The Last Word

The second Jacob removed his gnarled fingers from the rook, he'd seen his fatal mistake. He silently cursed and hoped that Malcolm would miss it somehow. But he knew better, and Malcolm's hoarse cackle a few seconds later was all the confirmation he needed. 

If his hands had been surer, and his reflexes faster, Jacob would’ve switched off his hearing aids before Malcolm could start rubbing his face in his mistake. But they weren’t, so he was forced to subject himself to it. 

“Check and mate,” Malcolm exclaimed with glee. “That’s what now, nine? Ten! Ten in a row.”

It had been eleven, Jacob knew, but he wouldn’t give the bastard satisfaction. Jacob started to gather up his white chess pieces to pack them away when Malcolm asked, “All done? That’s it? C’mon, let me try for an even dozen.”

“Let me try for an even dozen,” Jacob repeated in a mocking tone like he was a seven-year-old instead of seventy seven. “Why don’t you go treat yourself to an even dozen donuts, you fat fuck? Maybe your diabetes will do us all a favor and kill you already.”

Malcolm grinned ear-to-ear. He’s such a masochist, Jacob thought. The only guy he ever knew who got off on being insulted. In fact, there seemed to be only one thing he enjoyed more. Returning fire. “I’m surprised talking to you hasn’t done the job. I should be suffering a brain bleed after listening to you yammer all these years,” Malcolm retorted.

“From your lips to God’s ears. Nothing in life would mean as much as knowing I was responsible for your death,” Jacob laughed. 

“Hate to break it to you, you frail fuck, but I’ll be pissing on your grave long after you’re food for the worms,” Malcolm said. 

Jacob completed putting away his chess pieces and said, “Hate to ruin your plans, but I’m being cremated.”

“That works,” Malcolm said. “I can scatter your ashes in my litter box so Walter and Lemon can piss on you instead.”

Although he wasn’t sure why this comment was the one that set him off, Jacob suddenly felt incensed at Malcolm. At least more than his usual fury at the old man he’d known for most of his life. He set his scooter to reverse, backed up a few feet, and then put it into drive. He zoomed forward as fast as the little electric motor would allow and rammed into the unsuspecting, and still seated, Malcolm’s left leg. 

“Ow!” Malcolm exclaimed. “You son of a bitch!” Malcolm scooped up his aluminum alloy cane, the type designed to never tip over, and swung it at Jacob. He connected a solid blow against Jacob’s right shoulder, nearly hard enough to send Jacob spiraling from the seat of his scooter. 

“You’ll pay for that!” Jacob said, flipping the switch to reverse his scooter once more. This time he intended to run the bastard over, though he feared Malcolm’s fat frame would do more damage to the scooter than the little buggy could ever do to him.  

“Fight! Fight!” screamed out someone from behind Jacob. A clamor rose around the two combatants as other residents assembled in the Rec Room, or the Rec as the residents all called it, of Peaceful Pines Retirement Village started cheering. Malcolm was sure he could hear bets being made for or against him and wished for a moment he could get in on the action. He seldom lost to Jacob in chess, and he damn well knew he could take him in a fair fight. Even if Jacob had a tank and he only had a sword.  

Just as Jacob was preparing to gun his scooter at Malcolm once more, Nurse Alicia Hanover came rushing over to the two men. She deftly switched off Jacob’s scooter and pulled the key free of the ignition. By this time Malcolm had climbed to his feet and was approaching his foe, cane raised and ready to strike. “Now that’s enough from the both of you!” Nurse Hanover scolded them. “Malcolm, don’t you take another step towards Jacob. I mean it. Sit back down.” 

A chastised Malcolm reluctantly obeyed the pretty young nurse. She could be as sweet as blueberry pie, Malcolm’s favorite, but she could also be as stern as a school marm. Malcolm knew not to mess with Alicia when she was cross with him. He didn’t want to lose Rec privileges, even if it meant being spared a few days of having to see Jacob’s moronic face. 

Jacob had no choice but to listen to Alicia, as he could take no more than a step or two on his own. Without the keys to his scooter, he was powerless. Besides, he’d already risked losing Rec Room rights and he had a date with Dolores Fairhill for the Sunday Ice Cream Social that he was loath to lose due to a disciplinary infraction. He only hoped that his fight with that idiot Malcolm wasn’t enough for the nurse to take the Rec, and Dolores, away from him. That it hadn’t been their first infraction had not escaped Jacob’s mind. 

“Now,” Nurse Alicia said, “everyone else, go back to minding your own business, if you please.” The commotion stopped, the other Peaceful Pines residents, or the Pineys as they were called by staff and residents alike, shrugged their collective shoulders and went back to whatever they’d been doing prior to the fracas. 

“The two of you,” she said, looking from Jacob to Malcolm, “how many times are we going to have this conversation? If you can’t play nice, stop spending time with one another.” 

“Nothing would make me happier,” Malcolm said. 

“You dropping dead would make me happier,” responded Jacob. 

“Jacob!” Nurse Alicia scolded. “We don’t joke about death here.” 

Jacob hung his head in faux shame and Malcolm said, “Who says he was joking?” 

Alicia glared angrily at Malcolm. “That’s quite enough from the both of you. Why don’t you head back to your rooms and take a break from the Rec and each other for the rest of the night? If you can behave better tomorrow, you can come back.” 

“Suits me fine. I couldn’t stand another minute looking at the drool hanging from his bottom lip,” Malcolm said, climbing back to his feet and scuffling his way out of the Rec and back towards his room. On his way out the door, he looked over his shoulder and called back, “And it was eleven in a row! You suck at chess!” 

Jacob wiped at his face with his sleeve and called after Malcolm, “At least I don’t piss my bed like an infant!” 

Shaking her head, Alicia said, “You got the last word today. Are you happy Jacob?” 

“Maybe a little,” he grinned at the nurse. 

“Now be on your way,” she said. “No Rec until tomorrow.” 

“Can’t,” Jacob said. 

“Why not?” she asked before realizing she still held the key to his scooter. She returned them and Jacob puttered off to his room. 

*

A few days later, Malcolm and Jacob were sitting across from each other in the Rec. Jacob’s ice cream date with Dolores had been well worth the later discomfort his lactose intolerance had caused him and Malcolm had been absorbed with a new documentary about World War II, so the two men had managed to avoid each other. Despite their long standing animosity towards one another, they never stayed separated for long. 

“Gimme a three,” Malcolm said after eyeing his cards for far too long. 

Jacob shook his head and said, “Nope. Go fish. Hand over your kings.”

Grumbling, Malcolm pulled out three kings and slapped them down on the table. “You said you didn’t have any when I asked.” 

“I didn’t have any when you asked! I just picked this one up,” Jacob hooted with glee as he took his king of diamonds from his hand and placed it on the table face up with the other suits. “I’m out!” he exclaimed. “I win again! How many is that, Malcontent?” 

“Thirteen, Jackass,” Malcolm confessed. “I swear you’re cheating. I don’t know how, but I’m sure of it.” 

“You’re just a sore loser who sucks at cards,” cackled Jacob, flexing his left hand into and out of a fist. 

“What’s the matter with your hand?” Malcolm asked. He’d noticed Jacob had been balling his hand for much of the game but hadn’t really taken serious note of it until now. “Jerking off too much? Guess your date with Dolores was as much a dud as you are.” 

“My date with Dolores was like a dream,” Jacob said, wincing a bit now. A dull ache was forming in his arm. 

“Any date with you would be more like a nightmare, I bet,” Malcolm scoffed. 

“I don’t kiss and tell,” replied Jacob, but his answer was slow and his voice suddenly weak. 

A look of concern crossed Malcolm’s face. “Jacob, what’s going on? Are you okay?” 

“My heart,” Jacob said. “And don’t say, ‘what heart,’ you prick.” With that, Jacob slumped in his scooter and his head lolled to the side as if he’d fallen asleep. 

“Help! Someone help!” Malcolm called out, striking his cane against the top of the table to make as much noise as he could. “Hurry, please!” 

By the time a nurse had reached them, Jacob was gone. 

*

Jacob’s funeral was held three days later, on a cold, rainy, miserable day. “Perfect weather to send the son of a bitch off in,” Malcolm said as he exited that car driven by his daughter, Melody, to attend the graveside service. 

“Dad,” Melody said. “That’s no way to speak of the dead.” 

He said nothing in reply, thinking that Jacob would’ve said the same, or worse, if it had been Malcolm in the box. Despite Jacob telling Malcolm he was to be cremated, the memo seemed to have never reached the funeral home that took care of the body. Malcolm had tried to tell anyone that would listen that Jacob hadn’t wanted to be buried, but he’d been ignored. It turned out that nobody would listen. I tried, Jacob, he thought. I swear I did.  

There weren’t many people gathered at the grave, Malcolm noticed as he and Melody approached the burial site.  Although Jacob had been popular enough at Peaceful Pines, he hadn’t really had many friends. Or any friends, for that matter. Everyone he knew there had been more of an acquaintance, and apparently a funeral for an old man was more effort than most of them cared to make. Jacob had no family to speak of. His wife, Cindy, had died years before and they’d never had children. Aside from Malcolm and Melody, Dolores from Peaceful Pines was there, and that was it. 

When it’s my turn, it’ll only be Melody, Malcolm thought. So you’re one up on me. Malcolm could swear he heard Jacob’s disembodied spirit laughing at him. 

The minister hadn’t had much to say. He hadn’t known Jacob personally and didn’t even get his last name right. The service was over in less than five minutes. Just long enough for a half-hearted prayer. Malcolm was irritated. Seventy-seven years on this godforsaken planet and three mourners, a lackluster preacher, and a five minute service is all he gets? It’s so unfair, he thought. Even a jerk like Jacob deserves more, doesn’t he? 

After concluding the half-assed prayer, the minister looked up and made eye contact with Dolores, Melody, and Malcolm. “That concludes our service for Jacob Presbylusty,” the minister said, once again butchering Jacob’s last name. “Thank you for coming to pay your respects and go in peace.” 

Malcolm cleared his throat. “Uh, padre,” he said, “Mind if I say a thing or two?” 

“Dad,” Melody said, placing her hand on his forearm. “Don’t.” 

Dolores looked aghast as well, “Malcolm, let him rest in peace, won’t you? Please?” 

The minister looked annoyed and even had the nerve to glance at his watch. “I suppose there’s no harm in it, my son,” he mumbled miserably. 

“Your son,” scoffed Malcolm. “I have underwear older than you. Holier, too, I bet. Look, I want to say a couple things. First, the man may have been a son of a bitch but the least he deserves is having his name said right. It was Prezbylewski. Jacob Ernest Prezbylewski. Not whatever the hell you said. Jake and I knew each other for most of our lives, and couldn’t stand each other for nearly as long. We were close once. Best of friends, if you can believe it. And then we weren’t. Funny thing is, I don’t remember why we stopped being friends and started fighting. Not the foggiest damn idea. If Jake were still here, I doubt he could tell you either. We started fighting and we never stopped. How stupid is that? To hate the guts of a guy but not to remember why? But there you have it. 

“Thing is, we might have hated each other but we put up with each other for seventy years. Hardly a week went by where we didn’t see each other at least once. Worked in the same place. Went to the same bar. No matter where I went, Jake was there. And vice versa. Even ended up in the same godforsaken retirement place together. Nobody I knew longer, or better. I guess, at the end, even with us hating each other’s guts, he was still my best friend. And I guess I was his. Now he’s gone.” Tears were forming around Malcolm’s rheumy blue eyes. “And I’m alone.” 

Melody put her arm around her father but he shrugged off her embrace. 

“I’m alone, you stupid son of a bitch.” Now Malcolm’s tears were falling freely. He shuffled his way over to Jake’s sleek gray casket and stared at it in silence for a moment. Then he knocked on the casket with three quick, loud raps. “I’m still out here, Jake,” he shouted as if Jake could hear him in there. “I get the last word. I win. I win, Jake. But if I win, why does it feel like I lose? What the hell am I supposed to do without you, you stupid, stupid son of a bitch?”