Lydia came to see me again the next day. She looked a bit haggard, I thought, but I couldn't be sure exactly why. I knew it was never easy on her being around me, but if she kept coming back for more, it really wasn't my fault, was it? She should know better than to keep beating a dead horse. If that metaphor even applies.
"You doing all right?" she asked.
"Fair to middlin'," I said, sounding much more cheerful than I'd thought I would.
"You need anything?"
"Well, clothes, I think. Toothbrush, comb. Something to read. A million dollars."
She actually chuckled at that. "I'll go round your place and fetch some of that for you. You be needing any food or anything?"
I shook my head. "They actually feed me reasonably well around these parts. I had macaroni for supper last night. It didn't suck."
Her mouth wriggled a bit, as if she couldn't quite decide whether or not to chuckle again. "That's practically praise, coming from the likes of you."
I shrugged with my eyebrows. "Well, I do what I can to keep these people from feeling like complete failures."
She rolled her eyes as far back as they would go. "Oh. Gad. You're impossible."
"I'm impossible not to love."
She wrinkled her nose. "You're awfully chipper this morning."
"I had a good night's sleep. They have these little blue pills here. Wonderful things. I haven't slept this well since I was a preconscious mass of protoplasm."
"Well if that's all it took to improve your disposition, I'd've conked you on the head with a frying pan ages ago."
Seeing me slightly improved seemed to raise her spirits a bit as well. However, I still detected a subtle hint of distress beneath her wrinkly nose and wriggly smile.
"What's up?" I asked.
"What d'you mean?"
"You looked a bit down in the dumps when you walked in here just now. Everything okay? I mean, other than my constant verbal abuse and casting aspersions on the quality of your character."
"Oh, well, thanks for being specific. Actually, I'm a bit miffed. Derek knocked a bunch of his drum hardware over and it landed right on my bass. Stupid things scratched to bits now. Don't know how I'm ever going to get looking to rights again."
I grimaced. Lydia's bass guitar was her baby. She pampered it, polished it, loved it, bought it new strings every year whether it needed them or not. I imagined she was a lot more than 'miffed'. She must have nearly torn Derek's heart out.
"I wan't going to mention it," she continued. "I didn't want you worrying about me. I know you've seen how potty I can get about the damned thing."
"You take better care of that bass than some people do their children."
She chuckled again, which was good to see. "Yeah, I know. Like I said, potty as an old cat lady."
"Can you sit down for a bit?" I asked.
"I'll be back later. I've got some errands to run, and then I'm going to fetch your stuff from your place."
"Don't bring me any plaid shirts. I'm done with that phase."
"Oooh. I didn't know you had any. Flannel?"
"Yes. Stay away from them."
"Can't I just have a peek?"
"No. Off limits. Verboten."
"Right. Well, maybe I'll find something just as ugly for you. Serve you right for all you put me through. You ungrateful wretch."
"Guilty as charged, madam."
"You just take care of yourself. And don't give the staff any grief."
"Too late for that," came a voice from beyond the curtain.
Lydia turned around, laughing, as Norma stuck her head through the slight gap between the curtain and the wall.
"I wasn't eavesdropping," Norma said. "I was just walking by when you said that."
"Don't listen to her," I said. "It's Norma who's been making my life miserable. Not the other way around."
Lydia turned back to me, one eyebrow arched. "Yes. And I believe that too. Just like I believe that story you told me about being descended from the Knights Templar."
"Hey, the Knights Templar are in vogue now, my love. It's my turn to cash in. Ole Dan Brown really started something there. Everybody's doing it now."
"Will you stop? You're a better writer than that. You don't need to latch onto any trends. You just need to be original."
"I just hope I'm a better writer than I am guitar player."
Lydia turned back to Norma. "You see what I have to put up with?"
Norma nodded. "At least you can leave."
I sighed. "Great. They're ganging up on me now."
Lydia stepped over to the bed and gave me a peck on the cheek. "I'm off. I'll pop back in this afternoon, okay."
"Okay. Thanks."
The curtain rippled as she left the alcove. Norma stepped in to take her place.
"How are you doing?" she asked.
I looked at her. "I don't think I'm quite as full of myself today as I was yesterday."
She nodded. "A good night's sleep will do that."
"Those little blue pills… Do you have take out?"
She snorted a slightly scolding laugh. "Yeah. Right."
"Worth a try," I muttered.
——————–
After a hot shower and shampoo, I felt considerably more human. I still just had the johnny shirt and my underwear, so I didn't much feel like sitting in the common area. They had robes and slippers available, but that didn't really make the scenario much more appealing. I still would have felt like sick person sitting around in a hospital lounge area. Which I was, of course, but I didn't feel like immersing myself in the role.
When Lydia came back with my clothes, I'd see about maybe taking a walk outside the unit with her. They weren't ready to let me outside on my own yet, so I'd just have to wait for the company. In the meantime, I grabbed a copy of Woman's World from the lounge table on my way back to my alcove from the shower and decided I'd try and figure out which vegetables went best with my personality.
——————–
Just after lunch, Norma popped into my alcove to announce that someone was here to see me. From her tone, it was apparent that she wasn't talking about Lydia. I got up from the chair and stepped towards the curtain. I stuck my head out and looked towards the desk. What I saw nearly caused me to lose my footing.
"Uncle Eric?"
A tall, distinguished, elderly gentleman was making his way towards me. He had a long face, short cropped gray hair, and sufficient height to make his long black coat work. He leaned heavily on his cane as he approached my alcove.
"What in Sam Hill do you think you're doing in this place?" he said.
I must not have blinked for some time, because suddenly my eyes felt like they were going to shrivel up and fall out of my head. When I finally did blink, my eyes overcompensated, causing excess fluids to course across my visual field, which made everything, including my erstwhile uncle, look like it was underwater.
"I asked you a question, boy," Uncle Eric said, stopping at my threshold.
"I'm… uh… recovering from an accident."
He glared at me. "Bullshit."
I swallowed and decided to say nothing further.
"Did they stash your manners away with your personal effects when you got here?"
I frowned slightly. "I'm sorry… What?"
"Are you going to invite me in, or do I have to stand here yammering so the place can hear?"
I shook my head and stepped aside. "Yes. Yes. Of course. I'm just surprised to see you, that's all."
He strode into the alcove and proceeded to settle himself into the chair. "What you mean is, you thought that maybe you'd get away without your senile old uncle hearing about your goddamned stupidity."
"You're not senile, Uncle Eric." I moved to sit on the bed.
"Well then don't treat me like I am. I had to hear about this nonsense from that swizzle-stick of an ex-girlfriend of yours."
I could feel the blood begin to drain from my face. "Jillian? How the hell did she hear about it?"
"You have friends, you damned fool. They talk to each other. World works like that. Or did you miss that memo?"
I put my hand to my head and tried to breathe. Uncle Eric's constant and forceful directness was not something I was expecting to have to deal with today.
"Yeah. Okay. I get it. I just didn't expect Jillian…"
"Well, the woman still cares about you. Damned if I can figure out why."
"No, no, Uncle Eric. Don't you go there. I don't need any of that right now."
"I'll go where I damn well please, you ungrateful sonofabitch. I'm eighty-six years old, and I lost a leg in Doubleya Doubleya Two. I think I've earned the right."
I let out a long breath. "Fine. You can say whatever you want. But I don't have to listen."
"That's the problem with you young people. You don't pay any respect to your elders."
"Oh, well, now you do sound like an old man. That's almost stereotypical old-man talk. You can do better than that."
"So can you."
"What?"
"Never pegged you as a quitter, Jack. Never thought I'd live to see the day."
I just stared at him. Of all the people I knew, Uncle Eric had the biggest knack for cutting through to the heart of things. He also had this uncanny ability to make me feel ashamed of myself for being an idiot.
And I had a knack for being an idiot.
I swallowed hard. "I'm not ready to have this conversation."
He snorted. "Not ready. I'll tell you about not ready. Do you think I was ready to have this leg taken away from me? Do you?"
I shook my head.
"Do you think I was ready to fly to England and serve in the Royal Air Force? Do you think I was ready to be in that Lancaster bomber when our pilot misjudged the runway and crashed her in the fog? Do you?"
I looked at the floor, still shaking my head.
He ran his tongue over his upper teeth and glared at me.
Finally, he looked away. "Don't you tell me about not ready. I don't want to hear it."
I shifted my position on the bed and looked around the room. I didn't honestly know what I could say to that. The man had been through Hell, and he was still here to talk about it. My Hell didn't seem quite so bad in comparison.
