Droplets

The droplets darkened, diluting as they pulled the ink from Melvin’s writing. He sighed, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He crumpled the paper and tossed it over his shoulder. He fanned himself as he leaned back in his seat, gazing over his desk. The corn swayed in a gentle breeze beyond the glass, a deceitfully pleasant scene in the midst of the mid-August swelter. Still, he felt a compulsion to go bask in the peaceful illusion.

He strained as he pushed himself up, gripping the chair’s arm tightly in his struggle to balance. He waved at his desk dismissively- he hadn’t yet found the proper words anyways. Clutching at the wall, he left the small room that served as his makeshift office and hobbled to the kitchen in search of a cool drink to keep him company in the blaring heat. An old golden retriever lazily lifted his head as the old man limped past the front door and over to the sink.

Melvin sighed. Dirty dishes piled up past the faucet, spilling out over the majority of the counter space. He waddled over to the cupboard and pulled it open with a shaking hand. Empty. Refusing to accept defeat, Melvin turned in place, scanning the forest of glass, porcelain, and ceramic for a glass of acceptable cleanliness. His eyes dragged past the front door, over to the fireplace and the many memories cluttered upon its mantel. The dog watched curiously as Melvin approached and fished a champagne flute tied with white ribbon from the tangle of mementos, knocking some to the floor as he did so. Melvin didn’t seem to notice. He looked to the dog with a nod and raised the glass suggestively.

“Good thing Martha isn’t here to scold us for this one, eh Luther?” Melvin said.

Melvin laughed to himself lightly as he stumbled back to the kitchen and Luther returned his head to rest upon his paws. Melvin pulled a bottle from the top of his fridge, a finely aged scotch. He exhumed the glass and bottle from their burial in dust with the help of his patchy dirt-caked overalls before pouring the copper-hued liquid into the flute. Much of it cascaded over the lip, soaking his fingers and dripping to the floor as he fought to hold his hands steady. Luther looked at him again in apparent concern. Melvin crammed the bottle into a space between the molding plates atop the counter and took notice of Luther’s observation as he turned.

“Oh calm down, boy. It’s my birthday, after all.” Melvin said. “Let a man have a drink.”

Melvin pulled open the freezer door and sighed. The plastic ice racks laid empty atop the disorganized heap of plates of cutlery that suffocated the counters. He drew a dirty fork from the mess and chipped away at the ice build-up clinging to the freezer walls. He dropped the shards into the golden potion and took a swig, nodding in satisfaction as he savored the smooth earthy accents.

Luther followed Melvin out onto the front porch, laying down beside him as the old man painstakingly lowered himself into a rocking chair. He sipped from the champagne flute as he swayed back and forth. He wiped more sweat from his brow as he looked over his field and began to doze off.

A short while later he was roused by the appearance of a police cruiser at the end of his dirt road, casting up a screen of dust in its wake as it made its approach. Melvin smiled as two officers, a man and a woman, stepped out from the vehicle and up to the porch.

“Hey there, Mel. Just checking in on ya. Making sure you’re okay in this heat.” The man, whose badge read ‘Gutierrez’, spoke. He eyed the champagne flute. “Doc know you’re still drinking?”

“It’s my birthday,” Melvin said, “I made an exception today.”

“But he said it was his birthday yester—” The female, who’s badge read ‘Ralston’ started, but Gutierrez raised his hand quickly to cut her off, shaking his head.

“I see… Well, happy birthday, Mel.” He said. He noticed the muddy grime coating the flute and the collaboration of dusty chunks floating around sluggishly within. “That’s a fancy glass you’re drinking from there.”

“It’s from our wedding.” Melvin said. He froze and looked around warily. “Don’t tell Martha. She’d have my hide.”

Gutierrez glanced briefly over to a pair of headstones in the shape of a crosses beneath an oak tree of to the side of the house. He bit his lip and nodded somberly.

“You got it, Mel. Our secret.”

“Oh, you’ve brought Cindy with you!” Melvin’s voice rose with excitement as he appeared to notice Ralston for the first time. “Where are the kids? I can have Martha whip up some fresh lemonade!”

Melvin turned towards the door to shout for his wife.

“No, no. That’s okay.” Gutierrez said. “The kids are back at home. Don’t you fret.”

“Ah, well its good to see you, son. Glad they let you come home long enough to pay your old man a visit.” Melvin relaxed into his chair once more and turned to Ralston. “Cindy, how are you? How’s the embroidery business?”

Ralston sighed.

“Mr. Lewis, I’m not—”

“She’s doing great.” Gutierrez cut her off again. He wiped the sweat forming on his own brow as he eyed the sun mercilessly accosting the trio from above. “Do you mind if we step inside? I want to get out of this heat for a minute.”

“Of course!” Melvin smiled, jumping up from his chair. “I’ll have Martha get that lemonade!”

Melvin pulled open the screen door and stepped through. Ralston tugged at Gutierrez’s sleeve and tossed her head to the side.

“A word, Gutierrez?”

Gutierrez nodded and looked to the front door of Mel’s home.

“I’ll be right in, Mel! Just give me a moment!” He shouted.

Ralston led him back towards their cruiser, shaking her head.

“What are you doing? You can’t enable him like this. It’s cruel.” She said.

“What do you suggest we do?” Gutierrez asked sternly. “Break the poor man’s heart all over again every five minutes?” He sighed. “My abuelo went through the same thing, but he was in a home with proper care. It might seem wrong, but sometimes playing along is the best thing for them. Let him have a few peaceful minutes of living in the past.”

Ralston scoffed.

“Be that as it may, we’re not nurses. We’re police officers. It’s a waste of our time to keep coming out here like this every day. Other people need us too.”

“We help people for a living.” Gutierrez shook his head. “We work for the smallest county in the state. There’s nothing else going on, and you have your radio on don’t you? How is this a waste of time?”

Ralston sighed.

“I just worry that you’re trying to live in the past yourself. He’s not your grandfather, Rogelio. If you really just want to help Mel, that’s fine… but if another call comes in we leave immediately. Okay?”

“Of course.” Gutierrez nodded.

The pair walked back up the porch and proceeded through the front door. Melvin sat hunched over, atop a stack of newspapers and sale ads, sniveling into his hands. He looked up as the officers entered.

“I-I’m sorry, Rogelio…” Melvin said.

“It’s alright, Mel.” Gutierrez stepped inside and placed a hand on Melvin’s shoulder. “Are you sure you want to stay here? We can get you help…”

Melvin brushed the hand from his shoulder.

“I’ll be fine. Doc says I don’t have much longer anyhow.”

Gutierrez nodded his understanding. He walked over near the mantel and bent over, picking up a triangular frame. Melvin sighed as Gutierrez turned over the folded United States flag and set it back above the fireplace beside the picture of Melvin’s son in uniform.

“It’s hard.” Melvin said. “I keep forgetting…”

Gutierrez could only nod again. He sighed as he observed the state of Melvin’s home, noting Luther’s empty food and water bowls. He patted the old man’s back comfortingly.

“He was a good man, Mel… Ralston! Feed Luther, would you? I’ll get these dishes.”

Melvin moved to a nearby chair as the officers helped tidy his home.

“Been doing some digging, Mel?” Gutierrez asked, gesturing to the old man’s dirt-covered overalls as he went about clearing the sink.

“Just trying to get everything ready. I want to be buried next to Martha under the oak tree. We said our vows there, you know.”

“You’ve told me.” Gutierrez smiled. “Need any help? I don’t want you collapsing out there. We’re facing record highs this summer, you know. You’ve gotta be careful.”

“No.” Melvin shook his head. “It’s all dug and ready for me. Just trying to write my goodbyes to Cindy and the kids, now. I’m leaving the farm and house to them.”

“How old are they now?” Gutierrez grinned, trying to change to a more positive subject.

“Who?” Melvin asked.

Gutierrez turned around and noted the confused expression on Melvin’s face.

“The kids.” He said, swiveling back to the sink to hide the somber look upon his own.

“Oh! How are they? Behaving themselves I hope!” Melvin laughed cheerily. “If they’re anything like you were I’m sure they’re quite the handful.”

Ralston sighed. She shook her head, grabbed a nearby broom, and stepped out onto the porch.

The droplets darkened, diluting as they soaked in the grime upon the plate Gutierrez was about to wash. The sweat pouring down his face in streams helped disguise the tears that he’d shed. Memories of his grandfather’s final days pulsed through his head. He stopped in every day to check on Melvin, but it never got any easier. Gutierrez wiped the salt from his cheeks and forehead with the back of his hand as he started to suspect Ralston was right. Perhaps some part of him was trying to live in the past too, but he wouldn’t let that stop him from looking after the sweet old man.

“They’re good, Mel. They’re good.” He stifled a sob.

Melvin nodded and smiled.

“It sure is a hot one today. I’ll have to have Martha make some of her lemonade. She crushes fresh mint from the garden herself, you know.” Realization flashed across Melvin’s face. “Darn! I forgot we’re out of lemons though. I’ll have to make a run to the store.”

“Don’t worry, Mel.” Gutierrez said, drying his cheeks with his sleeve once more. “I’ll bring some tomorrow.”