The Old Man's Afternoon

I ask my son if we could go for a walk today. He's been sad lately, so depressed. It's showing in his face. He's looking older all the time. He needs to get out more, so I suggest we go out for a walk, because it's such a nice day out. We could go to the beach...it would help him take his mind off things, I'm sure. But he shakes his head and says "No, Dad. We can't go to the beach to day."

So I sit by the TV for a while. I don't know why. I hate everything that's on. Young kids spin the wheel while Bob Barker hands them prizes like fabulous trips to god-knows-where or new cars. Hey--that's not Bob. That's some young fat feller. Where's Bob? I can at least stand him...I don't think I like the new guy so much. I pick up the clicker and watch the screen go blank.

It's later, and I have to take a wizz. Everything's so much harder than it used to be. Guess that's what happens when you get old--nothing works right. Gotta take pills to make your wee come out right. It's a whole thing. I have to get help from my son to get on the toilet. It's embarassing. I never needed to do this when Grace was alive.

Later still. There's some guy talking about the news, saying stuff about the war. I know war. I took three bullets in 'Nam, watched guys get splattered by Charlie's mines. I knew someone named Charlie. Good guy. Charlie was killed by Charlie, though, and it's a damn shame. He had everything to live for, he was just a kid...

I wake up, and wonder what I was thinking about. The afternoon sun is warm on my face...it's relaxing. I should go take a walk. And hey, the door's open! I should go down to the beach. I step outside. the row of houses stretches on and on. Which way was it again? huh. Not sure. I should ask for directions. I step outside into the street. I see a woman walking a dog in the distance, and a red car rolls by. There's a lit sign on the roof. I walk for a bit.

I wave at a passing truck, and a lady rolls down the window. "Which way to the beach?" I ask her. She looks confused. "You know, the beach? It was a nice day, so I thought I'd take a stroll down there. Isn't it a nice day?" She still looks confused. "Um, sir, I don't know if I can help you...is there someone I should call?" Call? With what? She's in a truck. No telephones in there.

"Look, I just need some directions. I'm trying to reach the beach, and I was hoping you could help me."

She looks nervous for some reason. I'm just an old man, girl. It hasn't worked in years, so you have nothing to fear from me. Did I say that out loud? Oops. She rolls up the window and drives off. Well, that was rude. I wander up the street some more. There's a ring of apartment complexes, and an overweight young man parks his red car and heads to the door, a flat nylon hotbag in his hands. I rest by the car.

The young man returns. I think I recognize him. "Hey, Charlie. How're things?" I ask him. He blinks in confusion. "Um, can I help you, sir?"

"Oh, no need to be so formal, Charlie. It's just me. look, I'm trying to make it to the beach. Can you give me a lift?"

"Um, I don't think I'm supposed to--er, that is, I have to get back to the store, sir." He's looking really confused now. Doesn't he recognize his old buddy? Ah, it's been so long since I've seen him...you know, we never kept in contact after 'Nam. I wondered what had happened to him. "Look, just give me a ride. It's not far." I open his door and cram myself into the seat. It's cramped and messy, with the remains of old burger wrappers strewn about on the floor. Not like my son's car, all nice and clean.

The young man swallows, looks about for a few seconds helplessly, and reluctantly takes the wheel. "it's just up here a spell."

"You want a ride home, sir?" he asks. No, damn it, I want to go to the Beach. Grace always loved the beach, and I miss walking along the shore with her. I want to live that again. "Look, Charlie, just drive. It'll be ok."

The young man puts the car into drive with a shudder. What a jalopy. he heads down the road, and we come to an intersection. I think I remember the way now. I point left, and he turns left. "So, why are you driving such a piece of junk, Charlie?"

The young man seems miserable and nervous. "Well, I need the money, and delivering pizza pays pretty well, sir." Oh, stop calling me sir. I wasn't that much higher rank than you in the army, and we aren't there now.

"Um , where next?" he asks. I point. And then point again after a while. And then again.

We seem to have gone in a circle.

"You, uh, don't know where you're going, do you?" the young man asks. He pushes his glasses up his nose. When did Charlie get those, I wonder?

We drive some more. The Young Man is choosing the turns now. I don't think this is the right way. The sun has gone down by now. So much for walking the sands at sunset. He pulls into a parking lot.

"Look, sir. I don't think you know where you are." he says to me. "Can you wait here while I get some help?" I sigh. "Whatever, Charlie." I say, and I watch him head to a phone booth. He dials a number, but he apparently doesn't get a response. He seems agitated and frustrated.

Time ticks by. The phone rings, and he answers it. I can't make out much of what he says.

"...olice? Yes, I'd...found him wandering the...don't think he knows where he is...think he has...on the way? Oh thank god. How..."

He sits on a bench. I'm just sitting here in his messy jalopy. That's kind of rude, I think. Why is Charlie being so rude to me? You don't just leave your guests all alone, sitting in a car while you sit on a bench waiting for someone.

He's so unlike the Charlie that I used to know...so different...And then I remember that Charlie is dead, killed by a toe popper in 'Nam, and I am starting to realize how far I am from home. Who is this guy?

A police car pulls up. The young man stands up, looking relieved. He talks to the officer for a while, but I can't see them except in the rearview mirror. Then a silver SUV drives up, and my son gets out. He's crying. He talks to the young man, who seems exceptionally relieved, and all three come to the door.

"Come on, Dad." My son says. His voice quavers. It's a flood of fear, relief, and exhaustion, and he looks so old. "It's time to go home....please, let's go home."

He leads me to his car, which is nice and clean. I take a seat, but he's back talking to the young man and the officer.

"I can't imagine how he got out...I left him alone for just a minute...Oh god, thank you, sir, for finding him...he has Alzheimer's..."

"I didn't know what to do...he just got in my car and asked to be driven around...when I realized he didn't know where he was, I came here...He was asking to be taken to a beach, and I'm thinking, there's no beaches in Arizona..."

"It sounds to me like you did the right thing, young man."

"I was so scared...I heard that he had been picked up by a stranger, and I didn't know what to think...I thought he was in danger, kidnapped by horrible people...thank you, thank you for finding him..."

"Can I go? My boss is going to kill me...I forgot my cell phone today, wish I'd brought it..."

After a while, my son returns to the car. He leans against the wheel for a minute. I think he's still crying.

"Can we go to the beach tomorrow?" I ask him. "I wanted to go today, but i couldn't find it."

"No, Dad." he says, tears streaming down his face. "I just want to go home."

"Oh. OK, then." We pull away from the police station, and head up the road.