've smoked
weed. I was around in the sixties when it was popular. Joints were
passed around at every party I attended. When I went out to the clubs,
several of us would sneak out back for a quick smoke. "Yeah," I
confessed. "I've smoked weed."

"What does it smell like?"

I shrugged my shoulders. I was concerned that if I told her, it might be
the smell she recognized on her son. If he is smoking, I didn't want to
be the one to confirm his mother's suspicions. "I don't know," I
replied. "I guess it has kind of an earthy smell. I don't know how to
describe it."

"Does it smell like cigarette smoke?" she asked.

I replied, "No, nothing like cigarettes. It has a heavier smell."

She walked into the bathroom complaining. "I still think he's getting
high," she muttered from inside. "His eyes even looked funny when I
confronted him." I was fairly sure that her son was probably smoking the
wacky tobacky, but I didn't want to tell her.

I sighed when she finally left. I picked up the television remote to
find something to watch. It is difficult for me to find anything
interesting. My life was always so busy that I seldom had time to sit
idly on the sofa and watch television. I was one of the rare people who
didn't even have cable television in my home. I used a home antenna to
get local programming. I did like to watch the evening news at eleven so
that I would at least know what was going on in my community and the
world. I received most of my other news on internet websites.

I briefly fell asleep while watching a morning talk show. I was awakened
when Mrs. Sullivan entered the room. "Breakfast order," she said with a
smile as she handed me the menu for today's meals.

I looked it over and told her I would have my usual two fried eggs,
three slices of bacon, whole wheat toast and coffee. I also ordered my
lunch and dinner meals. Lunch would be an egg salad sandwich, fries and
a soda. The dinner options didn't look appetizing. I finally decided on
the meat loaf, mashed potatoes and peas. I hate the days they serve meat
loaf. It is always bland, dry and tastes like shoe leather. Mrs.
Sullivan told me she would be back in twenty minutes with my breakfast.

The rest of my morning was as boring as breakfast. I left half of it
untouched. Mrs. Sullivan clicked her tongue when she picked up the tray
and left the room. I hate it when she does that. It is so condescending.
Sometimes I get the feeling that she hates attending to me. I know I
don't have the sweetest disposition. However, I have the right to be
angry. Let her become old and disabled, and then spend the rest of her
life lying in a bed with others waiting on her.

Does she really think I enjoy this? She knows nothing about me. I wasn't
always like this. I've been independent since I left home at eighteen. I
fought and struggled hard all my life. It wasn't easy- or pretty.
However, against all odds, I survived. I think back at some of the
mistakes I made and think that I should have died years ago. But I was a
fighter. I was always smart, and I struggled financially to make it
through college. I have forgotten more than what Mrs. Sullivan and some
of my other attendants ever learned. Yet all they see is an old man
lying in bed waiting to die.

The worst part of my day is my physical therapy sessions. Jason, a
rather young black man in his mid-twenties helps me out of bed and takes
me in a wheelchair to the therapy room. I usually spend about forty
minutes doing exercises while lying on a mat. I lost the ability to walk
when I had my stroke, so they don't attempt to make me do any mobility
exercises. When I finish, Jason picks me up, puts me in my wheelchair
and then brings me back to the room. I'm usually so exhausted that I
sleep for the next couple of hours. I spend the rest of my day watching
television, eating dinner and after my evening pills, I fall restlessly
asleep.

I awoke the next morning with a mild headache. I hadn't slept well.
Every time I closed my eyes, I had flashbacks of my life- the things
that were. It is funny how you remember something so minor, yet at the
time it seemed important. Last night I kept thinking about the time that
my wife, Eloise, and I argued about which flowers we would plant in the
flower bed. Like all our stupid arguments, it ended up in a huge fight.
She stormed inside and didn't talk to me for a day only because I wanted
day lilies and she wanted to plant beds of roses.

Like clockwork, Mrs. Sullivan entered at seven to take my meal orders.
She was a little more cheerful this morning. "You may have a visitor
this morning," she announced as she helped me sit up in bed.

I gave her a skeptical look and asked, "Who?" I figured she would tell
me it was my ungrateful son. It had been about two months since his last
visit. He only came then because he wanted me to cosign a car loan for
him.

"I don't know much," she said as she looked at her clipboard. "It only
says that a Colin Anderson will be here around nine."

I tried to remember if I knew anyone by the name of Colin. He wasn't a
family member, and I couldn't recall a student by that name. "I don't
know a Colin Anderson," I said. "I've told you people before that I
don't want visitors."

"I know, Phil," remarked Mrs. Sullivan soothingly as she placed her hand
gently on my arm. "This is coming from the home administrator. It
appears that he is the one who authorized Mr. Anderson's visit."

"Well," I complained. "Unless he is going to take me away from this
unpleasant place, then I don't care to see him."

Mrs. Sullivan smiled down and patted my arm. "It isn't that bad here, is
it Phil?"

"It's not all that great," I grumbled as I turned my head and pretended
to fall asleep.

I spent the rest of the morning trying to figure out who is Colin
Anderson. My memory isn't as good as it used to be, so he could be
anyone. I've come across thousands of people over the years. He could be
anyone. I was going to tell Mr. Maxwell, the home administrator, to
cancel his visit. However, I was curious to see what he wanted. Besides,
a visitor might be a distraction from my mundane life.

I was watching a movie on television when someone rapped softly on my
door. "Come in," I shouted out. When the door opened, Mr. Maxwell
entered with a young man following behind him. He appeared to be about
twenty-five years old. He was well-dressed, but he didn't have on a
suit. He appeared to be about six feet tall with blond hair and
hazel-colored eyes. I found him to be very striking in his appearance.

"Phil," smiled Mr. Maxwell as he extended his hand to me. "It is good to
see you." He tried to act like we were old friends, but I had only
spoken to him a few times since coming here. He turned and put his hand
on the young man's back and pushed him to the side of my bed. "I want
you to meet Colin Anderson."

Colin meekly extended his hand to me. His grip was soft and gentle,
unlike Mr. Sullivan's strong grip. "Hello, Mr. Reid," said the young
man. "It is nice to meet you."

His face reddened as I stared at him. "I'm sorry," I finally spoke, "but
I don't seem to know you."

Mr. Sullivan laughed slightly and said, "Of course you don't, Phil." He
turned and looked at the young man before speaking. "Colin is on the
staff of Brother Love."

"Brother Love?" I asked skeptically. It seemed to be an odd name, and I
wasn't familiar with whatever organization he belonged to.

Colin stepped to the side of the bed, looked down and slightly smiled.
"Brother Love is an elderly care provider. We go into facilities to
administer social therapy and other services to elderly patients."

I remarked sharply, "I get all the care I need here. I don't see what
good it will be to have you helping me."

Mr. Sullivan walked up beside him. "Relax. Phil," he said soothingly.
"Hear Colin out before you decide."

Colin's face reddened as he cleared his throat. "Mr. Reid," he said.
"Brother Love is an organization that offers help to gay and lesbian
patients." He seemed extremely nervous. He looked over at Mr. Sullivan
who nodded and told him to continue.

"Studies show that the needs of gay and lesbian patients are often
overlooked. I'm here to ensure that you have a caretaker who understands
you." He turned to Mr. Sullivan and then continued. "I'm sure that St.
Joseph doesn't discriminate against patients, but there still may be
other activities that I may be able to offer you." He grinned and asked,
"Do you play chess?"

"No," I replied courteously. My mind was racing. I should be offended
that Mr. Sullivan had called in a gay organization. I made it explicit
when I entered that my sexuality should remain secret. I had been
involved in many groups over the years that dealt with gay
discrimination. I didn't want it to become an issue now. I wanted to die
with a peaceful mind.

However, I was intrigued by the idea of having someone who I could
confide in. Even though Colin appeared to be fifty years my junior, my
first impression was that he was a pleasant person. It would be nice to
have someone to talk to rather than Mrs. Sullivan talking about her
children all the time.

Colin reached down and touched my arm. "What do you think, Phil?" He
smiled gently before asking, "Would you like me to stay?"

"Why?" I asked skeptically. "Why would a young man like you want to help
an old gay fool like me?"

"You're not an old gay fool," he smiled warmly as he squeezed my arm.
"You're a gay brother, and we support each other."

Tears began to well up in my eyes. I saw a younger me in Colin. It is
one of the reasons I became a school counselor. I wanted to help those
less fortunate who needed a strong shoulder to lean on when times were
hard. Colin squeezed my arm again. "Well, Phil. Can I say?"

I heard myself mumble, "Yes." I don't know why, though. Colin could
upset everything I had planned. I was going to end my final days alone
in a cold and solitary life. I wasn't sure what would happen with
Colin's unexpected appearance.

Mr. Sullivan shook Colin's hand. "I'll leave you two alone to talk," he
said as he turned and left the room. Colin pulled a chair up beside the
bed.

"Thank you, Phil," he said. He then asked, "Do you mind if I call you
Phil? I like to be on a first name basis with people. And I would prefer
that you call me Colin."

"No," I replied. "I have no problem with you calling me Phil." I was
becoming nervous. Colin was extremely attractive. I wished that I could
turn back the clock to when I was a young man again. I would definitely
be hitting on him. Suddenly, a sadness overwhelmed me. I was no longer a
young man. I was an old man whose body lay withered and broken in a
hospital bed. Beside me was a young man who was just starting out in
life. What could he offer me that could help? His mere presence now
saddened me. I turned my head as tears began to fall down my cheek.

Colin stood over my bed when he noticed my sudden mood change. "Are you
okay, Phil."

I muttered softly as my body was turned from his, "Perhaps it would be
better if you left."

Colin rubbed my back gently and replied, "I understand, Phil." He
continued to rub my back. "I was a little boy when I watched my
grandfather die. He often told me how he felt growing old. That's why I
do what I do now." I could tell that he was crying. "I promised him that
I would help others as they faced the depression he was going though."

"You have no idea," I remarked sadly as I wiped tears from my eyes.

"No," Colin replied. "I have an idea. I just haven't personally
experienced it yet. But I was able to see things through my
grandfather's eyes, and he was able to see things through my eyes."

I turned and asked, "What do you mean?"

He smiled as his eyes glistened with tears. "Without him, I would never
have been strong enough to make it."

I smiled and replied, "He sounds like he was a wonderful man."

"The best," replied Colin as he wiped his eyes dry. He smiled and said,
"I think we are going to get along great. You remind me of him."

I laughed and said, "Wait until you get to know me better."

"Tell me about you then," he suggested.

"No," I replied. "I want you to go first. Tell me about Colin Anderson."

"What do you want to know?"

My face reddened as I responded, "You're an extremely handsome young
man. I'm sure you have a boyfriend somewhere waiting at home for you."

"No," he replied. "I'm not out yet."

"Not out yet?" I asked unbelievably. "You work for a gay senior care
provider. How can they not know you're out?"

He replied, "Brother Love is just one of the services we provide. Not
all our patients are gay. Most are straight. In fact, I volunteered to
help you when I found out you were gay."

"I don't understand."

"Our company had a meeting two weeks ago. A gay center approached with
the idea of Brother Love and asked if we could provide our services for
gay patients. My boss, Mr. Zimmers, was going to deny helping when no
one would volunteer. I felt bad knowing that I was gay, and I couldn't
help another gay person. I went to Mr. Zimmers later that day and told
him I would volunteer. He didn't ask me if I'm gay, but I think he
suspects." He smiled and added, "So, that's how I came to be here."

"Very brave of you," I said. I asked, "How old are you?"

"Twenty-four," he replied.

"Don't you feel you're going to jeopardize yourself by being here?"

"I don't care anymore," he said. "I've been wanting to come out for a
long time." He smiled and added, "Maybe you can help me do that."

"I thought you were here to help me?" I laughed.

He smiled and said, "We can help each other. Now tell me, when did you
first know you were gay?"

I shook my head and asked, "You sure you want to hear this?"

"Yes, please," he replied. "I want you to tell me all about your life. I
read a little about you. You've lived an interesting life. You went to
college and became a school counselor. You married and had a son. Then,
you got a divorce and lived a gay life. I want to hear all about it."

I sat back and sighed. Did I really want to do this? If I told Colin
everything, then old deep wounds would be opened. The scabs had
hardened, and it had been years since I faced them. I survived it all,
and I didn't forget. Only during sleepless nights do I revisit them. And
then I wake up sad and depressed.

"Are you okay, Phil?" asked Colin.

"Yes," I assured him. "I'm fine." I lay back and looked at the ceiling.
Finally, I spoke, "I'm an old man now. My life has flashed by much
faster than I expected it to." I looked over at him and continued, "I
was a young buck like you. I thought I owned the world. There was
nothing I couldn't do. Then one day, I woke up, and it was all gone.
Now, I'm a shell of a man lying in this bed. I remember my life now as
if I'm looking out of a window. Streaks of my life flash by me. I try to
open the window and catch them, but the window won't open. So, I sit and
watch them, and I wonder did it really happen, or was it just a dream."

I turned and asked, "So, you want to know when I first knew I was gay?"
Colin nodded his head.

I turned and looked out the window. A cute young Black boy smiled and
waved at me.

*********

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