Week 2: Ghost of a Memory- Abigail Vitaliano

Full Prompt: “Ghost of a memory”

Story:

”It’s time for your pills.”

“Can I get some bourbon to wash ‘em down?”

“Now, now, you know your kidneys wouldn’t like that.”

“Yeah… my kidneys. My 88 year old kidneys… they really need lookin’ after.”

He slugged back the two, blue, horse-pills with a swig of water and clanged the empty glass back down on the nurse’s tray. He flashed her a grizzled half smile. He hadn’t had time for pleasantries in his youth, let alone now. But he had never been a rude man.

“There. I took the pills, with water, doc prescribed. Can I at least get a smoke?”

“As you well know this is a non-smoking facility.”

“Tell that to the orderlies.”

“Oh, come now, the orderlies are not permitted to smoke on the premises either.”

“Yeah? Not behind the dumpster and between the laundry truck- where they think no one sees? Around 10, 10:15 am… I see. I always have.”

“Well I’m sure I do not know what you are talking about.”

“Well I’m sure you do- you’re one of ‘em. What harm could one little cigarette do?”

“Legally, I cannot do that.”

“Legally, huh? Lawfully. The letter of the the law…”

“As I was saying- legally I cannot do that, but if a cigarette, that I do not smoke on the premises, fell out of my pocket, and you found it- well I couldn’t help that. And no one would know where you got it- unless you told them…”

“And I wouldn’t dare. I’m good at secrets- they use to be my job.”

The young nurse timidly pulled a soft pack from her pocket, removed one filtered cigarette, and placed it on the patient’s weathered, wooden desk.

“You’re a doll.”

“My name is Patricia- and you know that… Mr. Marlowe.”

“And you know my name is Dirk. Feel free to use it.”

Dirk Marlowe, in an old robe, slacks, an off white button-up, navy blue tie loose about his neck, had one slipper on, and sat in a cracked leather, easy chair. A chair strategically positioned near the windows, in the corner of his small room at Shaded Palms retirement facility. He watched his new nurse, Patricia, exit the room and offered her another grizzled half smile, knowing she would be his only company of the day. Knowing she would be the only distraction from his thoughts. He grabbed a single crutch propped against the wall next to him and used it to slide the windows wide open. He then put his weight on the crutch to rise from the chair and hobble to the desk. His last case had cost him dearly. His last case. But not his final. He eased back in to the chair, returned the crutch to its spot, and struck a match against the dimpled wall. He raised the cigarette to his lips, then the lit match to its end. He felt the warmth of it on his face and closed his eyes. He lit the cigarette. He took a long, deliberate drag and settled in. He had work to do. Brainwork. But his brain didn’t function as it once had. His last case not only took his right leg from the knee down, but left him with a condition, the cerebral variety, which the docs claimed those pills were for. He’d not noticed a difference. Eyes still closed he laid his head back on the chair. Face toward the ceiling, cigarette-wielding arm lackadaisically thrown over the rest, he thought. If only he could put the pieces together in the right order. If only his mind would sharpen for just one more day; like a razor, as it once was. This final case, never solved, this haunting, this shadow in every corner, this ghost of a memory, he could free himself of. If only he could remember.