Yesterday's Children

This has been through quite a few revisions. It's scheduled to be published in a fledgling print magazine Flint River Fiction in August 2009.




Lynette was on all fours scouring the kitchen linoleum when Will arrived home from work.

“So, what did the doctor say?” After scrutinizing Lynette’s excessive scrubbing he asked, “It’s not good news is it?”

Lynette shook her head.

Will held Lynette’s arms and helped her to her feet. She laid her head against Will’s chest as he massaged her back. “There’s nothing more they can do. It’s just a matter of making him comfortable.”

Will held Lynette’s shoulders and moved her back, so he could look into her eyes. “Baby, I ‘m sorry, but I’m sure the Hospice Center will see to it that he doesn’t suffer.”

“He’s not in the Hospice. He’s right in there.” She pointed to the guest room down the hall.
Will lowered his voice to a whisper. “I know how much you love your father, but you can’t possibly take care of him here. What are you thinking?”

“I wanted him to be somewhere familiar and comfortable. He grew up in this house, in this neighborhood. Isn’t it fitting that he spends what time he has left here?”

Will kissed Lynette on the forehead. “I suppose you’re right, but promise me you won’t take on more than you can handle.”
“I promise.”

The next morning Lynette went in to check on her father. She paused for a moment and took a deep breath. He’s not going to see me cry. “Good morning, Dad.” He didn’t respond, but she kept talking. “I bet you'd like some fresh air, huh? I know how much you enjoy spring.” She opened the window beside his bed. The white, sheer curtains fluttered in the breeze.

“Lilacs,” Richard mumbled.

Lynette walked over to his bedside, stroked his thin, gray hair, and managed a smile. “Yes, there is a hint of lilac in the air this morning. I’ll be right back with some breakfast.” She raised the head of his bed and left the room, gently pulling the door shut behind her.

Richard closed his eyes and inhaled the sweet aroma of his childhood. He heard someone outside calling his name. Straining to see out, he caught a glimpse of a little boy. The little boy sneezed, and then wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Darn lilacs always make me sneeze.”

“Ronnie, is that you?”

Lynette pushed the door open with the tray in her hands. “Dad, were you talking to someone?”

His lumpy, arthritic finger trembled as he pointed out the window. “Ronnie . . . he was right out there.”

“Uncle Ronnie died three years ago. Remember?” She placed the tray in front of her father. “You were probably having a dream. You were still groggy when I left the room.”

Richard stared out the window. “He sneezed. He was allergic to lilacs.”

“Okay Dad. Have some breakfast, take your medicine, try to get some more sleep.”

Richard’s wrinkled hands trembled. He dropped his spoon, so Lynette fed him and gave him his pills. “Get some rest. I’ll come back and check on you in a little while.” After taking the pills, Richard dozed off. A few moments later he was awakened by music from an ice cream truck. Again, he heard his brother outside. “Richie, you missed the ice-cream truck and the baseball game. Come out and play.” Richard glanced out the window. Ronnie sat in the old tire swing, eating a fudge bar. As it melted, it ran down his soiled hands.

“Ronnie, I want to come out and play.” Tears filled Richard’s eyes.” How’d you get to be a kid again?

“Remember what Dad always said? You’re only as young as you feel.”

Lynette rushed into the room. “Are you all right? I thought I heard you yell.”

“Ronnie was out there again.” Richard tried to sit upright, but didn’t have the strength.

“Dad, I think you’re either dreaming or confused. Maybe I should call the doctor.”

“No...No, you’re right. I’m a crazy old man.” He lay back on his pillow. “Only as young as I feel.”

“That’s right, Dad. Grandpa used to say that. Would you like to watch a little T.V.?”

“Is Bugs Bunny on?” Richard’s old, tired eyes were gleaming. “It was my favorite cartoon when I was a boy.”

“I’ll check.” Lynette flipped through the channels. “Sorry, I don’t see it. How about Murder She Wrote? I know you like that show.”

Lynette sat with him for a few minutes before returning to her household chores. “Chan--nel--for--ty--two,” Ronnie said, pausing outside the window on a Pogo stick before hopping away.

Richard fumbled with the remote control. “Darn buttons, why do they make them so small?” He managed to turn the channel, and then snickered at the old cartoons until he fell asleep.

At supper time Lynette returned to Richard’s room with his plate. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

Richard thought for a moment. “I have a box in the attic with baseball cards and comic books in it. Do you think Will could find it for me?”

“Sure, I’ll ask him. What are you going to do with all that old stuff?”

“I’m only as young as I feel.” He turned, staring out at the old tire swing.

“Okay, if you want it, we'll find it.”

That night Will and Lynette went up into the old, musty attic and dug around for the box.

“What does he want with it anyway, Lynette?”

“Just humor him. He’s an old man with not much time left. I think he’s having flashbacks or something. Today he wanted to watch Bugs Bunny cartoons, and he thought he saw his brother outside the window.” She pointed at a box with the name Richie written on it. “I bet that’s it, right there.”

Will brushed away a thick layer of dust and opened the box. “Looks like baseball cards and a few old comic books.” He put the box under his arm. “Maybe you should call Doctor Gram and let him know what’s going on.

“But, he seems so happy remembering his past.” She paused for a moment, and her voice began to quiver. “I just want his last days to be happy, that’s all. I’ll give him the box in the morning.”

The next morning Lynette took the box into her father’s room and set it by the bed. “Good morning, Dad.” She opened the window.

“Lilacs,” Richard whispered, smiling.

“We found your box.” She reached into the box, pulling out the comic books and baseball cards. “You want to look at these while I fix breakfast?” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Richard’s hands shook as he put on his glasses. He smiled as he looked through the books and inhaled the vanilla scent of the lilac bushes. He gazed out the window, but no Ronnie. Lynette returned with his breakfast tray. “Dad, you feeling better today?” Richard nodded his head.

After breakfast, Richard dozed off until he heard the ice cream truck making its rounds. He propped himself up on his elbows, looking out the window.

Ronnie popped up at the window. “Boo!” He laughed. “Hey, you can’t play ball without these.” He handed Richard a small, red cap and a baseball glove through the window then scurried away.

Lynette walked in with lunch. “Where’d you get the old cap and glove, from the box?”

“Yeah.” Richard rubbed the soft leather glove, remembering how many fly balls he had caught with it.

“Do you think you'd be up to going outside? You seem to be feeling better today.”

“Yeah, sounds great.” He picked up the sandwich off his tray. His hands were steady as he ate.

“I'll clean up the lunch dishes, then we'll go out on the porch.” Lynette left the room. She had to smile a little as she thought about how he enjoyed his childhood stuff.

Richard fell asleep while waiting for Lynette to return, but was awakened by Ronnie outside his window. “Hey, you're gonna miss the game.”

Richard rolled over to look at the clock. “What time is it?”

“Richie, it's fifteen minutes till three. Our games always start at three. Don't forget your glove.” He ran away.

Lynette cracked open the door. "Dad, you awake?

"Yeah, let's go outside now." Richard maneuvered himself into a sitting position.

Lynette helped him to his walker. "You got it? Hold tight, Dad."

"Don't forget my cap and glove, Lynette." He began slowly shuffling for the door. He made it to the porch and stood, waiting.

"Come on. Sit down." Lynette patted the empty space beside her on the porch swing.

Suddenly, a little boy ran past. His voice trailed behind him. "Richie, come on let's play."

Richard slung the walker aside, put the glove on his hand as far as it would go, perched the little cap on top of his head, and began to shuffle down the steps.

"Dad!" Lynette sprang up to grab him. "Where do you think you're going?”
Richard shambled down the sidewalk and swatted Lynette’s hands away. "To Grayson Park."

"No, you can't walk that far, besides there hasn't been a park there for forty years." She ran, trying to catch him, but stopped and watched in awe as his speed increased.

The wind pushed against Richard’s body as he raced down the street. "Lilacs," he said. Breathing deeply, he pushed the glove onto his hand, and the cap on his head; they fit again. His legs moved swiftly, carrying him down the street. He stopped when he saw his reflection in a store window. He was Richie. The boy with thick, dark curls peeking out from under his cap, and freckles across his nose. He smiled and noticed that his top front teeth were missing.

Richie heard Lynette's mournful cries from down the block. “Dad! Someone help, Call 911!” He turned and saw her kneeling down beside the old, fragile shell he had left behind. He hesitated, but just for a moment. He watched as Will ran outside. He comforted Lynette and held her as she sobbed.

Richard smiled. He saw that his daughter was in good hands. Taking a deep breath, he turned and raced away.

"Woo Hoo! Let's play." He sprinted to the park. There they all waited, his brother Ronnie, his best friend, Skippy, and all the rest of yesterday's children.