Although this story does not have to do with law school, per se, I think it is a topic that may be of relevance to many, and for that I decided to post it here.
Scene 1: The Grandma
Lester C. Clark was about thirty seven when she finally died. Observing his aged grandmother, Patricia, Lester was horrified by the suffering that he witnessed her endure up until she finally perished. Patricia Clark endured almost five long years of suffering, intensifying each day, before she was relinquished from her earthly post.
During the last few months, Patricia was fed by tube. Each day she battled dehydration. Her breathing was regulated by a small machine which was hooked into her. Using the bathroom was spontaneous, or something that had to be done with assistance. There was absolutely no dignity left in her life. Furthermore, her eyesight was so shot that she could not read and could barely see the moving images of the television; her last hope at ‘entertaining’ herself. Her hearing was shattered and virtually lost. One had to repeat themselves over and over again to her. Usually, those who spoke to her gave up, angry at their efforts, rather than see to it that she understood their words. Her arthritis made it nigh impossible for menial tasks to be done with her hands. Once a truly gorgeous woman with long flowing resplendent hair, deep mesmerizing blue opals of eyes, and silky smooth cream-like pale skin, she was a spectre of what she had been in her prime. Her face was flat with fissured skin. Her body was deathly thin, with the bones all but visible through the thin sheets of flesh that hid them. Her eyes were bloodshot and full of wretched despair. Her head was completely bald, but little grey hairs covered her permanently hunched over and twisted backside. She generally awoke early in the morning drenched in her own urine. In her bed she would wait, sometimes for hours, for a nurse to enter and restore her back to the a semblance of dignity.
Patricia, before her death, had long been immobile, not having left her hospital room other than to go into the hall on a couple of occasions in almost a years time. Her last travel was to Vermont over a decade ago. Even then she knew it would be the last new place she would ever see. A sadness filled her as she realized that this would be her last great adventure in life. Since then the descent toward death began. Patricia would sit by the window in her second floor care facility room looking out at the vibrant youth engaging in play out in the courtyard. Now such sights were nothing more than a blur. She had not seen anything but a faint light of the outside world in at least half a year’s time before she passed on. All aspects of youth were but a faint idea to her in the twisted reality that she had created in her mind. Everything from sight, smell, and sound had become a void, something that Patricia no longer could remember, except in her strange and horrid nightmares which consumed her more with each passing day of intense suffering.
To Lester’s dismay, the rest of the family held on, and made sure that she would hold on, until the absolute bitter end. However, what struck Lester the most was that Patricia herself held on to her life with an iron grip. Each day for her held the guarantee of being comprised of intense physical and mental suffering. It was obvious to all that death terrified her, motivating her to do whatever it took to stay alive. Even though they believed in a heavenly paradise after death, Patricia’s family paid vast sums of money to keep her from the grave. Terrified and horrified, Lester watched as she fell apart into nothing more than a human skeleton, looking up at him, with her haunting green eyes and chapped trembling lips, unable to remember who he even was. At night, the pain was so intense that she would cry out in agony and fear, sometimes to the point of vomiting. Often her cries would be ignored by the staff, as they were so regular. The reality was, she didn’t know where she was, or who she even was. For Patricia, each new day was a new life, filled with terror unending.
Patricia died early in the morning, alone in her bed, as the sun began to peek through the small window. She went quietly in the night. It was said that she went peacefully, and most of her family and friends, who had been involved in the horror of her last days, imagined her leaving her body in peace. At her open casket funeral, the family walked by an old lady made up to look younger, with rose red lipstick, and a smile on her face. In his diary, shortly after the celebration of her life, Lester Clark wrote:
I can not fathom going through the things that woman, my dear grandmother, went through. She was reduced to almost inhuman form by the time she was released from her wretched final days-months-years. She could not even remember those who loved her, her own life. I honestly wonder if she even knew that life was by the time she finally closed her beautiful eyes and passed away. Those last few months for her were filled with such terror and agony - the kind that no human being should have to endure. There are some things that I saw that I honestly wish I could forget, but now I fear them, realizing they are the lot for all of us who are ‘blessed’ with old age. Society tells us that we must live through this kind of torment, and press on, when death is the only ultimate result. It is almost as if humanity is grasping at the idea that somehow, if a person lives just long enough, they might find immortality. Perhaps a new medicine will be discovered that will allow a person to live forever. Perhaps only a day after death this new discovery will be found.
I realize now that I will not stand for it. I will not wait in the futile hope that a medicine may be invented to allow me to live longer. And if such a pill was discovered, when I was old and frail, would I be condemned to suffer eternally, forced to take it, to live forever? Not able to eat on my own. Not able to drink on my own. Not able to use the restroom on my own or keep myself clean. These are all basic human endeavors, part of the dignity of being a living being. To not be able to do these things makes us less a person and more of a chore for others. How can one be proud of this kind of existence? I have yet to mention the suffering. The mental suffering of realizing that you longer to have a place in the world. No longer to be able to contribute to society. Reduced to a frail and tormented mind ran by machine and the labor of those younger, those waiting for their turn. The physical suffering of your body falling apart, your bones being brittle, breaking easily. Your stomach not taking the food that is fed to you. No, I will not stand for it. On my sixtieth year birthday I will end my life. I will not allow myself to grow frail. After all, it’s all downhill from there.
Scene 2: Fortieth Year Birthday
Lester Clark would never forget her. The experience was for him, in short, life altering. He did not mourn for her, unlike his siblings and his parents, who all grieved considerably. They never understood why her parting never gave him the sorrow that it bestowed upon them. Lester, however, always saw his grandmother when he saw an aged individual. When a friend or acquaintance would mention the loss of someone they knew, thoughts of the late Patricia would surface. Feeling sadness for death was something that was foreign to him. Instead, Lester could not help but feel some anger. How could one be so selfish to not feel relief for a person who no longer had to endure the endless suffering that was at the cumulation of life? Someone saying “they are in a better place” or “they are better off” reminded Lester of the hypocrisy of those who held on to the aged, not letting them ‘pass on’.
Furthermore, Lester was always reminded how the body falls apart a little with each passing day. Every day he thought of the preciousness of youth as he awoke, looking in the mirror, at the slow changes that would sometimes make themselves apparent to him. In his dreams, Lester saw her, and his family members, working so hard to ‘save her’ from laws of nature.
Today was Lester’s fortieth birthday. He took the journal from the top shelf of his bookcase and opened it. it was a hardcover black book with unlined white pages. Not at all fancy, and not noticeable to anyone as a journal. Often he would flip through this book, reading the stories of his past, and his hopes for the future. He had written in this book since his early twenties, taking notes of his philosophical beliefs, his views on particular people and things. It was here that he wrote about his life’s dreams and most intimate ponderings. Many of these dreams never came into fruition, but it can not be said that Lester did not live a full life. Lester, with each passing year, tried to learn to enjoy his life more so than the previous. Tonight, for instance, he was preparing to go to the opera. The new craze was “Mr. Jinx and the Thousand Pound Cat”. Tonight, while partaking in his love of the arts, Lester would celebrate one of the last years of his ‘youth’.
At the opera Lester would forget about his ideas, about age, and the approaching end of life that awaited him. He smiled as he saw the antics of the cat growing larger and becoming a bigger menace to Mr. Jinx, a man who was forced to take care of the large beast due to his proclaimed love of cats. Mr. Jinx, with each passing day, would find himself become more angry with the cat, until it grew so large as to crush him in his own home.
He never works, he always sleeps. He kicks up litter when he slinks. He’s naughty, and selfish and not so lean. One day he laid in the grass and his fur was green. He’s Mr. Jinx’s one thousand pound.. One thousand pound.. One thousand pound Cat!
Scene 3: Lester’s fifty fifth year.
Lester was not like others. He never spoke of a retirement. He never bothered worrying about saving money with the idea that he would be too frail to work. Instead, he knew that by the time his life was over, he would still be physically able to work. This idea brought him much joy. He would hear his friends complain about social security or their pensions (or lack of) and they would ask Lester what his plans were. Lester would never say, however. Instead he smiled and said, “I never really think about it.” His friends thought he was mad for this. His friend, Carl, would talk to his wife about the strange man he knew, that was fifty five, ten years older than him, who did not care of his retirement, or the reality that social security would no longer exist by the time he needed it. Carl’s wife, Maxine, would shake her head, wondering how people could not care about their future. She, an economist, had saved since she graduated high school, and had close to a million dollars in savings, but still worried about her future, knowing that it was still far short to retire on when adjusting for inflation.
“How can Lester not care about his retirement? If there is no social security, and he has no kids, he will die destitute. He does have children right?”
“No,” Carl said, shaking his head. “He never married. He bought a boat last year though, is going to sail around the world in it. He never puts money aside. Never saves for the future.”
“How irresponsible,” she said, shaking her head. “This is why our economy is hurting.”
“How can you never think about retirement?” they would ask him. “You are getting older, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” Lester said with a smile. He looked younger than fifty five. And furthermore, he didn’t feel like he thought he would feel at fifty five. He took good care of himself, out of a lingering fear of becoming frail. He was a vegetarian and spent much time working out at the gym. In fact, many thought he was, at most, a forty year old man. When he told others he was fifty five, they shook their heads in disbelief. “You will live to be a hundred at least!” some would say. Lester thought back to his own grandmother, who did not live that long. He told himself he would not, while smiling and nodding.
Lester continued to enjoy every day, even the mundane moments and not taking anything too seriously. He liked to think, since his life would be shorter than many, that each day was extra precious. Tonight, on his birthday he would go to for a dinner with a long time female friend of his and sit outside late into the night under the stars as the warm summer air blew across the lake.
Her name was Roberta, and they had been friends since shortly after Lester’s grandmother, Patricia, died. Roberta was only a few years younger than Lester, but as time progressed, she began to look much older than him. Her hair was going grey, whereas Lester still possessed a head of full thick brown hair. Her skin had begun to wrinkle, crows feet caressed her eyes. However, Lester’s skin was still smooth and youthful in comparison. Roberta never mentioned how Lester appeared to be younger than her, however, she felt jealousy that he was not ‘aging’ as she was. Roberta, unlike Lester, enjoyed shellfish, did not exercise often, and drove everywhere. Lester had never owned a vehicle other than a bicycle and rode it all over town. Sometimes Roberta would offer him a ride, but Lester rarely took her up on it, unless it was a country drive. He would try to get her to get out for a hike, but she often said she could not hike with her ‘weak’ leg. Sometimes she would sit on the beach with him and they would talk about life, and about their goals.
Like with everyone else, Lester never told Roberta about his plan. She would talk about retiring and Lester would listen to her goals, feeling sad that she consigned herself to a life that would end in suffering. A life void of dignity. Lester never talked to Roberta about marriage, but knew that if he had never witnessed the death of his grandmother years ago, he may have asked her. Sometimes he thought that his life would truly be complete if he was to marry her. The truth was, Lester loved her very much, although he never told her that. However, he knew that it would not be right on her if she would become a widow when he turned sixty. He also knew that he would possibly give up on his plan if they got married, and nothing terrified him more than the suffering that was the reality of old age.
That night, at the lake, Roberta talked to Lester about how she wanted to have a child, but how life never gave her the opportunity. Lester listened, listening to the soft sounds of the lake lapping against the shore, and gazing at the illuminated heavens. Roberta eventually asked Lester if he would marry her. Lester felt sadness as he tried to formulate an answer. He never expected her to ask. He loved her very much, but was resigned to say no. Silently, they looked at the heavens together, and they parted. Their relationship was never quite the same after that night. Lester wrote in his journal about how he longed to say yes. How he longed to hold her, to make her his. To become her husband, and make long, sweet, and sweaty love to her under the summer heat. But, the reality was, he had only a few years left, and it would be immoral of him to subject her to his plan, a plan that humanity had not yet (but one day may) accept as being truly and completely rational.
One day, a few months, their paths crossed. “Why do we put a suffering pet out of its misery when it grows old and suffers, but when a loved one becomes aged, and suffers, why do we not do the same?” Lester asked.
Roberta looked at him with a look of horror on her face. Her eyes stared at him blankly for a moment and then she answered. “What kind of question is that?” she said.
“Well, it is something I have been thinking about.”
“A human is different than an animal. It is immoral to kill a person. Nature should take its course.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because it is what is right. Why are you asking this?”
“I, I don’t know,” Lester said. He realized he would never look at Roberta the same again. Part of him was glad that he said no to her proposition of matrimony.
“It’s not the kind of thing one should ask. It’s not a good subject to talk about,” she said.
Lester nodded, realizing that they had little in common. Roberta shook her head and walked off. Neither spoke again after that.
Scene 4: The years creep by.
Lester was fifty nine when he opened his journal and read the entry again. Now the ink was faded, but he could see it clearly. In fact, Lester could remember the words he wrote, having read them over and over throughout the years. Even if the journal page had been ripped from the book, Lester would have known exactly what he wrote so many years ago. He remembered his grandmother’s suffering at the age of 89, as if it was only yesterday. He remembered her screaming, her agony, the smell of the room, of her clothing, of her breath and body. In fact, he could barely remember the more positive aspects about her. Lester struggled to remember who she was before then, when they were both younger. The proud woman, a college graduate back when few women studied. An outspoken and powerful figure in the community. A beautiful, mesmerizing woman. He had a picture of her on his bookcase, below his journal, but when he looked at it he only saw an unknown woman, not his grandmother. No, Lester only remembered the frail and terrified woman who was so thin and frail and weak.
Lester’s eyes meandered to the top of the shelf, where a safe encased in a hollow book stood. Inside the safe was a small revolver. He had bought this gun many years ago for one particular purpose. However, Lester was in an interesting situation. His health at the age of fifty nine was impeccable. His doctor said that he would live to be a “very, very old man.” Lester had spent many nights wondering if ending his life in under a year would be a waste. He realized he would still had many years of excellent health ahead of him if he did not complete his plan. Lester’s life, so far, had been full and rich, an amazing life that he had few regrets about. Lester was passionate about his health, taking great care of his body. He had read books on a variety of subjects and traveled extensively. He spent his free time teaching classes on Asian and Indian culture, practicing yoga and tai chi, and studying various religious texts. He never worried about money, as he never had to put anything aside for retirement, and always took part in the arts and culture of his hometown. He even considered running for the local treasurer or even mayor.
Lester’s sixtieth birthday arrived and Lester found himself alone with the hollow book safe on his lap. He let the dial spin as he looked ahead and sat deep in thought. He thought of the last few years, how they passed by quicker than any of the other years of his life. He never lamented that his life was coming to an end, but learned to accept the fact. He had realized that life is comprised of much suffering, and felt blessed and thankful that his life was so blissful.
Lester put the book back on the shelf, and told himself that he still had time. There was no need yet for him to end his life. Perhaps in a few years, he thought, but it would be a waste for him to end his life at this point. Lester looked out the window and took a deep breath. He would go out to the lake where he sat with Roberta a few years ago and spend his birthday out below the stars. And maybe celebrate the extra days that he had ahead of him.
Scene 5: Lester turns sixty seven.
Lester was sixty seven when he fell in his apartment. He laid on the ground, in the company of his friends, who called the ambulance. Carl was there, over the years always questioning when Lester planned on retiring. Lester was rushed to the hospital, having had a stroke. It hit out of nowhere, with no warning. Earlier that night, if asked, Lester would have told everyone he felt excellent, like a man with much youth and vigor yet in him.
After a couple days in the hospital, Lester was told that he owed a small fortune as a result of this unexpected stroke. He sat on his couch with a broken leg as a result of the fall and stared up at the top of the shelf where the safe stood. A live in attendant came out and asked if he was alright. Lester nodded, feeling despair. She was another expense Lester could not afford. She was younger and quite handsome. A recent graduate from a fine nursing school. Red hair, freckles, and recently engaged. A youthful happiness surrounded her. She had yet seen the horrors of old age, and had a long life ahead of her.
Lester decided to wait for this pretty young nurse to leave before he would grab the safe and do the deed that he had no choice in doing now. However, with his broken leg he would have much trouble making his way to the shelf and reaching the safe. Further, he was told it was very important to not strain himself. He thought about having the attendant grab him the book, but he realized that the safe itself was heavy, and that she would ask him questions. Also, he felt bad enough having to end his life with her as his attendant. He could not have her actually take a part in the deed.
After the course of a couple hours, the attendant went out to get Lester some groceries. Lester wobbled over to the safe on his crutches. The television news played, with the political parties arguing about social security. Outside the first yearly snow fell, sticking to the ground. Lester knew that he would never see another summer, never see the leaves bloom, never walk along the lake, lay on the grass, or partake in the pure joys of life -- of being human. This made him intensely sad. At the same time, he knew that it was a result of his choice that he would not see those things. Nature would not take from him the choice. However, at the same time, Lester felt like he had been pushed into this position due to the circumstance of his stroke, and instead, should have not waited until this ‘fate’ befell him. Lester thought back to his rich and full life, a life that he cherished, a result of living life to the fullest each day, knowing that this day would come. He was blessed with many extra years of good health. He could not hope to ask for more.
He climbed up onto the shelf, almost losing his balance. He began to unlock the safe when he heard the door open. It was her. He grabbed at the dial of the safe door, unhinging it and fell back, slamming against the floor. He landed directly on his back, feeling intense pain. He began to panic, realizing that he could not move his body. He felt the pain shoot through him, and then heard a scream. He looked up, helplessly, at the safe, which was now open. He closed his eyes, feeling tears come. He could not move at all as he waited for the paramedics to arrive. His eyes, all the while, stared at the silver revolver that sat on the shelf. The entire time he heard the young nurse crying on her cell phone while he fiance tried to soothe her.
Scene 8: Lester’s 90th birthday.
Lester thought back to that day often over the course of years. He always told himself how he should have done it differently. He lamented over the fact that he did not take his life when he was sixty, as he planned. He stared ahead, blankly as he always did for the past few years, lost in thought. Others talked sometimes while they stared at the television, and the news, in that small whitewashed room. There was a couple of windows beyond which the cars would whoosh by on the freeway that was just beyond a chainlink fence. The others knew better than to try to engage Lester in conversation. He never had much to say back, and was generally snappy and angry. The government had covered Lester’s stay here, at the most basic care facility. The nurses were generally not very hospitable, instead staring at the internet and discussing the ‘gross things’ the patients did.
Lester was the oldest there now. Ever since his stroke, his health plummeted. The food that the nurses fed people was unhealthy and barely fit for human consumption. He began to eat meat, as he had very few alternatives, most of which were bland and not appetizing. He no longer was able to exercise, due to being virtually immobile. Even if he could have, he realized that he had no reason left to live. He was told he would never be able to leave the care facility, and realized that he did not have the drive to try to prove them wrong. Many that had came before and after him had passed away. One successfully killed himself. Lester tried, and as a result, was under close scrutiny at all times. At night he would be lifted up and placed in his bed by machine, being watched by two attendants. There was a video camera in his room, and he was always belted into the bed. The care center was obsessive about making sure that Lester lived as long as possible. At the same time, however, they seemed to not care as much when others passed away. It was as a result of his suicide attempts that the attendants thought they should make sure Lester would live as long as possible.
He was now bald, with patchy looking skin, tired looking eyes, and wrinkles all over his arms. He was thin now, losing weight each day. He, like his grandmother, required assistance to use the restroom, even though he could hold it, for at least a short time. However, the nurses were not always quick enough to arrive as he would call for them. Often he would sit in his wheelchair and yell, as they would holler back, “just a second,” or “just go!”
The dignity of life had been lost. Lester felt emptiness as watched the cars rush by on the freeway, looking out the window, and for and wondering when it would be his turn to finally die. During one particular day, Lester saw a car turned over on the side of the road. An ambulance had arrived as the young able bodied firefighters made sure a blaze did not ignite. Out of the wreckage, a young woman was pulled out. She was unconscious and her body was cut up and bleeding. She was rushed into the ambulance. Lester watched, intently, as he sat in his wheelchair. The sound of the television behind him muffled that of the sirens and traffic being redirected outside. Voices of nurses chattering reverberated behind him.
Lester watched as the firefighters pried open the car and pulled out another man. He was placed on a stretcher and covered in a blanket. He was dead. Lester only caught a glimpse of him. He was probably in his late twenties, early thirties at most. A young man, killed instantly. Lester could not help but wish that was him. He imagined people driving by, thinking it awful to die at such a young age. Thinking it horrible that one should die in such a manner. However, the type of instantaneous death that Lester perceived was the perhaps the kindest way one could possibly hope to leave the world.
One day, Lester looked out, longingly at the grass and imagined what it would be like to feel it again, to lay in it, as he often did out by the lake so many years ago. He had not laid in the grass since he was disabled, and he felt an intense need and want to feel it again under him. He had thought about asking one of the nurses, in the hopes that they would oblige. The head nurse, Lester realized, would probably not allow it. However, as the days passed by, Lester began to obsess over the idea.
With his finger, he pushed against the control pad to his wheelchair and it moved towards the desk where a young nurse was text messaging on his phone. “Excuse me,” Lester said in a long drawn out and old voice. The nurse, oblivious to Lester’s advance, continued to text on his phone and let out a giggle. “Sir,” Lester said, in a more stern voice.
“What is it,” the kid said. He was probably nineteen or twenty. His short blondish brown hair was messy, and he looked like he had just got out of bed.
“I want to talk to the head nurse,” Lester said.
“She’s busy. Go watch television,” the kid said, text messaging the whole time.
“No,” Lester snapped. “I want to talk to her now. I am an old man, and one day you will be too, you realize. Don’t you see that?”
“I am not even twenty one yet,” the kid said putting down his phone. He finally looked up and into Lester’s eyes. He could see the deep sadness and longing in the old man’s eyes and he said, half annoyed, “fine, I will get her. But she probably won’t see you until she is done.”
The kid got up and put his cell phone in his pocket. He strolled slowly toward a door on the wall opposite of the windows. It was a door that none of the residents were allowed to pass through. The kid opened the door and shut it behind him. Sometimes Lester was able to catch a glimpse of what was behind the door. There was a table, some chairs, couches, a soda machine, and a bookcase. There was also a washing machine and dryer in a further room and a couple of small offices beyond. Lester noticed that the walls were made up with wallpaper and real plants grew in there, unlike the old yellowish walls and the fake plants that were well aged in the room where him and the others lived out their lives. The floor was waxed hardwood and the furniture near the big wood and glass door that lead out to a parking lot out front was solid and somewhat ornate. Sometimes Lester would catch what sounded like classical music playing, which reminded him of his day’s going to the orchestra. Lester had not heard music like that in quite some time and could not remember the last time that the television was off during ‘awake hours’.
Sometimes Lester would hear voices from out in that room, and realized it was probably where people came to inquire about the services of this particular retirement home. It was probably the cheapest in the area, since the government was paying for many of its inhabitants.
Finally, Lester saw a big woman with rings on almost every finger come out. Her nails were painted red and purple and were quite long. She had two gold bracelets on one of her arms. Other than that, she was dressed in blue nurses pants and shirt, but over the shirt wore a white button down shirt. The name Marcy was embroidered on the shirt and under it the title “Head Nurse” was displayed.
“What is it,” she said, as the kid walked in behind her, shutting the door quickly.
“Him,” the kid said, pointing toward Lester.
She let out a quick grunt and walked toward Lester. “What is it? I am quite busy out there,” she said.
“I was wondering,” Lester began, talking slowly.
“Yes?” head nurse Marcy said, disinterestedly.
“I wanted to make a request, you know, before I die.”
“Don’t talk like that, you are not dying for a while,” the nurse said.
“I want to lay on the grass outside.”
“Oh no, I am sorry. I can’t allow that. We would need two nurses to get you out of your chair and who would take care of the others? And with your record we can’t allow you to go outside and endanger yourself.”
Lester was silent, deeply disappointed. “Listen. I am an old man and I have not been outside in nearly ten years. I don’t ask for much around here. I ask only this and I will be able to die a happy man.”
“Why don’t you go watch some television. Besides, it’s getting colder out.”
“I have not felt the wind in so long...” Lester said.
“I don’t have time for this. I gave you my answer,” the woman said, leaving.
Lester made his way toward the window and peered out. The trees were losing their leaves. The wind rustled between their trunks and blew discarded litter around the highway. Cars continued to rush by. Lester never sat in front of the television, as he was not much of a television watcher even in his youth, but always looked out the window, longing for death, and whatever came after it. He did not know if there was a God, or a paradise after death, or if there was just unending darkness -- death sleep. Perhaps he would be recreated sometime in the infinite universe that was always expanding. However, he did not know, but he longed to find out. Even eternal darkness and everlasting peace would be better than this place. Much better.
Lester went toward the door that lead toward the front of the building. He could barely hear the nurse yelling at the kid. “The next time you have me go back there, make sure its something important. An old man wanting to lay in the grass is not important.”
The kid came out and Lester backed his wheelchair away. He had an angry look on his face, and glared momentarily at Lester. “You got me in trouble man,” the kid said.
“Sorry,” Lester said, with his head down.
The kid went to his desk and got out his phone and began to text. Lester moved his chair back towards the window and watched the cars.
After a few minutes, the kid came up to Lester and said. “Listen. Why don’t you just go out the emergency exit over there? I’ll disable the alarm.”
Lester looked up. “You’ll lose your job.”
“I don’t care. It’s not like I’m paid. It’s just an internship anyway, and to be honest, I hate this place. They won’t write me a good letter of recommendation. I don’t even know why I’m here.”
Lester made his way toward the emergency exit and the kid pushed the door open for him. He reached down and unlocked the harness that held Lester in. “Thank you,” Lester said. Most of the others just stared at the television, but a couple people glanced over. None seemed to care much that Lester was going outside. Lester’s chair made its way down a ramp and he felt that cool autumn air rush against him. The smell of the air, even with the car exhaust, was aromatic. The feel of the wind against him gave him goosebumps. Lester wheeled his chair down the ramp and made his way to the grass.
The sounds of birds flying overhead delighted him. He finally got his wheelchair onto the grass and he rocked himself forward a bit. It took much work, but Lester finally fell out of his chair and into the grass. It was a painful fall, as Lester scratched his back against the chair, but he did not care. The grass felt amazing under him. Lester laid there in front of his wheelchair for what seemed like half an hour before he heard yelling. The head nurse rushed outside, screaming at the kid. “What is wrong with you? You are done here. You don’t realize what you have done. What danger you have put this man in. I told him he could not go outside! You deliberately went behind my back! You are fired.”
The kid looked at Lester, laying there in the grass, and realized he didn’t care that he lost his position with the care facility for it. Lester would always be grateful for what that kid did for him. He laid there in the grass as the head nurse tried to lift him back in the chair, but could not. She yelled for other nurses, but they were oblivious to her screams. “Erik! Erik, get back here and help me!” she finally yelled, but by then he was gone.
Some of the drivers on the highway beyond would look over, at the strange sight before them. The old frail man lying on the grass, and the nurse unable to lift him back up. He ignored her screams as well as the sounds of the unending traffic, and instead would try to focus on the sounds of nature. He felt the soft green grass under him as Marcy, in anger, would reposition him. Alas, after a time, another nurse heard her screams, and helped get Lester back into his wheelchair. He was to be rushed inside, never to go outside again.
A few days later, Blinds were installed on the windows. They were generally kept down. Lester realized that Marcy did this to punish him, but he no longer cared about going outside. He had finally got to go outside in over ten years, and he knew now that he would never go out there again. But he did it, he got to experience it one last time, and enjoy it for what it was, in the realization that it would be the final moment for him out in the world. And for that, he felt much peace.
Pushing the control stick forward, Lester moved his wheelchair up to the television, next to a group of others, and began to watch it with them. Emotionless now, he would perceive the moving images with his new comrades. And that is what he would do as the years would pass by, as his comrades would pass, and until he too would pass.
Scene 1: The Grandma
Lester C. Clark was about thirty seven when she finally died. Observing his aged grandmother, Patricia, Lester was horrified by the suffering that he witnessed her endure up until she finally perished. Patricia Clark endured almost five long years of suffering, intensifying each day, before she was relinquished from her earthly post.
During the last few months, Patricia was fed by tube. Each day she battled dehydration. Her breathing was regulated by a small machine which was hooked into her. Using the bathroom was spontaneous, or something that had to be done with assistance. There was absolutely no dignity left in her life. Furthermore, her eyesight was so shot that she could not read and could barely see the moving images of the television; her last hope at ‘entertaining’ herself. Her hearing was shattered and virtually lost. One had to repeat themselves over and over again to her. Usually, those who spoke to her gave up, angry at their efforts, rather than see to it that she understood their words. Her arthritis made it nigh impossible for menial tasks to be done with her hands. Once a truly gorgeous woman with long flowing resplendent hair, deep mesmerizing blue opals of eyes, and silky smooth cream-like pale skin, she was a spectre of what she had been in her prime. Her face was flat with fissured skin. Her body was deathly thin, with the bones all but visible through the thin sheets of flesh that hid them. Her eyes were bloodshot and full of wretched despair. Her head was completely bald, but little grey hairs covered her permanently hunched over and twisted backside. She generally awoke early in the morning drenched in her own urine. In her bed she would wait, sometimes for hours, for a nurse to enter and restore her back to the a semblance of dignity.
Patricia, before her death, had long been immobile, not having left her hospital room other than to go into the hall on a couple of occasions in almost a years time. Her last travel was to Vermont over a decade ago. Even then she knew it would be the last new place she would ever see. A sadness filled her as she realized that this would be her last great adventure in life. Since then the descent toward death began. Patricia would sit by the window in her second floor care facility room looking out at the vibrant youth engaging in play out in the courtyard. Now such sights were nothing more than a blur. She had not seen anything but a faint light of the outside world in at least half a year’s time before she passed on. All aspects of youth were but a faint idea to her in the twisted reality that she had created in her mind. Everything from sight, smell, and sound had become a void, something that Patricia no longer could remember, except in her strange and horrid nightmares which consumed her more with each passing day of intense suffering.
To Lester’s dismay, the rest of the family held on, and made sure that she would hold on, until the absolute bitter end. However, what struck Lester the most was that Patricia herself held on to her life with an iron grip. Each day for her held the guarantee of being comprised of intense physical and mental suffering. It was obvious to all that death terrified her, motivating her to do whatever it took to stay alive. Even though they believed in a heavenly paradise after death, Patricia’s family paid vast sums of money to keep her from the grave. Terrified and horrified, Lester watched as she fell apart into nothing more than a human skeleton, looking up at him, with her haunting green eyes and chapped trembling lips, unable to remember who he even was. At night, the pain was so intense that she would cry out in agony and fear, sometimes to the point of vomiting. Often her cries would be ignored by the staff, as they were so regular. The reality was, she didn’t know where she was, or who she even was. For Patricia, each new day was a new life, filled with terror unending.
Patricia died early in the morning, alone in her bed, as the sun began to peek through the small window. She went quietly in the night. It was said that she went peacefully, and most of her family and friends, who had been involved in the horror of her last days, imagined her leaving her body in peace. At her open casket funeral, the family walked by an old lady made up to look younger, with rose red lipstick, and a smile on her face. In his diary, shortly after the celebration of her life, Lester Clark wrote:
I can not fathom going through the things that woman, my dear grandmother, went through. She was reduced to almost inhuman form by the time she was released from her wretched final days-months-years. She could not even remember those who loved her, her own life. I honestly wonder if she even knew that life was by the time she finally closed her beautiful eyes and passed away. Those last few months for her were filled with such terror and agony - the kind that no human being should have to endure. There are some things that I saw that I honestly wish I could forget, but now I fear them, realizing they are the lot for all of us who are ‘blessed’ with old age. Society tells us that we must live through this kind of torment, and press on, when death is the only ultimate result. It is almost as if humanity is grasping at the idea that somehow, if a person lives just long enough, they might find immortality. Perhaps a new medicine will be discovered that will allow a person to live forever. Perhaps only a day after death this new discovery will be found.
I realize now that I will not stand for it. I will not wait in the futile hope that a medicine may be invented to allow me to live longer. And if such a pill was discovered, when I was old and frail, would I be condemned to suffer eternally, forced to take it, to live forever? Not able to eat on my own. Not able to drink on my own. Not able to use the restroom on my own or keep myself clean. These are all basic human endeavors, part of the dignity of being a living being. To not be able to do these things makes us less a person and more of a chore for others. How can one be proud of this kind of existence? I have yet to mention the suffering. The mental suffering of realizing that you longer to have a place in the world. No longer to be able to contribute to society. Reduced to a frail and tormented mind ran by machine and the labor of those younger, those waiting for their turn. The physical suffering of your body falling apart, your bones being brittle, breaking easily. Your stomach not taking the food that is fed to you. No, I will not stand for it. On my sixtieth year birthday I will end my life. I will not allow myself to grow frail. After all, it’s all downhill from there.
Scene 2: Fortieth Year Birthday
Lester Clark would never forget her. The experience was for him, in short, life altering. He did not mourn for her, unlike his siblings and his parents, who all grieved considerably. They never understood why her parting never gave him the sorrow that it bestowed upon them. Lester, however, always saw his grandmother when he saw an aged individual. When a friend or acquaintance would mention the loss of someone they knew, thoughts of the late Patricia would surface. Feeling sadness for death was something that was foreign to him. Instead, Lester could not help but feel some anger. How could one be so selfish to not feel relief for a person who no longer had to endure the endless suffering that was at the cumulation of life? Someone saying “they are in a better place” or “they are better off” reminded Lester of the hypocrisy of those who held on to the aged, not letting them ‘pass on’.
Furthermore, Lester was always reminded how the body falls apart a little with each passing day. Every day he thought of the preciousness of youth as he awoke, looking in the mirror, at the slow changes that would sometimes make themselves apparent to him. In his dreams, Lester saw her, and his family members, working so hard to ‘save her’ from laws of nature.
Today was Lester’s fortieth birthday. He took the journal from the top shelf of his bookcase and opened it. it was a hardcover black book with unlined white pages. Not at all fancy, and not noticeable to anyone as a journal. Often he would flip through this book, reading the stories of his past, and his hopes for the future. He had written in this book since his early twenties, taking notes of his philosophical beliefs, his views on particular people and things. It was here that he wrote about his life’s dreams and most intimate ponderings. Many of these dreams never came into fruition, but it can not be said that Lester did not live a full life. Lester, with each passing year, tried to learn to enjoy his life more so than the previous. Tonight, for instance, he was preparing to go to the opera. The new craze was “Mr. Jinx and the Thousand Pound Cat”. Tonight, while partaking in his love of the arts, Lester would celebrate one of the last years of his ‘youth’.
At the opera Lester would forget about his ideas, about age, and the approaching end of life that awaited him. He smiled as he saw the antics of the cat growing larger and becoming a bigger menace to Mr. Jinx, a man who was forced to take care of the large beast due to his proclaimed love of cats. Mr. Jinx, with each passing day, would find himself become more angry with the cat, until it grew so large as to crush him in his own home.
He never works, he always sleeps. He kicks up litter when he slinks. He’s naughty, and selfish and not so lean. One day he laid in the grass and his fur was green. He’s Mr. Jinx’s one thousand pound.. One thousand pound.. One thousand pound Cat!
Scene 3: Lester’s fifty fifth year.
Lester was not like others. He never spoke of a retirement. He never bothered worrying about saving money with the idea that he would be too frail to work. Instead, he knew that by the time his life was over, he would still be physically able to work. This idea brought him much joy. He would hear his friends complain about social security or their pensions (or lack of) and they would ask Lester what his plans were. Lester would never say, however. Instead he smiled and said, “I never really think about it.” His friends thought he was mad for this. His friend, Carl, would talk to his wife about the strange man he knew, that was fifty five, ten years older than him, who did not care of his retirement, or the reality that social security would no longer exist by the time he needed it. Carl’s wife, Maxine, would shake her head, wondering how people could not care about their future. She, an economist, had saved since she graduated high school, and had close to a million dollars in savings, but still worried about her future, knowing that it was still far short to retire on when adjusting for inflation.
“How can Lester not care about his retirement? If there is no social security, and he has no kids, he will die destitute. He does have children right?”
“No,” Carl said, shaking his head. “He never married. He bought a boat last year though, is going to sail around the world in it. He never puts money aside. Never saves for the future.”
“How irresponsible,” she said, shaking her head. “This is why our economy is hurting.”
“How can you never think about retirement?” they would ask him. “You are getting older, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” Lester said with a smile. He looked younger than fifty five. And furthermore, he didn’t feel like he thought he would feel at fifty five. He took good care of himself, out of a lingering fear of becoming frail. He was a vegetarian and spent much time working out at the gym. In fact, many thought he was, at most, a forty year old man. When he told others he was fifty five, they shook their heads in disbelief. “You will live to be a hundred at least!” some would say. Lester thought back to his own grandmother, who did not live that long. He told himself he would not, while smiling and nodding.
Lester continued to enjoy every day, even the mundane moments and not taking anything too seriously. He liked to think, since his life would be shorter than many, that each day was extra precious. Tonight, on his birthday he would go to for a dinner with a long time female friend of his and sit outside late into the night under the stars as the warm summer air blew across the lake.
Her name was Roberta, and they had been friends since shortly after Lester’s grandmother, Patricia, died. Roberta was only a few years younger than Lester, but as time progressed, she began to look much older than him. Her hair was going grey, whereas Lester still possessed a head of full thick brown hair. Her skin had begun to wrinkle, crows feet caressed her eyes. However, Lester’s skin was still smooth and youthful in comparison. Roberta never mentioned how Lester appeared to be younger than her, however, she felt jealousy that he was not ‘aging’ as she was. Roberta, unlike Lester, enjoyed shellfish, did not exercise often, and drove everywhere. Lester had never owned a vehicle other than a bicycle and rode it all over town. Sometimes Roberta would offer him a ride, but Lester rarely took her up on it, unless it was a country drive. He would try to get her to get out for a hike, but she often said she could not hike with her ‘weak’ leg. Sometimes she would sit on the beach with him and they would talk about life, and about their goals.
Like with everyone else, Lester never told Roberta about his plan. She would talk about retiring and Lester would listen to her goals, feeling sad that she consigned herself to a life that would end in suffering. A life void of dignity. Lester never talked to Roberta about marriage, but knew that if he had never witnessed the death of his grandmother years ago, he may have asked her. Sometimes he thought that his life would truly be complete if he was to marry her. The truth was, Lester loved her very much, although he never told her that. However, he knew that it would not be right on her if she would become a widow when he turned sixty. He also knew that he would possibly give up on his plan if they got married, and nothing terrified him more than the suffering that was the reality of old age.
That night, at the lake, Roberta talked to Lester about how she wanted to have a child, but how life never gave her the opportunity. Lester listened, listening to the soft sounds of the lake lapping against the shore, and gazing at the illuminated heavens. Roberta eventually asked Lester if he would marry her. Lester felt sadness as he tried to formulate an answer. He never expected her to ask. He loved her very much, but was resigned to say no. Silently, they looked at the heavens together, and they parted. Their relationship was never quite the same after that night. Lester wrote in his journal about how he longed to say yes. How he longed to hold her, to make her his. To become her husband, and make long, sweet, and sweaty love to her under the summer heat. But, the reality was, he had only a few years left, and it would be immoral of him to subject her to his plan, a plan that humanity had not yet (but one day may) accept as being truly and completely rational.
One day, a few months, their paths crossed. “Why do we put a suffering pet out of its misery when it grows old and suffers, but when a loved one becomes aged, and suffers, why do we not do the same?” Lester asked.
Roberta looked at him with a look of horror on her face. Her eyes stared at him blankly for a moment and then she answered. “What kind of question is that?” she said.
“Well, it is something I have been thinking about.”
“A human is different than an animal. It is immoral to kill a person. Nature should take its course.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because it is what is right. Why are you asking this?”
“I, I don’t know,” Lester said. He realized he would never look at Roberta the same again. Part of him was glad that he said no to her proposition of matrimony.
“It’s not the kind of thing one should ask. It’s not a good subject to talk about,” she said.
Lester nodded, realizing that they had little in common. Roberta shook her head and walked off. Neither spoke again after that.
Scene 4: The years creep by.
Lester was fifty nine when he opened his journal and read the entry again. Now the ink was faded, but he could see it clearly. In fact, Lester could remember the words he wrote, having read them over and over throughout the years. Even if the journal page had been ripped from the book, Lester would have known exactly what he wrote so many years ago. He remembered his grandmother’s suffering at the age of 89, as if it was only yesterday. He remembered her screaming, her agony, the smell of the room, of her clothing, of her breath and body. In fact, he could barely remember the more positive aspects about her. Lester struggled to remember who she was before then, when they were both younger. The proud woman, a college graduate back when few women studied. An outspoken and powerful figure in the community. A beautiful, mesmerizing woman. He had a picture of her on his bookcase, below his journal, but when he looked at it he only saw an unknown woman, not his grandmother. No, Lester only remembered the frail and terrified woman who was so thin and frail and weak.
Lester’s eyes meandered to the top of the shelf, where a safe encased in a hollow book stood. Inside the safe was a small revolver. He had bought this gun many years ago for one particular purpose. However, Lester was in an interesting situation. His health at the age of fifty nine was impeccable. His doctor said that he would live to be a “very, very old man.” Lester had spent many nights wondering if ending his life in under a year would be a waste. He realized he would still had many years of excellent health ahead of him if he did not complete his plan. Lester’s life, so far, had been full and rich, an amazing life that he had few regrets about. Lester was passionate about his health, taking great care of his body. He had read books on a variety of subjects and traveled extensively. He spent his free time teaching classes on Asian and Indian culture, practicing yoga and tai chi, and studying various religious texts. He never worried about money, as he never had to put anything aside for retirement, and always took part in the arts and culture of his hometown. He even considered running for the local treasurer or even mayor.
Lester’s sixtieth birthday arrived and Lester found himself alone with the hollow book safe on his lap. He let the dial spin as he looked ahead and sat deep in thought. He thought of the last few years, how they passed by quicker than any of the other years of his life. He never lamented that his life was coming to an end, but learned to accept the fact. He had realized that life is comprised of much suffering, and felt blessed and thankful that his life was so blissful.
Lester put the book back on the shelf, and told himself that he still had time. There was no need yet for him to end his life. Perhaps in a few years, he thought, but it would be a waste for him to end his life at this point. Lester looked out the window and took a deep breath. He would go out to the lake where he sat with Roberta a few years ago and spend his birthday out below the stars. And maybe celebrate the extra days that he had ahead of him.
Scene 5: Lester turns sixty seven.
Lester was sixty seven when he fell in his apartment. He laid on the ground, in the company of his friends, who called the ambulance. Carl was there, over the years always questioning when Lester planned on retiring. Lester was rushed to the hospital, having had a stroke. It hit out of nowhere, with no warning. Earlier that night, if asked, Lester would have told everyone he felt excellent, like a man with much youth and vigor yet in him.
After a couple days in the hospital, Lester was told that he owed a small fortune as a result of this unexpected stroke. He sat on his couch with a broken leg as a result of the fall and stared up at the top of the shelf where the safe stood. A live in attendant came out and asked if he was alright. Lester nodded, feeling despair. She was another expense Lester could not afford. She was younger and quite handsome. A recent graduate from a fine nursing school. Red hair, freckles, and recently engaged. A youthful happiness surrounded her. She had yet seen the horrors of old age, and had a long life ahead of her.
Lester decided to wait for this pretty young nurse to leave before he would grab the safe and do the deed that he had no choice in doing now. However, with his broken leg he would have much trouble making his way to the shelf and reaching the safe. Further, he was told it was very important to not strain himself. He thought about having the attendant grab him the book, but he realized that the safe itself was heavy, and that she would ask him questions. Also, he felt bad enough having to end his life with her as his attendant. He could not have her actually take a part in the deed.
After the course of a couple hours, the attendant went out to get Lester some groceries. Lester wobbled over to the safe on his crutches. The television news played, with the political parties arguing about social security. Outside the first yearly snow fell, sticking to the ground. Lester knew that he would never see another summer, never see the leaves bloom, never walk along the lake, lay on the grass, or partake in the pure joys of life -- of being human. This made him intensely sad. At the same time, he knew that it was a result of his choice that he would not see those things. Nature would not take from him the choice. However, at the same time, Lester felt like he had been pushed into this position due to the circumstance of his stroke, and instead, should have not waited until this ‘fate’ befell him. Lester thought back to his rich and full life, a life that he cherished, a result of living life to the fullest each day, knowing that this day would come. He was blessed with many extra years of good health. He could not hope to ask for more.
He climbed up onto the shelf, almost losing his balance. He began to unlock the safe when he heard the door open. It was her. He grabbed at the dial of the safe door, unhinging it and fell back, slamming against the floor. He landed directly on his back, feeling intense pain. He began to panic, realizing that he could not move his body. He felt the pain shoot through him, and then heard a scream. He looked up, helplessly, at the safe, which was now open. He closed his eyes, feeling tears come. He could not move at all as he waited for the paramedics to arrive. His eyes, all the while, stared at the silver revolver that sat on the shelf. The entire time he heard the young nurse crying on her cell phone while he fiance tried to soothe her.
Scene 8: Lester’s 90th birthday.
Lester thought back to that day often over the course of years. He always told himself how he should have done it differently. He lamented over the fact that he did not take his life when he was sixty, as he planned. He stared ahead, blankly as he always did for the past few years, lost in thought. Others talked sometimes while they stared at the television, and the news, in that small whitewashed room. There was a couple of windows beyond which the cars would whoosh by on the freeway that was just beyond a chainlink fence. The others knew better than to try to engage Lester in conversation. He never had much to say back, and was generally snappy and angry. The government had covered Lester’s stay here, at the most basic care facility. The nurses were generally not very hospitable, instead staring at the internet and discussing the ‘gross things’ the patients did.
Lester was the oldest there now. Ever since his stroke, his health plummeted. The food that the nurses fed people was unhealthy and barely fit for human consumption. He began to eat meat, as he had very few alternatives, most of which were bland and not appetizing. He no longer was able to exercise, due to being virtually immobile. Even if he could have, he realized that he had no reason left to live. He was told he would never be able to leave the care facility, and realized that he did not have the drive to try to prove them wrong. Many that had came before and after him had passed away. One successfully killed himself. Lester tried, and as a result, was under close scrutiny at all times. At night he would be lifted up and placed in his bed by machine, being watched by two attendants. There was a video camera in his room, and he was always belted into the bed. The care center was obsessive about making sure that Lester lived as long as possible. At the same time, however, they seemed to not care as much when others passed away. It was as a result of his suicide attempts that the attendants thought they should make sure Lester would live as long as possible.
He was now bald, with patchy looking skin, tired looking eyes, and wrinkles all over his arms. He was thin now, losing weight each day. He, like his grandmother, required assistance to use the restroom, even though he could hold it, for at least a short time. However, the nurses were not always quick enough to arrive as he would call for them. Often he would sit in his wheelchair and yell, as they would holler back, “just a second,” or “just go!”
The dignity of life had been lost. Lester felt emptiness as watched the cars rush by on the freeway, looking out the window, and for and wondering when it would be his turn to finally die. During one particular day, Lester saw a car turned over on the side of the road. An ambulance had arrived as the young able bodied firefighters made sure a blaze did not ignite. Out of the wreckage, a young woman was pulled out. She was unconscious and her body was cut up and bleeding. She was rushed into the ambulance. Lester watched, intently, as he sat in his wheelchair. The sound of the television behind him muffled that of the sirens and traffic being redirected outside. Voices of nurses chattering reverberated behind him.
Lester watched as the firefighters pried open the car and pulled out another man. He was placed on a stretcher and covered in a blanket. He was dead. Lester only caught a glimpse of him. He was probably in his late twenties, early thirties at most. A young man, killed instantly. Lester could not help but wish that was him. He imagined people driving by, thinking it awful to die at such a young age. Thinking it horrible that one should die in such a manner. However, the type of instantaneous death that Lester perceived was the perhaps the kindest way one could possibly hope to leave the world.
One day, Lester looked out, longingly at the grass and imagined what it would be like to feel it again, to lay in it, as he often did out by the lake so many years ago. He had not laid in the grass since he was disabled, and he felt an intense need and want to feel it again under him. He had thought about asking one of the nurses, in the hopes that they would oblige. The head nurse, Lester realized, would probably not allow it. However, as the days passed by, Lester began to obsess over the idea.
With his finger, he pushed against the control pad to his wheelchair and it moved towards the desk where a young nurse was text messaging on his phone. “Excuse me,” Lester said in a long drawn out and old voice. The nurse, oblivious to Lester’s advance, continued to text on his phone and let out a giggle. “Sir,” Lester said, in a more stern voice.
“What is it,” the kid said. He was probably nineteen or twenty. His short blondish brown hair was messy, and he looked like he had just got out of bed.
“I want to talk to the head nurse,” Lester said.
“She’s busy. Go watch television,” the kid said, text messaging the whole time.
“No,” Lester snapped. “I want to talk to her now. I am an old man, and one day you will be too, you realize. Don’t you see that?”
“I am not even twenty one yet,” the kid said putting down his phone. He finally looked up and into Lester’s eyes. He could see the deep sadness and longing in the old man’s eyes and he said, half annoyed, “fine, I will get her. But she probably won’t see you until she is done.”
The kid got up and put his cell phone in his pocket. He strolled slowly toward a door on the wall opposite of the windows. It was a door that none of the residents were allowed to pass through. The kid opened the door and shut it behind him. Sometimes Lester was able to catch a glimpse of what was behind the door. There was a table, some chairs, couches, a soda machine, and a bookcase. There was also a washing machine and dryer in a further room and a couple of small offices beyond. Lester noticed that the walls were made up with wallpaper and real plants grew in there, unlike the old yellowish walls and the fake plants that were well aged in the room where him and the others lived out their lives. The floor was waxed hardwood and the furniture near the big wood and glass door that lead out to a parking lot out front was solid and somewhat ornate. Sometimes Lester would catch what sounded like classical music playing, which reminded him of his day’s going to the orchestra. Lester had not heard music like that in quite some time and could not remember the last time that the television was off during ‘awake hours’.
Sometimes Lester would hear voices from out in that room, and realized it was probably where people came to inquire about the services of this particular retirement home. It was probably the cheapest in the area, since the government was paying for many of its inhabitants.
Finally, Lester saw a big woman with rings on almost every finger come out. Her nails were painted red and purple and were quite long. She had two gold bracelets on one of her arms. Other than that, she was dressed in blue nurses pants and shirt, but over the shirt wore a white button down shirt. The name Marcy was embroidered on the shirt and under it the title “Head Nurse” was displayed.
“What is it,” she said, as the kid walked in behind her, shutting the door quickly.
“Him,” the kid said, pointing toward Lester.
She let out a quick grunt and walked toward Lester. “What is it? I am quite busy out there,” she said.
“I was wondering,” Lester began, talking slowly.
“Yes?” head nurse Marcy said, disinterestedly.
“I wanted to make a request, you know, before I die.”
“Don’t talk like that, you are not dying for a while,” the nurse said.
“I want to lay on the grass outside.”
“Oh no, I am sorry. I can’t allow that. We would need two nurses to get you out of your chair and who would take care of the others? And with your record we can’t allow you to go outside and endanger yourself.”
Lester was silent, deeply disappointed. “Listen. I am an old man and I have not been outside in nearly ten years. I don’t ask for much around here. I ask only this and I will be able to die a happy man.”
“Why don’t you go watch some television. Besides, it’s getting colder out.”
“I have not felt the wind in so long...” Lester said.
“I don’t have time for this. I gave you my answer,” the woman said, leaving.
Lester made his way toward the window and peered out. The trees were losing their leaves. The wind rustled between their trunks and blew discarded litter around the highway. Cars continued to rush by. Lester never sat in front of the television, as he was not much of a television watcher even in his youth, but always looked out the window, longing for death, and whatever came after it. He did not know if there was a God, or a paradise after death, or if there was just unending darkness -- death sleep. Perhaps he would be recreated sometime in the infinite universe that was always expanding. However, he did not know, but he longed to find out. Even eternal darkness and everlasting peace would be better than this place. Much better.
Lester went toward the door that lead toward the front of the building. He could barely hear the nurse yelling at the kid. “The next time you have me go back there, make sure its something important. An old man wanting to lay in the grass is not important.”
The kid came out and Lester backed his wheelchair away. He had an angry look on his face, and glared momentarily at Lester. “You got me in trouble man,” the kid said.
“Sorry,” Lester said, with his head down.
The kid went to his desk and got out his phone and began to text. Lester moved his chair back towards the window and watched the cars.
After a few minutes, the kid came up to Lester and said. “Listen. Why don’t you just go out the emergency exit over there? I’ll disable the alarm.”
Lester looked up. “You’ll lose your job.”
“I don’t care. It’s not like I’m paid. It’s just an internship anyway, and to be honest, I hate this place. They won’t write me a good letter of recommendation. I don’t even know why I’m here.”
Lester made his way toward the emergency exit and the kid pushed the door open for him. He reached down and unlocked the harness that held Lester in. “Thank you,” Lester said. Most of the others just stared at the television, but a couple people glanced over. None seemed to care much that Lester was going outside. Lester’s chair made its way down a ramp and he felt that cool autumn air rush against him. The smell of the air, even with the car exhaust, was aromatic. The feel of the wind against him gave him goosebumps. Lester wheeled his chair down the ramp and made his way to the grass.
The sounds of birds flying overhead delighted him. He finally got his wheelchair onto the grass and he rocked himself forward a bit. It took much work, but Lester finally fell out of his chair and into the grass. It was a painful fall, as Lester scratched his back against the chair, but he did not care. The grass felt amazing under him. Lester laid there in front of his wheelchair for what seemed like half an hour before he heard yelling. The head nurse rushed outside, screaming at the kid. “What is wrong with you? You are done here. You don’t realize what you have done. What danger you have put this man in. I told him he could not go outside! You deliberately went behind my back! You are fired.”
The kid looked at Lester, laying there in the grass, and realized he didn’t care that he lost his position with the care facility for it. Lester would always be grateful for what that kid did for him. He laid there in the grass as the head nurse tried to lift him back in the chair, but could not. She yelled for other nurses, but they were oblivious to her screams. “Erik! Erik, get back here and help me!” she finally yelled, but by then he was gone.
Some of the drivers on the highway beyond would look over, at the strange sight before them. The old frail man lying on the grass, and the nurse unable to lift him back up. He ignored her screams as well as the sounds of the unending traffic, and instead would try to focus on the sounds of nature. He felt the soft green grass under him as Marcy, in anger, would reposition him. Alas, after a time, another nurse heard her screams, and helped get Lester back into his wheelchair. He was to be rushed inside, never to go outside again.
A few days later, Blinds were installed on the windows. They were generally kept down. Lester realized that Marcy did this to punish him, but he no longer cared about going outside. He had finally got to go outside in over ten years, and he knew now that he would never go out there again. But he did it, he got to experience it one last time, and enjoy it for what it was, in the realization that it would be the final moment for him out in the world. And for that, he felt much peace.
Pushing the control stick forward, Lester moved his wheelchair up to the television, next to a group of others, and began to watch it with them. Emotionless now, he would perceive the moving images with his new comrades. And that is what he would do as the years would pass by, as his comrades would pass, and until he too would pass.
