SkullValley

SkullValley
The way Home

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

New Short Story

Sorry to jump around so much, but I guess it just mirrors my brain lately. I have been thinking about a lot of different things this summer. I am working on the other stories so I won't leave you hanging. Getting out of College only has one more chapter...but that's the kicker...it is the most emotional one for me. Even if it is only a story. Nate and Josephine is about half complete but has plot issues, so I am thinking about that. If I have lost you as a reader because of the interlude, I am real sorry. Please come back. As usual, if you have comments, please feel free to share.

The Hummingbird Man


Chapter 1

         A ruby throated Hummingbird flitted by the old man’s window, straight for the fancy copper and art glass feeder hanging on the outside of the window. It was hung just right so that the old man could watch the little birds. In the summer that is. Later, when the birds made their annual flight to the southland to escape the cold of winter his grandsons brought a little cedarwood seed feeder so that he could watch a whole different set of birds. 
         The old man looked up when the motion of the little bird caught his attention. He watched as the rapidly beating wings carried the bird up and down, side to side, until it was sure that there was no threat. Then it slowly slid forward and dipped its long beak into the faux flower blossom and sucked the sweet liquid. A dark streak flashed in from the side and the gaudy ruby throated cock bird backed out of the fake flower and chased after the dark bird. They flew in dazzling circles and zig zags, both trying to intimidate the other.
         “Damn, if they wouldn’t fight so much they both could get a bellyful of syrup. Just selfish, that’s what they are. Just like people.” The old man grimaced and shook his old bald head in disgust.
         The door to his room flew open. Hummingbird man! Let’s get your sorry old ass into your chair and go to supper.” The wild looking young man who was the attendant for the men in the ‘home’, walked over to the closet where the wheelchair sat waiting.
         “Shut the hell up, and bring the chair over here! And quit calling me the Hummingbird man.” The old man swung his tired old stick legs over the side of the bed where he sat. Legs that had carried him over tall mountains and many miles in search of far horizons, now wouldn’t hold him to walk across the room, let alone to the dining hall. Arms and shoulders that had lifted 1000 bales of hay in one day, now could barely push the wheels on the chair. But there was nothing wrong with his mind, well not too much anyway. He did have a hard time remembering some of his friends’ names but, he never forgot his family.
         “Hurry up!  Wait, take me into the bathroom first. I got to go.” The old man said impatiently. He secretly liked the boy, but he didn’t let on that he did. The attendant was strong as a bull and he handled the old men in the home like they were made of cardboard. He was a happy-go-lucky kid, but he had a smart mouth. It got him in trouble with some of the other old farts in here, but the old man liked it. It kept his mind sharp, trying to keep up.
         The old man reached out his hands expecting a pull up and an arm around his shoulder to help him over to the bathroom, but the kid bent down and picked him up with an arm under his legs and one around his back.
         “Man, you’re as light as one of those hummingbirds that you watch. No wonder I call you ‘Hummingbird Man’.” The young man carried him easily to the bathroom and set him upright next to the toilet.
         The old man was embarrassed, he was the guy that used to show off his strength. He had carried his father exactly like this in the last days of his life. The thought of that gave him a chill that travelled up and down his spine.
         “What do you think you’re doing! I didn’t tell you to carry me like a baby! Get out while I go to the bathroom! Now!” The old man used anger to cover up his embarrassment.
         “Do you need help with your zipper?” the young man offered.
         The old man sputtered in outrage. “No one but me has touched my zipper since I was a tyke. Except in fun. And you ain’t gonna be the first. Now get out!”
         The young man smiled at the old man’s feistiness. He nodded and turned his back to the old man so that he could have some privacy, but the rules wouldn’t allow him to completely leave the room with the old man standing as wobbly as he seemed to be.
         “I’ll be right here, but I won’t look, rules you know. Say something if you feel like you’re about to fall.”
         The old man grumbled, but he went about his business. When the dribbling sounds of the old man’s weak stream stopped, The young aide turned back and helped the old man to his wheelchair. As they were wheeling down the hall to the dining room, the young man started whistling like a bird. The warbling rose and fell in a lively rhythm.
         “What kind of bird is that?” the old man queried.
         “Shitbird.” The young man deadpanned.
         “For Hell’s sake, you are a smartass aren’t you. For real, tell me.”
         The young man smiled broadly. He wanted to laugh. But that wouldn’t be cool. So he deflected the old man’s attention.
         “Look there’s your girlfriend, Mrs. Terwilliger. Do you want to sit next to her?”
         “I don’t have a girlfriend.” The old man growled. “Just friends that are females. Yeah, take me over there, I might as well have some company that isn’t so full themselves like some I might name.” He said this last bit pointed right at the young man.
         “Alright Hummingbird Man, here you are. Howdy there, Mrs Terwilliger, looking for some company?” the young man pushed the old man up to the table in the place next to the woman. He left him there and went after his other charges.
         The old man smiled nicely at Mrs. Terwilliger. “Good evening, Melanie. Is it alright if I sit next to you?”
         Mrs. Terwilliger snorted indelicately. “It’s a little late to ask for permission isn’t it? You’re already here.” Then with a smile, “ Of course it is okay. How are you today?”
         “Just fine, thank you. And you?” the old man winked at her. They had a close friendship. Friendships in the ‘home’ were hard to maintain at their age. Between illness, senility and death, time to develop relationships was often short. Melanie and the old man, had both been in here for about 4 years. They had the good fortune to be alert and mostly well, even though they were both approaching 95 years old.
         “Why does that young man call you the Hummingbird Man?” Mrs. Terwilliger asked.
         “I don’t know, everyone knows that I feed the birds. Hummingbirds in the summer, all the other little birds in the winter. I like watching them better than looking at TV. Maybe he has a nickname for everyone in here.” The old man looked perplexed at that. He hadn’t thought of that before.
         “I don’t think so,” Mrs. Terwilliger offered, “I haven’t heard him call anyone else by a nickname, just their real names. Have you?”
         “No I don’t think I have.” He answered. The staff started to serve supper.