Age 25
Bobby sat in the hard steel chair; the kind only hospitals have, padded with a worn plastic that squeaked with every movement. A ray of sunlight shone in from the window, lying across his crossed legs and the open book propped on his knee. Bobby turned the page, then brought his head up, focusing his attention on his mother lying in bed. She was still asleep, and he watched her eyes dart rapidly back and forth under her closed eyelids. Her face would contort, as if she was in pain, and then relax again for a moment only to have another dream world emotion display itself in her features. He listened to her breathing, steady and soft, belying the intense expressions on her face. He returned to his book, only to repeat the entire process when he turned the next page.
After an hour of sitting and reading, then listening and watching, Bobby closed the book, setting it on the table next to him. Standing up, he reached for the ceiling, stretching out his cramped back and legs. Letting his arms fall back down to his side, he stood quietly consuming the environment around him, not only his mother, but also the hospital outside the door, the city outside the window. For a moment, he put himself in his mothers place, being limited to this one room, while at the same time being able to look out on the city she could no longer participate with. Not a whole part of this world, and yet not able to let herself submerge into her own. She didn't fully belong anywhere. He felt the loneliness that she must live with, and finally understood the excitement and pleasure her voice carried when he telephoned. With a sudden realization, he knew she was stronger than anyone, himself included, had ever given her credit for. The idea made his stomach felt cold and empty, while his heart filled with more love and admiration than he had ever felt.
Quietly he walked to the edge of her bed and stood over her for a moment. Glancing over to the table next to the bed, what in a normal bedroom would be considered a nightstand, he took inventory of the things precious enough to her to display in the limited space. A small frame held his baby picture, a large one held a photo of him in his Army dress uniform. He had posed for that especially for her. Three dried red roses lay on the tabletop in between the two photos. Bobby picked up the last item on the table, a bottle of White Shoulders. He lifted it to his nose, and closing his eyes breathed in the scent so dominant of his childhood. As the sweet smell filled him, he could feel his mothers' lips on his forehead, his fathers' hand on the top of his head.
"That was the only perfume she'd ever wear." A familiar voice broke through Bobby's memory, the warmth and safety he had been flooded with dissipated into the sterile hospital room air. Bobby had been to absorbed in his memories to hear the door open and his father step into the room.
"I know." Bobby regretfully opened his eyes and placed the bottle gently back down on the table, making sure he put it exactly as he'd found it. He leaned down over his mother, and lightly kissed her forehead, the same way he just remembered her kissing his. He turned to his father. "What're you doing here?"
George Goren stood just inside the closed door and smiled sadly at his son's question. In the past few years, he had given up trying to make amends with Bobby. He knew his role would forever be that of the man who abandoned his sick wife for cheap women and fast horses. The man who had forced his child, his son, to grow up much to soon. He tossed his overcoat onto the chair Bobby had just risen from and walked over to the side of the bed. He took her hand in both of his and squeezed it lightly, letting her know he was there. Finally he looked over to Bobby and answered the question. "It's her birthday. That's why I'm here." He waited for the inevitable argument, the protest and accusations, but they didn't come. Bobby only studied his father a moment before looking back down at his mother. Surprised, George asked the question that had been on his mind since he first saw that she was sleeping. "How bad was it?"
Bobby knew what he meant, she wouldn't be sleeping in the middle of the day unless she'd had an episode bad enough for the staff to inject something to make her sleep. "Bad enough." Bobby answered, not wanting to go through the story he'd been told when he first arrived that morning.
In response, his father only nodded in understanding, and for the next few minutes, the two men stood there, both looking down at the woman they each loved.
George broke the silence; he let go of his wife's hand and sat down in the chair next to the bed, a duplicate of the one in the corner where Bobby had spent the morning. "So. . . you got out of the Army?"
A pause, Bobby threw his father an irritated glance. "Yeah."
When Bobby didn't elaborate, George tried again. "What are you going to do now?"
"NYPD."
"A cop?" George was at once proud and frightened.
"Yeah. A cop."
"Bob. . . you could do anything . . . why that?"
Bobby had asked himself that same question many times. He didn't have an answer for himself, let alone for his father. He thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't know. But it feels right."
George thought about that, logically, he'd known his son was an adult, 25, and that Bobby had been handling adult situations for most of his life, but he was suddenly struck by the fact that his son was now a man. He nodded in understanding at Bobby's answer. Changing the subject, he asked: "Got a girl?" Bobby snorted out a short laugh and shook his head. His eyes never leaving his mothers face.
George shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "You want a family, don't you?"
Bobby lifted his head, meeting his father's eyes. "Yes. But I'll tell you one thing. . ." his voice was soft, all the fight in him was gone. "I'd never do to them what you did to us."
Sudden tears stung George's eyes, but he knew he had no right to them, and chased them away with a deep breath. Looking directly at Bobby he said: "Then the wish of every father has just come true. My son is a better man than I am."
Stunned at this response, Bobby was speechless. Tearing his eyes away from his fathers gaze, he looked back down to his mother. After watching Bobby for a moment, George too turned his attention to his wife.
The two of them stayed like that, in silence, each thinking alternately of what was, and what might have been.
Bobby sat in the hard steel chair; the kind only hospitals have, padded with a worn plastic that squeaked with every movement. A ray of sunlight shone in from the window, lying across his crossed legs and the open book propped on his knee. Bobby turned the page, then brought his head up, focusing his attention on his mother lying in bed. She was still asleep, and he watched her eyes dart rapidly back and forth under her closed eyelids. Her face would contort, as if she was in pain, and then relax again for a moment only to have another dream world emotion display itself in her features. He listened to her breathing, steady and soft, belying the intense expressions on her face. He returned to his book, only to repeat the entire process when he turned the next page.
After an hour of sitting and reading, then listening and watching, Bobby closed the book, setting it on the table next to him. Standing up, he reached for the ceiling, stretching out his cramped back and legs. Letting his arms fall back down to his side, he stood quietly consuming the environment around him, not only his mother, but also the hospital outside the door, the city outside the window. For a moment, he put himself in his mothers place, being limited to this one room, while at the same time being able to look out on the city she could no longer participate with. Not a whole part of this world, and yet not able to let herself submerge into her own. She didn't fully belong anywhere. He felt the loneliness that she must live with, and finally understood the excitement and pleasure her voice carried when he telephoned. With a sudden realization, he knew she was stronger than anyone, himself included, had ever given her credit for. The idea made his stomach felt cold and empty, while his heart filled with more love and admiration than he had ever felt.
Quietly he walked to the edge of her bed and stood over her for a moment. Glancing over to the table next to the bed, what in a normal bedroom would be considered a nightstand, he took inventory of the things precious enough to her to display in the limited space. A small frame held his baby picture, a large one held a photo of him in his Army dress uniform. He had posed for that especially for her. Three dried red roses lay on the tabletop in between the two photos. Bobby picked up the last item on the table, a bottle of White Shoulders. He lifted it to his nose, and closing his eyes breathed in the scent so dominant of his childhood. As the sweet smell filled him, he could feel his mothers' lips on his forehead, his fathers' hand on the top of his head.
"That was the only perfume she'd ever wear." A familiar voice broke through Bobby's memory, the warmth and safety he had been flooded with dissipated into the sterile hospital room air. Bobby had been to absorbed in his memories to hear the door open and his father step into the room.
"I know." Bobby regretfully opened his eyes and placed the bottle gently back down on the table, making sure he put it exactly as he'd found it. He leaned down over his mother, and lightly kissed her forehead, the same way he just remembered her kissing his. He turned to his father. "What're you doing here?"
George Goren stood just inside the closed door and smiled sadly at his son's question. In the past few years, he had given up trying to make amends with Bobby. He knew his role would forever be that of the man who abandoned his sick wife for cheap women and fast horses. The man who had forced his child, his son, to grow up much to soon. He tossed his overcoat onto the chair Bobby had just risen from and walked over to the side of the bed. He took her hand in both of his and squeezed it lightly, letting her know he was there. Finally he looked over to Bobby and answered the question. "It's her birthday. That's why I'm here." He waited for the inevitable argument, the protest and accusations, but they didn't come. Bobby only studied his father a moment before looking back down at his mother. Surprised, George asked the question that had been on his mind since he first saw that she was sleeping. "How bad was it?"
Bobby knew what he meant, she wouldn't be sleeping in the middle of the day unless she'd had an episode bad enough for the staff to inject something to make her sleep. "Bad enough." Bobby answered, not wanting to go through the story he'd been told when he first arrived that morning.
In response, his father only nodded in understanding, and for the next few minutes, the two men stood there, both looking down at the woman they each loved.
George broke the silence; he let go of his wife's hand and sat down in the chair next to the bed, a duplicate of the one in the corner where Bobby had spent the morning. "So. . . you got out of the Army?"
A pause, Bobby threw his father an irritated glance. "Yeah."
When Bobby didn't elaborate, George tried again. "What are you going to do now?"
"NYPD."
"A cop?" George was at once proud and frightened.
"Yeah. A cop."
"Bob. . . you could do anything . . . why that?"
Bobby had asked himself that same question many times. He didn't have an answer for himself, let alone for his father. He thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't know. But it feels right."
George thought about that, logically, he'd known his son was an adult, 25, and that Bobby had been handling adult situations for most of his life, but he was suddenly struck by the fact that his son was now a man. He nodded in understanding at Bobby's answer. Changing the subject, he asked: "Got a girl?" Bobby snorted out a short laugh and shook his head. His eyes never leaving his mothers face.
George shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "You want a family, don't you?"
Bobby lifted his head, meeting his father's eyes. "Yes. But I'll tell you one thing. . ." his voice was soft, all the fight in him was gone. "I'd never do to them what you did to us."
Sudden tears stung George's eyes, but he knew he had no right to them, and chased them away with a deep breath. Looking directly at Bobby he said: "Then the wish of every father has just come true. My son is a better man than I am."
Stunned at this response, Bobby was speechless. Tearing his eyes away from his fathers gaze, he looked back down to his mother. After watching Bobby for a moment, George too turned his attention to his wife.
The two of them stayed like that, in silence, each thinking alternately of what was, and what might have been.