The Old Man at the Window
The old man made his way carefully down the street, cane in one hand. He paused now and again, and looked at the shops along the street, but only stopped for long twice.
The first time was outside a formal dress shop, and he looked at the beautiful dress in the window for quite some time, his expression sad.
When he finally got moving again there were tears in his eyes.
The second time was outside a book shop. In the window was set up with the top five sellers displayed, and in the number one spot was a name he recognized.
“Drea DiMaggio. Well, well, well. Good for her.”
He fingered the wallet in his pocket for a while, and then pulled it out.
It was a faded pink color, and inside was a few bills which he counted twice, and then sighed and put the wallet back in his pocket.
He turned, and slowly walked away from the window, wincing as his cane helped him move.
Some time later, he arrived at a small apartment that was little more than a bed with a stove feet away. There was a small dresser beside the bed, and as he sat on the bed he reached over and pulled open the top drawer. Inside was a faded binder, and he pulled this out, and opened it up.
On the inside cover was a couple of photos and he carefully pulled these out and looked closely at them. One was of a young woman, smiling broadly with laughter in her eyes.
He caressed this picture for a moment, and whispered, “Samantha. You turned out okay. I guess that's something to be proud of.”
Then he looked at the other photo. It was of a person in a skirt and blouse, looking relaxed and at peace, but he winced at the sight of five-o’clock shadow on the cheeks.
He flipped the photo over, and on the other side was a simple declaration.
“Dorothy. 2012”
“Ah... Those were the days.”
The old man sighed, and put both pictures back in the binder. The rest of the binder was full of writing, some typed, some written in pen. He fingered a few samples for a while, and then put them back in, and put the binder back in the drawer and closed it.
“Maybe I should find out who published ‘Drea’s book. Maybe if I told them we used to be sisters they’d consider publishing something of mine.. Not likely, but you never know.”
He sighed, took off his clothes, put on a faded nightie, turned out the light on top of the dresser, and crawled into the bed.
“Dorothy Colleen. Ah, Those were the days ....” He repeated, and then fell asleep.
Happy Birthday, Dorothy
Author’s note: This is sort of an antidote to my story, “The old man at the window.” Please join me in this little look into a possible future for some old broad named Dorothy Colleen....
It was Dorothy’s birthday, and the whole extended care facility was buzzing with anticipation.
In the year or so since she arrived at the facility due to losing her mobility, she had become a favorite to nurses, aides, and residents alike. Not many people were immune to her smile, her tendency to hug anyone willing to take one, her infectious laugh, or the way she adopted the people around her into her family, making everyone who wanted to be into a son or daughter.
Her daughter Samantha and her family came early and helped change the dining room into Birthday Central, with pink streamers and balloons hung in every corner. The center table was piled with presents, some of them having spent long trips in the mail to arrive in time for the occasion, and a large chocolate cake had been made and iced with the best wishes from those who loved Dorothy, which was nearly anyone who spent any time around her.
The guest of honor knew full well what was going on, but she pretended to be unaware to honor everyone’s hard work. Instead, she typed away on a laptop in her room, which was crammed with mementoes, pictures, and books. A Drea DiMaggio paperback sat on the nightstand, signed by the authoress herself, and beside the pile of notes that sat by the laptop was a couple of books that were the pride of her small collection - because she had been the author of them.
Finally, all was prepared, and her daughter Samantha came and wheeled Dorothy into the dining room, where her family and the whole staff sang “Happy Birthday” and then cheered.
After opening the presents, Dorothy surrendered to the calls of “Speech! Speech!” Dorothy carefully wheeled her chair forward and promised she wouldn’t keep people from the cake long, which got a laugh. Then she thanked each person who helped make the party possible, and ended by saying “Lastly, I want to thank my family. I havent always been the easiest person to put up with, especially when the female hormones started really kicking in, but you’ve stood by me through it all. Bless each and every one of you.”
With her speech over, everyone moved to enjoy the cake, and her family took photos of the birthday girl and her “loot.” with a smile on her face that shone with all the love she had for those who loved her.
A smile she would continue to have, right until her dying day.