Royce
“I knew you’d come,” the old man cackled as he wrapped bony fingers around Jerry’s arm.
“Here, come in here,” the old man dragged Jerry toward an open doorway. Jerry looked down to where the old guy had a hold of him. Damn, this old bastard’s got some grip. Jerry planted his feet and stood firm in the hallway.
“What can I do for you, pops?” Jerry asked, trying to reclaim his arm.
“Come on Jimmy . . . come in and sit down,” the old man let loose of Jerry’s arm and turned away. His arthritic fingers clawed the door frame as he made his way into the room. Tall at one time, the elderly gentleman walked in the stooped manner of a man in some pain. He began to reach for the footboard of his bed long before he actually got to it. Jerry could hear his labored breathing across the tiled floor.
“Huu, huu, huu,” he whistled, settling onto his bed. “Don’t just stand there boy, get in. . ,” he began coughing violently. The man bent over as if he might roll off the bed, his back heaved up and down with each tortured cough, while his feet tattooed the tiled floor. Jerry blinked at the gagging man for a moment before he turned and looked for someone to help. An old lady, bent over her walker, scraped down the otherwise empty hallway. There wasn’t a doctor or nurse in sight.
“Shit,” Jerry stepped back across the room and laid his hand on the old man’s bucking back.
“Take some deep breaths,” said Jerry. He rubbed the old man’s back. Slowly his coughing subsided and leaning over a green plastic wastebasket standing at his feet, the old man spit out a wad of phlegm.
“Take a deep breath – that’s some good advice for a dying man.” The old man leaned back on the bed. “Hell, you oughta be a doctor.”
“Would you like me to go find a doctor?” asked Jerry.
The old man shook his head slowly, disgusted.
“Doctor – that’s a hoot. Ain’t no doctors ‘round here boy. Doctors only come to this hell-hole to sign Medicare papers and pick up their checks. Now orderlies, we got all kinds of them thievin’ bastards . . . put a guy on a bed pan then stand right there in front of him and go through his drawers.” He put his hand on Jerry’s arm and lowered his voice, “Then they’ll call you a liar and walk outta this place with every damn thing you own.”
The old man sighed, resigned to his fate. Jerry looked about the room. Plush drapes adorned the windows, an easy chair sat along the far wall across from a small TV angled to afford a view to both the chair and the bed. An oak dresser stood directly adjacent to the bed, a matching oak wardrobe flanked the entrance to the room. This was not the furnishings of a poor man. It seemed unlikely a place like Northside Riverdale Care Facilities would employ thieves. Jerry ruminated about his grandmother’s last years in a nursing home far different from this one. That nursing home flat out told the family to take all of Grandma’s valuables with them when they left. It was expected that these items would be stolen otherwise. It was amazing, come to think of it, how easily we accepted that admission of dishonesty. Were we just so relieved to find someplace that would take her?
“Gimme a cigarette.” The old man broke into Jerry’s daydream.
“Huh?”
“A cigarette, gotta cigarette?” The old eyes looked hopefully into Jerry’s.
“I’m sorry I don’t smoke – never did.” Jerry apologized.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah good for you. Next time bring cigarettes.”
“Next time?” What the hell? “Look, you need…,” Jerry longed for the doorway, he longed for the comfort of his car, he longed for anywhere but here. “You sure you don’t want me to get someone for you, a nurse or a doctor maybe?”
The old man reared back and looked at Jerry as if he was seeing him for the first time. Clear green eyes glittered through the cough-induced tears. Something lay beyond those eyes. Something unpredictable. Jerry stepped back.
“God Jimmy, I don’t remember you being so damn stupid.”
Jerry’s face flushed. “Now you hold on there old-timer,” said Jerry stabbing his finger at the old man’s face. “My name isn’t Jimmy and I don’t need any crap from you.” Jerry turned to leave.
This is what you get when you try to help, no good deed shall go unpunished. Marty’s always said that and she’s right.
“Jimmy!”
Jerry wheeled around.
“Jerry.” Spat the younger man. “My name is Jerry. Look, I don’t know who the hell you think I am but – ” Jerry threw his arms up. “forget it man just….forget it.” He turned back for the door. This is crazy, I must be nuts trying to talk to this senile old. . .
“Don’t you dare walk away from me young man!” thundered the old man.
Jerry stopped in mid-stride, he could hear his pulse thrumming in his ears.
“I’m still your father, boy, and I can still whip your ass!” The old man was off the bed now and advancing on Jerry. His wild green eyes flashed. The power of the past became the power of the present and Jerry experienced fear long since forgotten as he stood there; the surrogate son of this deranged, angry, disturbed man. The old man stopped inches away from Jerry’s face.
“I was climbing stairs with jukeboxes on my back since before you were born. Think whatever you want about me boy but don’t you ever think you can just walk away from Royce Stilson!”
Sour breath wafted across Jerry’s face as the old man’s chest heaved in and out, white hair traced along the dome of his liver spotted scalp and lay plastered along the sun weathered creases on his forehead. For the briefest of moments, Jerry saw the younger man’s image hidden beneath the paper thin flesh of Royce Stilson.
“How old are you, sir?” Jerry didn’t know why he had asked his age. It just popped out of his mouth.
Royce’s shoulders suddenly dropped and his eyes flicked away from the younger man’s face. Turning back to his bed, Royce spoke, “I’m eighty-two this August you’d know – maybe you’d a known that if you’d come around more often.” He dropped on the bed.
“It’s my fault isn’t it?” Royce nodded sadly his eyes searching Jerry’s face, “Ok, yeah, well you’re right goddammit, Jimmy it’s all my fault.” Royce leaned forward and sobbed into his hands.
“Let me get someone to help you,” offered Jerry. The sobbing continued. “Royce,” Jerry raised his voice, “look I’m just going out in the hall for a
second – I won’t be long.”
“No, son please,” Royce dropped his hands. “you gotta understand, I never believed for a minute it would turn out this way. She was my wife!” The old man’s hands trembled before his face as he pleaded.
Jerry tried to explain, “Royce you don’t – I’m not your son, Royce. I’m not.”
“She was my WIFE! They had threatened before but I never thought they’d actually do it. Balducci hisself, Johnny Balducci stood on my – our front porch and told me everything was fixed. He lied to me and I believed him. God help me, I believed him Jimmy. ”
Royce’s lower jaw trembled as he relived the betrayal.
“You gotta understand, Jimmy she was everything to me just like she was everything to you. When they killed her . . .when they. . . oh Jesus, they killed me too.” Pain shimmered straight away from Royce, filling the room and clamping around Jerry’s stammering heart.
Oh man, this is bad. Jerry spun on his heels and shot for the door. As he turned into the hallway he heard Royce’s shout:
“But I got every one of those bastards Jimmy, they’re all in hell.”
Marty saw him burst from the building, pushing the doors wide, he took three steps and then stopped. Stopped like he forgot something.
For a minute she thought he was going to go back inside, he just stood there looking back at the glass doors. Twice she put her hand on the door handle to get out and twice she decided against it.
Finally her husband turned and walked across the parking lot, shoulders slumped, he didn’t look at her as he pulled the door open and dropped into the passenger seat.
She gave him until they were on I-94 and he still hadn’t spoken. Marty wasn’t going to wait forever, “So I guess it didn’t go so good, huh?”
He shook his head sadly. “Ah – he’s crazier than I thought, honey.”
“What? Did you guys fight …is he sick? Come on don’t make me pull it out of you.”
“He’s got Alzheimers I guess, hell he didn’t even recognize me Mart.. I knew this was a mistake.” he sighed deeply and turned his face to the window.
“Oh no, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you into this,” Marty clucked her tongue and stole a glance across the car to see her husband’s face, “Wow, Royce with old-timers disease, who’d of thought that would ever happen to him?”
“Yeah well, you can’t say we didn’t try,” he said. “Let’s go home.”
“Maybe it’s better this way,” She reached over and took his hand in hers. “ya think?”
“Yeah I think.” said Jimmy Stilson.