Week 31: Daniel Jacobson- The Ricochet of Old Friends

Full Prompt: “The ricochet of old friends” + “a little (Spotify compiled) instrumental playlist to listen to and get inspired”

Story:

“Just there- across the lake!”

“How’s that?”

“Don’t you see her, Doc? That woman- she needs our help!” 

“Ah… yes. Yes, I see now- just needed to clean my spectacles. What should we do?”

“I figure we sneak around the edge of the lake there, and come in from the West. That way the sun will mask our approach from any unseen dangers.”

“We best get goin' then.”

The two figures made their way around the western edge of the water. They took care in their pace. As they approached the woman and could better survey the landscape, and what unforeseen dangers may lay within, they made themselves known.

“Excuse me ma’am,” the taller of the two shouted. 

“Oh, hello there,” the woman waved.

“We couldn’t help but notice from across the lake that you were struggling with your shelter.”

“The lake?… oh, oh yes! Of course! The lake. Well, that is mighty fine of you gentlemen to notice such a thing. Yes, yes I do need help with my shelter. That would be very kind of y’all.”

Doc, the shorter of the two, moved to help but the taller man beat him to it. Quick as he could he cranked the levered mechanism which caused the arms of the apparatus to elevate from a vertical position to a horizontal position. Between each of the eight arms, canvas stretched in a radial fashion until finally, at their zenith, a circular shape of shade was now covering the area in which the woman sat. 

“That is far better, thank you so much sirs.”

“No problem ‘tall ma’am. Can’t be too careful out in this desert sun, the heat will catch up with you before you know it. You have a good day now.”

With that, the taller man tipped his hat to the lady and strode back into the sun.

“Thanks Gladys.” The shorter man nodded to the lady.

“Oh of course Roger,” the lady acknowledged and continued: “you know we enjoy indulging him. Hah, I suppose it’s fortunate he played the good guy, right? Can you imagine if he’d played some sort of criminal? Goodness, what a mess we’d all be in.”

“Haha, yeah- that sure would be a pickle. Not sure what I’d do!”

“How long have you two been adventuring this time?”

“Oh, we were just talking about dinner there on the other side of the pool. Last thing he said was ‘meatloaf’ before he eyed you trying to open your umbrella and poof, Doc and The Rider were back in action.”

“At least he keeps things interesting.”

“That he certainly does. I’ll talk to you later Gladys!”

“Bye Roger!”

Roger Richardson, who had once played the television character ‘Doc’, returned to his friend who was now sitting back on the other side of the pool. He sat hunched forward, left eye brow set low against the western sun, right high brow high, in constant vigil of the surrounding area. 

“What do you see, Rider?” Roger greeted his friend.

The inquiry went unacknowledged. 

“Rider?…” he repeated.

Still no answer. 

“Karl,” he asserted in a lower and more direct tone.

The sitting man, Karl Clemson, who had once played ‘The Rider’ opposite Roger’s ‘Doc,’ relaxed. His shoulders eased, both his brows raised as he looked toward his friend. “Oh, hey there Rog! Have you been here long?” 

Now 86 and 84 years of age, Karl and Roger had starred in a televised western series for the better part of a decade in the late forties. They had been instant friends when cast and in the interim 42 years their friendship had only strengthened. It had strengthened through Karl’s messy divorce, fortunes won and lost, countries traveled, and the unfortunate death of Roger’s wife. Now in their remaining days at a southwestern retirement resort, Roger is the only person who can reach through the veil of Karl’s belief that he is actually ‘The Rider.’ He is the only one who can pull him back to the reality of an aged and accomplished actor in the twilight of his years. But most of the time, they’re both content to amble about the sunny complex righting ‘wrongs’ and fighting against ‘injustices.’ Almost as happy as they are the fellow retirees and the staff to oblige the pair in their pursuits.

“Those two, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s a pretty special thing they’ve got.” 

“Haha, yeah, ‘special’ is the word for it.”

Two of the establishment’s workers stood outside the pool’s fence on their break. One a physical therapist, the other the institution’s psychiatrist. 

“The thing is,” the psychiatrist stated, “it’s the deepest friendship I’ve ever witnessed.”

“Yeah?” The physical therapist asked, “how’s that?”

“Well, Karl there, is in this state as a result of Roger’s wife passing away.” 

“I don’t follow…” 

“We’ve had several sessions addressing his disassociation with reality,” the psychiatrist continued, ”and from what I’ve been able to ascertain is that these reversion episodes- him thinking they are the characters they once played- started shortly after Roger’s wife passed.”

“He couldn’t handle the loss of his friend’s wife?”

“Not him. Roger couldn’t handle it. By all reports he was utterly inconsolable. It is my professional opinion that upon seeing his friend in such pain, with little to nothing he could do about it, especially in their advanced age, Karl’s mind reverted to the happiest time they shared before Roger met his wife.”

“And that was when they starred in Ricochet?”

“Exactly. Roger met her just after the show ended and they were married and happy for the rest of her life. I truly believe Karl put himself in this state to give Roger something to do. Something to distract him from his grief. He knew Roger would take care of him- but more so, he knew Roger would be game for returning to their greatest roles.”

“He couldn’t just be acting this whole time?”

“Impossible. Have you seen him revert to The Rider?”

“Sure, everyone here has.”

“No, I mean really looked at him when it happens- his physicality completely changes. He moves faster, he stands taller, he’s every bit the man we’ve seen in reruns, just… grayer.

The physical therapist took a long drag from his cigarette and the two stood there in silence until he finally admitted: “Except for my late mother, I can’t think of a single person in my life that would care that deeply about my well-being. 

“Neither can I,” retorted the psychiatrist, “neither can I.”