Arthur

[DRAFT - incomplete]

Arthur

Old people smell funny. I don’t know what causes it, but they all seem to have this weird odor. Kinda sweet and musty, like cucumbers and old books. Not that I’m around them much. Thing is, I don’t have any grandparents or anything. I mean, I did, of course, but they all died. I only have this vague memory of one grandma, from when I was really little. She had that same smell.

I didn’t want to do this project. Not because of the smell. It’s just, to be honest, old people make me uncomfortable. I’m not used to them, like Sterling is.     

We’re supposed to interview an elderly person. A grandparent, if we have any living. Which, as I already said, I don’t. Or some other relative who’s a senior citizen. A family friend. A neighbor. 

The other choice is to talk to a complete stranger from the Assisted Living place. Mrs. Park has a list of names. So here I am, about to meet some old guy named Lowell Ferguson. Wish me luck.

!!!

The kid is coming today. Should be here any time now. I tell you, I’m not looking forward to it. He’s probably some punk with an attitude, like most of them nowadays. Probably even my own great-grandkids are getting that way, but I don’t see them often enough to know.

It’s Eunice’s fault that I got roped in on this interview deal. She’s like one of those yappy little dogs. Woman never quits talking, and she’s full of “you oughtas”. The Director, we call her behind her back. 

“Lowell, you oughta volunteer to help out!” When she said that, she stuck a flyer in my face and elbowed me with her bony appendage. Hard. Right in the ribs. You wouldn’t think such a scrawny old biddy could have much force, but you’d have another think coming! That Eunice is something else. 

Before you get on your high horse, let me tell you this: I’ve heard her call me a cantankerous old grouch, so I’ve got a right to call her a biddy.

Marie didn’t take to Eunice, and she liked just about everybody else. So that tells you something… Excuse me… I’m sorry… I miss Marie.

Anyway. Sometimes, with Eunice, it’s better to just go along with her pushiness. You have to pick your battles. 

Ah, here comes my interviewer, I think. Puny little blond kid with glasses, carrying one of those tablets they all use now. Looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

!!!

There’s a cluster of old people in the lobby. Mostly women, because I guess they live longer. One of them is what Mom calls “heavy”. She’s sitting in a big chair with yarn strung all over her lap, holding knitting needles. She’s not using them, as far as I can see. She’s talking.

“…and after all these years, I finally discovered the cause of obesity. It’s bad knees, you know!”

Well, that’s a good one! But I barely have time to think about it. I gotta get to Mr. Ferguson.

Which one is he? The one sitting real straight, in a wheelchair, with his hands gripping the armrests? Or is he the one asleep in a chair, with his chin on his chest? I can hear the snoring from here. If it’s him, this is literally gonna be a real snooze.

The man in the wheelchair raises a shaky hand and calls out, “Are you looking for me? I’m Lowell Ferguson.”

!!!

The kid flicks a glance at Cecil, snoring away, then looks at me with what I imagine is relief. 

“Mr. Ferguson, I’m Julian Galloway from Mrs. Park’s class.”

Smile. Offer him a handshake, Lowell! I hear Marie’s voice in my head, and I obey. Julian looks a bit surprised, but gives me an unexpectedly firm grip in return.

“Pleased to meet you, Julian!” And I realize that I am pleased. He seems like a decent young man, just a little out of his comfort zone. What can I do to break the ice?

“Here, sit down.” I pat the chair next to me, trying to ignore the unruly trembling of my hand. Julian sits, fiddles with his tablet, clears his throat.

“Um… I guess… can you start by telling me about when you were a kid?”

!!!

Mr. Ferguson’s hand feels dry and papery. I’m almost afraid the skin will tear when we shake hands, but his grip feels pretty strong. Except his hand trembles, and I get the idea he can’t always control the movement. 

Mrs. Park gave us some pointers on interviewing. Start at the beginning. Ask basic questions. 

🛑

Old people smell funny. I don’t know what causes it, but they all seem to have this weird odor. Kinda sweet and musty, like cucumbers and old books. Not that I’m around them much. Thing is, I don’t have any grandparents or anything. I mean, I did, of course, but they all died. I only have this vague memory of one grandma, from when I was really little. She had that same smell.

I didn’t want to do this project. Not because of the smell. It’s just, to be honest, old people make me uncomfortable. I’m not used to them, like Sterling is.     

We’re supposed to interview an elderly person. A grandparent, if we have any living. Which, as I already said, I don’t. Or some other relative who’s a senior citizen. A family friend. A neighbor. 

The other choice is to talk to a complete stranger from the Assisted Living place. Mrs. Park has a list of names. So here I am, about to meet some old guy named Lowell Ferguson. Wish me luck.

!!!

The kid is coming today. Should be here any time now. I tell you, I’m not looking forward to it. He’s probably some punk with an attitude, like most of them nowadays. Probably even my own great-grandkids are getting that way, but I don’t see them often enough to know.

It’s Eunice’s fault that I got roped in on this interview deal. She’s like one of those yappy little dogs. Woman never quits talking, and she’s full of “you oughtas”. The Director, we call her behind her back. 

“Lowell, you oughta volunteer to help out!” When she said that, she stuck a flyer in my face and elbowed me with her bony appendage. Hard. Right in the ribs. You wouldn’t think such a scrawny old biddy could have much force, but you’d have another think coming! That Eunice is something else. 

Before you get on your high horse, let me tell you this: I’ve heard her call me a cantankerous old grouch, so I’ve got a right to call her a biddy.

Marie didn’t take to Eunice, and she liked just about everybody else. So that tells you something… Excuse me… I’m sorry… I miss Marie.

Anyway. Sometimes, with Eunice, it’s better to just go along with her pushiness. You have to pick your battles. 

Ah, here comes my interviewer, I think. Puny little blond kid with glasses, carrying one of those tablets they all use now. Looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

!!!

There’s a cluster of old people in the lobby. Mostly women, because I guess they live longer. One of them is what Mom calls “heavy”. She’s sitting in a big chair with yarn strung all over her lap, holding knitting needles. She’s not using them, as far as I can see. She’s talking.

“…and after all these years, I finally discovered the cause of obesity. It’s bad knees, you know!”

Well, that’s a good one! But I barely have time to think about it. I gotta get to Mr. Ferguson.

Which one is he? The one sitting real straight, in a wheelchair, with his hands gripping the armrests? Or is he the one asleep in a chair, with his chin on his chest? I can hear the snoring from here. If it’s him, this is literally gonna be a real snooze.

The man in the wheelchair raises a shaky hand and calls out, “Are you looking for me? I’m Lowell Ferguson.”

!!!

The kid flicks a glance at Cecil, snoring away, then looks at me with what I imagine is relief. 

“Mr. Ferguson, I’m Julian Galloway from Mrs. Park’s class.”

Smile. Offer him a handshake, Lowell! I hear Marie’s voice in my head, and I obey. Julian looks a bit surprised, but gives me a surprisingly firm grip in return.

“Pleased to meet you, Julian!” And I realize that I am pleased. He seems like a decent young man, just a little out of his comfort zone. What can I do to break the ice?

“Here, sit down.” I pat the chair next to me, trying to ignore the unruly trembling of my hand. Julian sits, fiddles with his tablet, clears his throat.

“Um… I guess… can you start by telling me about when you were a kid?”

!!!

Mr. Ferguson’s hand feels dry and papery. I’m almost afraid the skin will tear when we shake hands, but his grip feels pretty strong. Except his hand trembles, and I get the idea he can’t always control the movement. 

Mrs. Park gave us some pointers on interviewing. Start at the beginning. Ask basic questions.