Achy Bones

I’m awoken by the bleating of the alarm clock that has been a constant reminder of the world that robs me of the one comfort I’ve ever known: a good night’s rest. No matter what heartache or pain the world of the conscious brings, you can always find that same comfort hidden behind your eyelids.

As I roll out of bed, I slap the top of the alarm clock in the same way as I always have, sending a warm tingling through my palm. When my legs touch the floor, I notice a sharp pain in my knee. These aren’t new. You wait for the feeling too dull so that you can push up onto your feet. If you can support your weight without falling over, there’s a good chance you can at least make it to the toilet.

In the mirror stands a paunchy hunchback geezer. A man that once made all the women swoon, now shriveled and emasculated by time. While I’m grateful I still have hair, it has lost all definition and now sits flatly on my head. It’s these daily trips in front of the mirror that remind me how close I am to the last morning I’m woken up by that evil machine. And I’ll tell you a secret: I can’t wait.

In this long life I’ve lived, I haven’t had much success in finding someone I connected with. I was married once, sure. She died of a slow and horrible disease not long after we married, and after watching her go like that, I never had the heart to try again. As much as I hate to say it, though, she never really was the love of my life. That honor goes to someone who I could’ve never been with, someone I had hurt beyond forgiveness. Excuse me, I slipped up. I don’t often allow myself to think of such a great person. I don’t deserve it. Right now, I’m just waiting for the day when all my mistakes won’t matter anymore, and I can get some sleep.

Although I hate taking all of these pills, I do like going to the pharmacy and seeing the excellent doctor and his assistants. He always has my medicine ready on time and remembers my name. It seems small, but it means so much to have someone thinking of you. I’m supposed to go later, and I have so much to tell him about my neighbors.

–-

They took away my license after I rear-ended some punk kid. He cut me off and then flipped me off like I was the problem. Honestly, I’m not going to say it wasn’t worth it. I never liked to drive anyway. Luckily, I grew up in a town with a robust public transportation system that has somehow maintained its strength for nearly a century. Thank heavens, too, because, by the time I get from the bus stop to the pharmacy door, I am already winded. 

“How’s Mr. Henderson?” Greets the pharmacist as I walk through the door. 

“The damn kid won’t stop banging on my ceiling,” I reply with a short laugh. “Seems like he’s doing jumping jacks 10 hours a day.” The pharmacist gives me a polite chuckle, which I appreciate.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll set him straight. Actually, I’m sorry, but your order isn’t ready yet. Could I ask you to wait?” 

“Maybe just this once,” I say with a wink as I make my way to the seating area. The pharmacy is crammed that the usually barren collection of chairs is packed like a submarine. I politely take my seat between two women and begin patiently waiting for my order. Time goes by as people are called, and the lobby thins out. Not quick enough for my liking, though, mind you.

After about ten minutes of squinting to read the poster across the lobby, someone says something next to me. I look over to see an inquisitive old man. “Hello,” I say simply.

“Where did you go to school?” He replied, ignoring my greeting. Rude.

“Martin Luther High, down the road.”

He beams. “Go Bulls.”

Do I know this guy? “Go Bulls.” I smile politely—kind of a lame mascot, a bull. Brash and stubborn, set in its ways no matter how destructive.

“It’s me, Jennifer.” He says, and my head snaps to look at him. Why did he say that?

It’s then that I notice qualities that seem somewhat familiar. His eyes seemed kind and hopeful, something I hadn’t felt in a long time. That smile, now looking right at him… but that didn’t make any sense. 

“Well, Jeremy now. I don’t like to think about my old name much, but it looks like your mind might already be halfway out the door there, geezer.” He relaxes in the chair, having burned all his energy. We both face forward and are silent for a few moments. “I heard about your wife. That couldn’t have been easy on you.”

I smirk, “She was a very kind woman, and I believe she loved me very much. I did love her too, But.. well, that’s life. I wish I could’ve been more.”

“I always thought you’d grow out of that. Devaluing yourself in relationships.”

“Well, it’s how I feel,” I grumble.

“It’s selfish to act like the whole relationship revolved around you and what you thought without giving weight to the other person. She chose to be and stay with you, and for the record, so did I.” 

We sit silently. It’s hard to notice if any of the other patients see our argument, but either way, he doesn’t seem to care. He was always like that, making as much noise as he could.

“So, what else is new?” I smile at my own little joke.

He instinctively reaches to his back pocket and pulls out a wallet and begins to unfold the pictures while fumbling with the change that comes tumbling out. 

“Bad for your back to sit on your wallet,” I try to fill the silence. Brought on by the change clattering all over the floor.

“This is my husband, Hank.” Jeremy gestures to a picture of a slightly younger man and himself somewhere tropical. Are those Leis? I let out an audible chuckle.

“We adopted these two teenage siblings, they’re really great kids,” He says, pointing to another photo of a mop-haired kid with an electric guitar with another boy cheering in the background. They look happy.

I’m glad. “You really deserved it.”

We sit in silence for a little while longer, not sure what to say.

“Mr. Diaz.” My head turns, it’s the doctor. He is waving my bag before setting it on the counter. 

“Well…” I say, extending my legs.

“I’m so glad I saw you, I hope it isn’t the last time.” Jeremy extends his hand, I grab it and squeeze.

“Me too.” This serves as my goodbye, as I begin to head to the counter.

“Wait, Michael.” He stops me with my own name.

“Why didn’t you say anything about my transition? I’m so used to questions from people in my past.”

“Transition? That would mean you changed.” I say as I grab my medicine off the counter and begin my walk home.

I think I might turn off my alarm clock tonight.