Eighty-Seven Steps

     It was late afternoon in the Berkshires. The bright June sun painted the wooded oaks making their leaves sparkle vibrant green. Mike slumped quietly with his head in his hand, hypnotized as he looked out the common room window. He exhaled deeply.

    This will be the only thing I miss about this place,he thought to himself.

    “Can we get ice cream later?” asked a small voice, piercing his glumness and liberating smile. Mike looked at his son for several seconds.  Billy knelt on his chair and was playing with his model rescue helicopter on the nursing home table. He was the only child in the crowded room. All of the other visitors were adult children or family members.

    “I don’t know … maybe” Mike said, oddly struggling to sound fatherly.

    Then he heard it, unmistakable.

    Squeak, squeak, squeak. Father and son both turned and looked.

    It was about to begin, again.
     
    Wrapped in a pale blue blanket, William Reynolds looked anxiously about the busy, bustling day room. Then he shuffled towards the table where Mike and Billy sat. His hospital slippers squeaked on the waxed checkered floor.
He eased down warily as he assessed the two strangers now sitting at his table.

    At first nothing was said.
“Hi Grandpa.” Billy finally whispered. Mike rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder. With that, his son dropped the toy and scooted around to hug his grandfather.

    The old man recoiled at first. Then he hugged back, like the six year old was made of eggshells.

    “Your boy?” the man asked politely. Mike nodded with tight lips.

    “So Bill, how are you feeling?” No response. Billy returned to his helicopter and his imagination. Mike glanced over at him and smiled again.

    “Do you know it takes …” the old man mumbled.

    “Eighty-seven …” Mike interrupted.

    “Exactly a eighty-seven steps … from my room … to my table!”, Bill proclaimed as his eyes wandered childlike. Mike rubbed his eyes with both hands. He looked at his watch.

    “So, Bill are they treating you okay?” Again no response. Mike leaned back in his chair. “Sarah wanted me to say “Hi”. She plans to come by to visit … when work gets less hectic.” After saying this he evaded eye contact.

    But then Mike studied his father’s blank face.
There are perks to Alzheimer’s, he thought and then hung his head.

    Just then, Billy sprang from his chair flying his helicopter over to the enormous picture window. The two men watched him together silently.

    “Seems like a good boy.” Mike turned and stared at his dad. “Looks just like you.” The grown son leaned in hopeful. “Reminds me of my squirt, Mike.”

    Mike flinched. The room chilled and quieted. An awkward silenced engulfed the table and the men like a damp fog.

    Crash!

    Mike glared over his shoulder. Bill remained motionless.
The elderly woman sitting alone at the next table cackled. Like a misbehaving toddler, she pointed to the shattered plate and coffee cup on the floor in front of her. One of the nursing home staff dashed over to clean up the mess.

    Taking a deep breath, Mike looked back at his father. He was running his finger along the artificial grain of the fake wood veneer tabletop. Looking up, the adult son began inventorying the ceiling fans. They were all still there, to include the cobwebs.

    “What’s the temperature?” the old man asked.

    “Dad … Bill, I don’t know. It feels fine in here”, the son snapped back.

    “I’m cold.” Bill tugged the hospital blanket up over his shoulders.

    For a moment Mike escaped, looking over at Billy still playing at the streaked picture window. It had started raining.

    “Do you know it takes …”

    Mike rocked forward out of the hard backed chair and sped across the room. His son was now sitting on a couch, too close to a resident jabbering out loud to himself. Clutching Billy’s hand, he yanked him up and back to the table.

    “Thanks for fetching him.” Bill said grinning. “He’s always wandering away. Scares my wife and me to death.” Billy looked puzzled; Mike took his hand as they sat down together. They both continued to listen.

    “One time, at the zoo, he gave us the slip …” Bill said pointing at Billy. Then his eye welled up. “We looked everywhere. Thought we’d lost him … forever.” The final word hung in the air then evaporated. Mike got teary also but fought back, dismissing the moisture with the back of his hand.

    “So … you really love your son?” Mike asked prompting. The man wiped away the tears on his blanket. He sobbed for a few moments.

    “Did Mikey tell you he’s quite the baseball player?” The old man beamed, sitting upright again. He then reached over and patted the boy’s hand.

    “Grandpa, I don’t play base …” Mike put his hand on his son’s shoulder. The boy shrugged. Billy then retreated back in his chair and tinkered with his toy.

    “No, he didn’t. Is he any good?”

    “Is he any good?” Bill chuckled. “Why in his last game he hit two homeruns, one was a grand slam!” The man then glanced down at his empty hands. “I couldn’t make that game. I had to work. I always had to work.”

    “I know.” Mike pronounced as he folded his arms.

    “Dad …” both men reacted, looking at the boy. Billy turned to his father. “I have to … pee.”

    “It’s over there, just past the front desk.” Mike answered. The boy appeared confused. His father pointed over his shoulder backwards. In a flash, his son was gone. The model helicopter lay on its side in front of Billy’s now empty chair.

    “What’s the temperature?”

    Mike rubbed his chin slowly. He then stood up and starting walking towards the window.

    Bill reached over and picked up Billy’s helicopter. He studied it closely, admiring the handiwork. Seeing the words, “Made in China”, the old man scratched his head perplexed.

    Standing in front of the glass, Mike could see both his reflection and that of his father. He looked past both and out into the parking lot. Scanning the rows of cars he finally found the family Toyota. The blue Camry was still parked where he had left it. Mike grinned as he recalled the luck of finding such a close parking spot, especially today.

    Suddenly, a child’s laughter got his attention. In the reflection, Mike could see that his father was no longer alone. His son had rejoined him. So, slipping his hands in his jeans pockets, the man slinked back to rejoin them.

    But then he stopped several feet away from the table to listen.

    “I know I’ve been busy lately.” Bill stammered. He then took a quick breath and blew it out. “It’s just … just so hard for me.” The little boy was half paying attention to his namesake as he spun the blades of his plastic helicopter. “I’m so … so proud of you.” Bill looked up over Billy’s head and out the window again with lucidity. “You’ve always made me proud … but even more so when you grew into the man you’ve become.” The boy acknowledged all this with a timid shake his head. With that, the old man leaned over and kissed his grandson. “I love you, Billy.”  
     
    Mike stood silent for a moment. His face blanched. He clutched his fists. Then he released them with his long held breath. Color bled back into his face. Without a word, he rejoined the man and the boy at the table. But as he sat back down, Billy and his chopper took off again on another mission.
     
    Bill focused once more on the tabletop. Mike struggled for something to say.
     
    “You know it takes exactly …”

    “Yes, Dad. I know! I know!” Mike shot up from his chair.“It takes exactly eighty-seven God damn steps!” He turned to address the room full of people staring at him uneasy.“To get from your room … to here. To your heart’s fucking desire!”, he detonated with a final explosion.
     
    He then fell back into his chair. The background murmur of the common room resumed as if nothing had just happened.

    Bill winced wounded. He fidgeted in his chair and then readjusted his blanket which had slipped off of his shoulders.

    “I’m ready for ice cream!” sang Billy as he and his helicopter crash landed back at the table.

    “Yea. We really should be going.” his father agreed. “Well, Bill … we’ll see you next time.” Mike rose up and fished for his car keys in his pocket.

    Bill Reynolds did not respond. He just folded his hands on his lap and gazed out the window.

    “Bye Grandpa.” The boy yelled over his shoulder as he took his dad’s hand. As they left, Billy began muttering something to himself that only he could hear.

    As the two stepped out the door, they basked in the Sunday afternoon sun. Billy broke free of his dad and started skipping down the steps. Meanwhile his father trudged after him.

    Several feet before the car, Billy slowed down and started shouting out loud. Mike couldn’t quite make it out so he sprinted down the steps to catch up.

    “Eighty-four, eighty-five, eighty-six …” he stopped as he turned around to face his father.

    Mike froze in his tracks.

    “Dad, it takes exactly …”

    “Eighty-seven steps.”, Mike finished.  He turned slowly around to face the common room window and his father’s table inside. Then he stepped off the blacktop and plopped down on the cool, shaded grass. His eyes watered, then tears flowed. Dropping his head to his hands the man began to quake.

    Instinctively, Billy ran to his dad and leapt into his lap. Wrapping him a tight hug he whispered “Happy Father’s Day, Dad.”