Remembering The Park by Michael Seale (Chapter 1)

 Logline: Suffering from Alzheimer's and unable to recognize those around him, an elderly gentleman recounts meeting the love of his life to his caregiver, and is able to relive these precious moments before he passes on because of the sketches a stranger draws.

Chapter 1

We strolled along the sun-filled streets of Zurich, holding hands and laughing. The sun directly overhead cast only slim shadows around our feet. I remember, or at least I believe I remembered, the sun being brighter that day; the birds singing louder, the ice cream tasting sweeter. I fell in love with her that afternoon, ice cream dripping over our chins and hands, although I wouldn’t tell her for some time to come. That day, she was more than beautiful; she was radiant with life. Her eyes green with flecks of chestnut sparkled in the afternoon sun. Her long-burnished hair pulled tightly into a bun, the way she would wear it for the next forty years at my side, shimmered. The day was hot, perfect for the ice cream and window shopping. Hers was chocolate, she always got chocolate, I believe I had lemon that day. It was cold, tart and sweet. The city was enormous and yet felt small; it was old and new at the same time. On the Bahnhofstrasse lay a long stretch of various stores. Closest to the train station were the less expensive ones, and the further we moved up the street the more expensive the stores become. I asked her if she wished for the expensive items in the window. She said she had everything she needed already. She squeezed my hand tighter. We walked along, holding hands, avoiding the occasional tram that rumbled by. Tourists and locals wandered this way and that. The throng of people made our progress slow, but that was alright. We had time. After a while the street ended at a T and we stood looking down onto a river. The river Limmat meandered its way through the heart of the city. On the other side lay the Niederdorf and the Bellvue. A long footbridge transverses the Limmat, allowing the large ships to cruise below. Drifting alongside of them, a few sailboats and paddlers crossed the wavy waters. We stood at the end of the street, taking in the city’s beauty. Oblivious to the sounds and swarms of the bustling tourists, we were the only ones in the world at that moment. I had forgotten everyone and everything around us. Her green eyes filled me, she saw me. I let go of all my macho mannerisms and let her in. She touched my cheek and smiled.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“About you, about us.” I replied.

“And?”

I laughed and told her how perfect it had all been. We walked closer to the causeway where an artificial beach full with people lay on blankets strewn about in the sun along with children swimming and laughing. We stood on the long wooden pier watching everything move about. The throng of people busily moved here and there, like ants frantically gathering food, I felt small, just a little insignificant person in such a vast world.

Between us, we had no money for expensive dates. But that was more than ok. We would one day, I knew right then there would be many more dates, and many more afternoons lazily walking through a city, eyeing all the things we could not afford and not missing them one bit. I kissed her there at the edge of the pier; it wasn’t our first kiss, tasting the chocolate on her lips. They tasted sweet and bitter at the same moment. She smiled up at me and said something in her thick dialect. I did not understand what she said. She repeated herself in English.

“The afternoon was perfect,” she said in her strong accented English.

“Yes, it was,” I replied.

“You are going to be late, again,” she said with a smile.

Since we had met, I was late almost every day, when she was around. The afternoon had been perfect. We held each other a moment longer. Neither of us wanting to let go. The waves lapped against the wooden posts. Perfectly white swans and pretty little ducks swam around the water’s edge eagerly, waiting for bits of bread the tourists tossed into the water. She pressed her head against my chest.

“When will I see you again?” I asked.

“Soon,” my shirt muffled her reply.

I stared out at the water, not knowing what to say, I kissed her again, tasting the sweet, smooth chocolate on her lips. We turned together without a word and made our back through the throng of people and towards the train station. There we kissed once more, just as my train arrived. She waved as I sat by the window. My smile followed me the rest of the afternoon.

****

“How long ago was that, Mr. Davis?” the young nurse asked.

“Oh, that was some time ago, if I would have to guess, it was about sixty-four years ago. But I remember it like it was yesterday.” the older man replied. “Please, call me Charlie.”

“But you know, I’m not allowed too.” she replied with a smile. “You loved your wife, very much.”

“Yes, we married sixty-one years ago.”

They sat together in the small fenced in park behind the residence; it was a welcome addition to the hospital like setting where he lived. Large trees, scattered benches, a field where dogs and children could run about, all clean and close by so the residents could have a bit of nature in the middle of the city. It had become a large part of his daily ritual. He got up around four in the morning, to relieve himself, and then sat in his rocker chair listening to the radio tuned to the news and snoozed some until six. At six, the nurse would come in to check on him and give him his morning pills. One for this and one for that, Charlie had long forgotten why he took them. But took them he did, every day without protest. After that, it was the short walk to the common room. Charlie had begun to think that the short walk was taking longer and longer each day. The common room was just that it was common. The room was the same the world over. Older chairs and sofas, a lone TV, board games, card games, years old magazines for those of us that can still read, thought Charlie. This early in the morning, the room sparsely visited. The old TV, permanently tuned to a news channel with the same old cronies watching every morning and discussing, every morning, why a woman was reporting the news. It didn’t matter what year it was or how many years the same woman had reported the news. To them, a man reported the news. But they all agreed on one thing, and that was the reporter was very attractive. Sometimes Charlie wasn’t sure who they were. Other times he called them by name. He seemed to forget more and more lately. It didn’t worry him; he was old; he knew that. It was normal to forget a name or two, or to lose your train of thought when you walked into a room. These were the things he told himself, maybe they were lies, or stretches of the truth. When you are as old as he was, it didn’t hurt to lie to yourself now and then. After sitting in the common room and drinking his now decaf coffee, he knew the nurses switched him to decaf; he didn’t care anymore. The coffee in the residence was always hot and bitter, Charlie would stare out the window and watch the world wake up. He realized that that is nice when you are old; you have time, time to watch the others rush. And rush they did. The younger generation was always busy, no one had time anymore. They never realized how much they missed by rushing around, Charlie thought.

He liked the nurses, of course he had ones he liked more than others. Marie was his favorite, she reminded him of his daughter. Headstrong, pretty, a bit of a Tom boy and she had a great sense of humor. Agunda was his least. Just as her name was ugly, so was she. He didn’t think that she was ugly physically, but perhaps inside she was. She was rude and lacked empathy with the residents. It was as if she was there as a punishment for them. Charlie tried at all costs to avoid Agunda, but that was not always possible. When he could, he chose Marie. Of course, some other residents tried to steal her away from him, but usually she accompanied him on his daily walks. Some days she had no time or the head nurse wanted her to do something other than sit with an old man, but most days she did. Some days Agunda forbade him to go for his walk, for this reason or that. He usually ignored her and wondered out into the park by himself the moment she turned her back. But that seemed to be a bit more dangerous of late. Sometimes he forgot where he was and that scared him. They rarely walked far; he wasn’t able too. His legs carried him as far as they could, and that was usually the second bench in the wooded park down the street.

And here they sat side by side, a wrinkled old man, with a wisp of white hair that refused to fall out and liver spots doting his crown, alongside an attractive young woman that could very well be his great-granddaughter. Charlie would be eighty-five at the end of the year. He was still tall, if not hunched a little, his once dirty blonde hair had given out and turned an ivory white some years back, most of it was gone now, leaving only a trace of his former mane. In his younger years his eyes were the clearest of blues, some said they looked like marbles of light on the Caribbean seaside, other times they were as blue as the bluest sky. What they always were, even now, was kind. He had the kindest of eyes, always smiling, in fact his wrinkles smiled with him. Where many of the older gentlemen that lived at the Oak Hearst Living Facilities, had eyes that had lost their sparkle or perhaps some of them never even had one, thought Marie, Charlie seemed to have never lost his. He differed from the others. Most days were good for him, but even on his bad days he was happier than most. He seemed to laugh most of the time, and when he did, his entire face lit up. It was like watching an enchanted child opening presents on Christmas morning.

            Marie sat next to Charlie or Mr. Davis as protocol prescribed her to call him, quietly. She thought about her life and if she would ever have someone by her side like Mr. Davis. He was certainly a handsome man, and even though his mind is leaving him and his wife died some time ago, he still loved her. She wondered if anyone would ever love her like that. She knew that her current boyfriend certainly didn’t. If you could even call him her boyfriend. He was more than just an excuse not to be alone. Not that he was horrible or anything, but she knew there was no future there. Her mom told her that repeatedly, along with her best friend. A man definitely did not define her. She was her own person, but she wanted to be with someone like Charlie, Mr. Davis. She didn’t dream of being swept off her feet by prince charming or even falling in love at first sight, but she wanted a family and she wanted to grow old with someone, it was just a matter of finding that someone she thought. Marie snapped out of her daydreaming as Mr. Davis mumbled.

“Where have you been, sweetheart?” he asked, his words a little slurred.

“Mr. Davis?”

“Johnny’s been gone a long time now, has he called?”

“Your son has passed on.” She realized he was lost for the moment. His mind wandered off, leaving him alone to grasp on to old memories, lost conversations with loved ones long passed. “Johnny passed away.”

“No, he went back to the States to study, that’s all.”

“Mr. Davis, it’s time to go back inside.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart, do you want to get an ice cream later? We could go back down to the pier and watch the sailboats float by.”

Marie didn’t say a word. No matter how long she worked here, these moments always broke her heart. She hated to watch as her favorites faded away. But they always did, that’s why they were here, there was no stopping it. She realized her job was just to make it as comfortable for them as possible. Marie took Mr. Davis by the arm and led him down the gravel path and back towards the home. He didn’t say another word, just hummed a tune happily as he shuffled his feet. His smile never faltered. His feet shuffled on, humming, eyes sparkling. Marie’s eyes filled with tears. They didn’t spill out of her lids, but she felt the furious blush in her cheeks. She wished desperately she could stop his trundling into this dark cave which used to be his mind. Marie knew Charlie would be lost and there was nothing she or anyone else could do.

They came to the iron gate at the end of the gravel path. A man who looked just a few years older than Marie, was absently walking into the park as they passed.

“Sorry,” he said, stepping aside. He smiled at Marie and Mr. Davis.

Marie smiled back. She had seen him several times in the park before. He never spoke to them, he was always busy with a sketch pad and charcoal in his hands. He seemed lost. Perhaps he was trying to catch some sort of magic or inspiration from the trees and onto the paper. She never once saw what he drew and a few times she wanted to ask but didn’t.

Charlie stopped and looked at the man smiling, “Johnny, you look good.”

The man replied without skipping a beat, “Thanks, pop. You too.”

He smiled at Marie again, nodding. She supposed he understood at that moment that Mr. Davis wasn’t all there right now. Marie gently guided Mr. Davis past the man. Charlie continued to hum.

“Is he alright?” the man whispered.

Marie looked into the man's stormy gray-blue eyes, “Yes… um, no. He’s just having a bad day. Tomorrow he’ll be better.”

The man looked into the park absently and didn’t respond. “He reminds me of my grandfather, its sad. I don’t know how you could do the job you do.”

“It is sad, but they need someone to take care of them.”

Charlie waited patiently for Marie as she spoke to the man. He didn’t seem to mind the wait, his cheerful humming continued.

“I’m Tom or Johnny, whichever you prefer.” Switching his sketchbook to the other hand, he offered his right.

Marie smiled and introduced herself and Charlie.