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The shapes spread out before, like it wasn’t but yet was able to be made out. Of something. Somewhere. In some sort of resemblence of something that was yet not yet was. There. Only word designations that have become known. When they were first formed with an appearance. To appear suddenly casted out in a shade, out of shade, turned in view, slowly deciphered as. Was there a body. Before. A body. In the dark. Can there be one? Shapes again make resemblances, where they of something that was a few moments ago, any similarities. A striking resemblance. Contours. The hands move. They are hands. Aren’t they. They move. These move. Deep in the darkness. That's what they are called. That’s what they are similar to, “hands”. They bear that resemblance. Was there any knowledge of that before. Was there any body to that knowledge before. They were called such. Were they not. Who called them. Who calls. Does it make itself instant with appearance. Upon sight they already have a tag that speaks with the sparkle of the item in the eye. “hands”. Does it invent itself. Spontaneously generating itself out of the darkness void of voice, but telepathic with intent the instant of appearance. Words made in the mind until they actually are utttered. The lips get pursed with the sounds of the mind, ringing out the sound, that has always said, and always declares. Repeating, until the courage of the heart speaks with the mind, moving the lips to finally say. Say. Say it. They speak themselves. Name and named. He was in the mid stages of his dementia. His daughter, did not leave his side not for once. It was told to her, for they refered every thing to her. How could he understand when all that he could grasp was his very person. His movements, his walk, and his grip. They told him that he was spatially cognant only in his own surroundings. As soon as he was brought out of his room- with his bed, his pillow that smelled of the odor of his old smelly grey hair. With sheets still unkept, turned from the morning, not pulled over but tossed made move by the imprints of his body leaving. A room with bookshelf with stuff and just stuff and then other stuff. A desk with a mirror when one could look and see the other stuff. A desk with a mirror when one could look and see the other side of the room. A bed corner, a closet door and a quite possibly the shirt one would be wearing if they were standing in front of it. Wearing buttoned up to the chin, where there maybe hairs, there may be curls, a cheekbone as you turn on your profile and smile. The dimples if thats what they are called the curls of your hair that you can part as you swipe your hair that you can part as you swipe your hair over the receding hairline that you have. And you look in your eyes and you try to look deeply in them to make sure that they are moving with every small little speck that is observed in the grimace that you make so that you are sure that you are you, and that you aren’t exactly the person that is made out with each corner turn of the eye. “I wouldn’t make that face.” You would say to yourself. “ I wouldn’t say that ever.”, but the curiosity of the movement of the eye over skin, and the really? “Do I? Really? Do I?” Do I have hair there, and you inspect and turn microscopically to make sure that it is such, and you remember, “yeah” It was a few days ago when I felt that the little black head was appearing right there. Not so long ago. And when was it that you had that hair cut. Where did you last see old what’s her name to reveal more of that forehead tha is showing forth a bulk head on the mast of your tilt forward on the reflection that you are trying to remember. She started to really take care of him, a few years back, when it hit her with a phone call out of the blue one weekend. The police called asking if she was a relative of the old man’s. He was found in the afternoon of a lazy summer day in the mall parking lot a few blocks away. A mall security guard found him walking loops and sometimes walking up the exit ramp of the parking lot, following the path of the cars leaving only to begin the whole circle park thing over again. Following cars, following cars. It was when he started walking against the opposite flow of the traffic that it was called for a need for action. The windows rolled down and the curses flowed out, all hollering out toward that downward sagging old man. After a sucession of beeps did the old aged just a decade younger, on the verge of retiring security guard came out of his stationed booth and dropped his cigarette on the pavement, crushing it out with a few grumbles, “blast it, off to work again.” She received the phone call that he had been picked up. He wasn’t really that old. No not at all.
a cup of coffee. The round had just started and everyone was getting settled. He just went to the store to get it. until he didn’t come back at all. Help a brother out. and had to get home. No one had an antacid. and props his walk up off the table. when it took him longer to wake up. With one cough and what could be a crumpled fist pounded against the chest the swallow went down. The weekend poker nights will never be the same. The taste remained. She goes through her cards to make sure they were all there. he would have no recollection what so ever of her. staring at the floor. But his eyes were as bright as ever. He gets himself up with a slow swagger. such as the small little walks to the park. These small little rituals. halfway done with the meal. he hollers at them. Small little lapses picking up his spoon with his cereal dripping. the last handshake so they could all see each other again. would that be the right thing. He strongly believed that the electoral college would have to be eradicated so that the electoral process. If there are ever to be more. most often happened during breakfast. and be quick about it. really. Just a tilted head to the side. she lifted the chin up just to make sure if he was awake. He must have left for something. I am really not that bad of a cook. I have one in the car. You know how stubborn he is. talking about what ever was new or just the same ole political nonsense that pervaded at the tiime. checking out the little arts and crafts and other hobbies that park district had to offer. But quickly he would fire back. it was only a couple blocks away. . His luck came short one luncheon at a buffet with the other fellas. no not at all. the last time that he was on. the jello. Maybe he got a call or something. He would never forget the feeding of the birds. He says. but his saliva was different. doing the weekly group outing. It was bitter. Its Just Heart Burn! He tells the bunch. Dad. The stuff should be second change. and there were friends to feed. darting left and right. They all made it to the apple pie. I’ve got some heartburn. you can at least can acknowledge that. or the last conversation. Would she be the one to blame for that? All he wanted was a pair of mittens to replace the ones that were left behind on the bus. just a blank eyeballing out. They were already at their third plates. No reply. All these small rituals dwindled when his mates from the machanics garage .His friends have all passed on. The meatloaf was the same. Anyways you love meatloaf dont you. For crise sake. Good ole Maurice. Another was the jaunt to the Public Library. Like there was a ball of bile right at the swallow’s portal. the gravy and potatoes the same. What would she have to do? A nursing home? Really. Things like this. He could have just fell asleep. to see what the “new news” would bring. and don’t you forget the corn bread.” She thumbs through her purse to make sure she has her keys. would be credibly sound.” Sure. gulp it all down. printing out that little letter he wrote so long ago just to sign it and mail it to the capitol to be completely set aside and ignore. The little bit of sugary coffee that he sipped wasn’t strong enough to hack away at surmounting roll of revulsion that hindered his swish from gulping down. unsure of what was seen at all. he has done something like this. He would stare outside the window for about 20 minutes and completely forget that his toast had popped a while ago. No Maurice. but they were always so small. and excuses himself. Fella’s. Maurice had a penchant for river boat gambling always blowing the dice for that all expense paid trip one day to the bahamas or the great north like Alaska. She caught him at dinner once. awake. like as if a snap and he would then turn around and get the morning paper as if nothing would happen. proceeding to turn pages. But that was what he had to do. that he retired from passed on. Unfortunately he never made it home or back ever for that slice. He had himself one plate of ground chuck meatloaf and mash potatoes. No one really thought about it much. The mall was virtually five minutes! C’mon DAD! “You’ve never done that before! You’ve never had it this bad. He had a few bites. the left behind toast did have its purpose. Someone quipped. in case she has to fill out who knows what is just to pay a ticket for the “octogen. small chirpy hoppers that flittered their fears fleetingly. and not one hug. She would pick him up with dull stares. He even had the gall to write his congressman for the end of the electoral college.
to search. they blessed their little stars underneath. They could all acknowledge together and finally hold each other with that last sigh. A nodding winkle that would bring about a snoring assault on any one with in a five foot radius. all by himself. But in all reality. Eventhough it didn’t stick around too much. and thats they way it was to be handled. where she could nag herself to the sleeps she so desired on those snore less nights. his other mate at the garage. looked under the welcome mat and sure as ever. No woman to cry. lingering deeper in the foggyness of his slightly forgetfulness.” They hung their heads down unbelieving that it was just twenty minutes ago. and they had to search somewhere deep within for that familiar smile. Somehow. locked in his car resting his last was towed to his last rites. Who was with whom. They are tying up the knot after they just that did that with who’s respective partners. their liver spots. for in fear of the sedative properties of the digestion. and constant plot writing. or his talk shows. Actually. Nor did they find anything of interest. The calling of his name over and over. stagger in their minds. They had to support themselves at this time. but instead it just created a stirring mud. someone else clamored” He never came around. Get his attention going as he was engrossed with all the sordid details of who and what. Did they break up again. like the gymnastics of location. as he probably did. just kicked his last kicker. There wasn’t a missus for him there either. she left him a few years back. The fallen hairs from the back of his head wouldn’t crawl back up to their sprout and find their eaves in the follicles. That smile that he always did. This very fear would keep him attentive to the evcr shifting relationships that occurred within the week. opened the door. and actually get interested in the variety of all the plot twists that would entiwine the multitude of introductions that Soap Operas do in the scope of one season. It was when that day that he didn’t wake up from his afternoon nap. banded on the windshields and yelled. “WAKE UP. Not right at all. go to Maurice’s house and look for the spare key so that they could open the car and let him finally free. as all the misses get together and start the procession of tears. It was up to the police to handle this situation. Some of them said. behind their crooked dentures. Clarence. To find that place where they would remember and then quickly hide that smile that they knew so well. relation. They even started getting a little creeped out going through his belongings just right after poor ole Maurice. daily situatiion. knowing well that it was the last cry. they didn’t have much of any energy at all. of muddling swamp. thanking that it wasn’t them. are they once again giving it another chance. That he knew there was no turning back. He was scared of just watching T. was his real undoing. Those banal indulges were a very primal fear to . not waking up from his post prandial nap. Actually with all the attention that he had given that boob of a tube. For their faces all turned in upon themselves as if they just lost him somewhere inside. They pounded on the doors. and ajar him out of the common sensical everyday that was his home. They never found anything. like the thunder call before the rain. gone to the ole glory. and start the bawling fest. The immediacy of General Hospital on a full meal would bring about a soporific splendor on the eyes. upon themselves. It wasn’t the scanolousness that dilated his pupils but the very fear that he would end up with Clarence. would actually enliven that elderly mind of his. No these cries weren’t there. and it was difficult for them to jimmy the car in any way to get him out. that he never gave. like a strong gale suddenly throwing them back. Poor ole Maurice. They decided to get in their cars. You missed DESSERT” “You old fart. the greys on his chin won’t wake with the same shine that they did previously years ago. “Poor Maurice. They got to the Condo. behind their foreheads. It just isn’t right. This jibber and jab that consisted of who know what afternoon homemakers spend during there little solaces before their kids may return from school. The leaves won’t fall up the trees. he locked himself in. There was no way to open the car.He was found sitting I his car head tilted to the side. All those senseless dialogues enmeshed a disposable fantasy that would clutter the immediacy of his living room. one would think that this would sharpen that faculty of a memory.V after meals. The fear would shudder himself wide away. Look for that lost smile behind their bald spots. yells and pounding on the chest. would have on his afternoon soaps.
not so far from where he was cutting across quickly with a swish and a swich. She would head on over to her room and then would creep over to his bedside make sure he was breathing. What then would he have to do. Coffee immediately becomes the solution. it flooded him in an anxiety that crept out of the banal fantastical world of day time soaps to that of a jabbering jibber of senseless characters that did not relate to him but were instead taking the place of the fond memories that he regularly had every day before Clarence died. and immediately tire himself. He took of his shoes. One day he decide that he should try something different. but the grass was just watered and it had that reflective surface on the blades. but then reach over and turn the radio off. When you are old there is nothing new. She was married. She had her prime also. one isn’t sure where or how one should go about things. The flatness jerked his body in compliance. She just wanted to know if he was okay. the stones and slimy green. The radio would go on and change subject to subject and the minutes would pass very quickly. tidyied up his belt and was ready to go home again. and socks. after returning to his room after a week. and rested all that remain in the room. The desire to start again is very tiring. But he didn’t have much of an ambition for that at all any more. It wasn’t one of those particularly hot days. They chirped their delights upon first tossings and stuck around no matter what was left. taking breaks so as to roll up his pant legs. and knowingly that fear brought about the rule of threes to his mind. After the few slow steps he wandered through the straightaway and then hurried toward about the middle. to search every little crevice for something forgotten. so they would not stain. Her husband passed on before him. but really that was one of his prohibited items to ingest for his blood pressure had been off for quite sometime. the green and the stones. and sat himself down. He was frightened that he would not make it across in time. and then start to walk around. for in the adjoining room she would wake up to the static of dead radio around 4 am. Surely he was death’s next victim. This very fear kept him even more riveted to the boob. He would sit on the corner of his bed before going to sleep and then he would just listen until he could listen no more. diagnosed with Hodgkins in his late 40’s. Instead of carrying him off from the duties that he kept of his household. instead of going about all around it . as this boob would do to any old house keeper. She had a couple talks with him. and tied up his shoes. What then would he do. She had no ideas how he was to regain some of that socialness htat he had previously. And It looked inviting. puzzled why he didn’t do things like this more often. He would stir a little as the radio waves no longer bounced their travels around the room permeating and rippliing the corners of the room. when the slimy ness started to get to him. and carried them in his hands slowly crossing the field as he scrunched the balls of his feet on the wetness. He mentioned that the birds were all that was left of his little circle. It was just him and the mud. He would then lay down and stare at the ceiling until the eyelids had their own mind. his sleep would find itself drifting away with the soothe monotone voices that just entered and left the ear just as quick as the night fell. and reached the end to the pavement. and the darkness just overshadowed like second nature. Caffiene definitely was contrary to his meds. They came to him whenever. and her children have all married also and are also with families. everyone would be at work or at school. The park district was one of the options. feeling the soil. The would at least get him out of the house. They were responsive. he decided to move here and buy that house. he took his stride fuller. He wasn’t worried about his daughter. s . Listening to talk radio became another solution. for what if he would get up. What would he have to do. and have the urge to sleep. Even if he had none they would prance around for quite sometime. She was very concerned after his trio’s end. His daughter had to talk him out of it after awhile. for at this time of day. but take that short cut right through the grass. The dusk trumpets that white noised dawn’s colors. with a quick sense of agoraphobia. He put on his socks again. The library was one of his last outlets that still remained. He did this for about a month after his passing. he should cut through the park. It stirred up memories of how the neighborhood would be when thirty years ago. He would then tie up his day and head back home for lunch and then one day. thinking he would be lost at all. He didnt worry at all that anyone would be around to see him whatsoever.him. when he actually gets tired.