TL Boehm - Writer

“Make sure you take care of the old lady in 310. She was seriously off her nut yesterday.”

“Miss Boehm? She’s a sweetie.”

“Sure, you didn’t see her up on her bed, swinging Mrs Larson’s cane around and shouting ‘En garde. You steala my meatballa!’”

“No way.”

“Way, and she had her shawl wrapped around her like a cloak. I guess she thought she was a Musketeer.”

“Well that’s better than old lady Larson. That old hag bit me yesterday. If she does it again I'm gonna hide her damn dentures.”

"Be nice. She's clueless, remember. Just smile and give her her meds, and put ice on your arm. How much longer could she possibly have?"

"Enough to take out a chunk of flesh."

They’re talking about me again. Every morning I wake up and I find myself in this strange place with white walls and white tile floors. It smells like rubbing alcohol and death. And the old woman across the room snores and drools, crying out and moaning in her sleep.

“Mrs. Boehm. Rise and shine. You’re going to have some company today.”

“Is Buffi here?”

“No honey. Your kids are coming. Eric and Fred. Now how do you want me to fix your hair?”

“Can I wear it in a pony tail again?”

“Sure. Red or blue bow?”

“Blue.”

I don’t have any kids. I don’t know what she is talking about. I just want to go home. Everyone here is old and crusty and crazy. Its wearing off on me. I look in the mirror and there’s this old troll looking back at me, all wrinkly like a white raisin. I don’t know who she is but she scares me. This woman who combs my hair, at least she doesn’t pull it like mom used to. I don’t know why my mom put me in here. She never loved me but I never thought she’d give me up.

“Ok, there, now aren’t you pretty?”

“Thank you.” I don’t know who they think they’re fooling. My hair is reddish brown, not this stringy white stuff with the bald spot in the back. Maybe they dye it when I’m sleeping.

“So are you excited about Fred and Eric coming?”

“Yes, I am.” I’ve learned to answer them with yes and no or they give me pills that make me sleep. Maybe I’m sleeping now and this is just a dream. I wish I could wake up. I just want to see my boys again. Fred will be a senior next year. I don’t know who the big bearded guy with the holes in his ears is that comes to see me but my Fred is only 16 and Eric is 12. God I miss my boys and David. I miss David so much. I wish he’d come see me but they just smile and pat my arm and tell me he’s in a better place. How could he leave me here with Mrs. Larson who smells like fish and pee?

“Hey, mom. How are you?”

“I’m fine. Have you met Mrs. Larson? She snores a lot.”

“Yes, I brought you something from Buffi. It’s a picture of her great grandkids.”

“Buffi?” There’s my BEST friend. I don’t know who the old woman is but that little girl with the green eyes in her lap, that’s Buffi. Tomorrow we’re going to climb the tree in the back yard and look for Cardinal Richeleau and stab him in the heart. “Thank you, young man. And who is this fine looking man with you?”

“This is Eric.”

“Eric, oh yes. I remember. Are you drawing?”

“Mom. I have my own graphic design company? Both of my boys, they work for me in production and technology research? Do you remember?”

“Why, yes. Eric. Eric. I love you. I always knew you’d be so successful.”

“I love you too, Mom.”

I know this boy. I do. My Eric. But why does he look older than me?

“I think she actually remembers you, Rico.”

“Well of course, Fred. I’m the favorite.”

I don’t know why Eric is crying. He never trusted me. I love him so much. I have another boy. What’s his name again? Where the hell am I anyway. Wait. I have to find my sword.

- The above story was inspired by my own Grandmother's battle with the monster that is Alzheimer's....peace.

TL Boehm

written for a contest, the language is a bit rough...forgive me...

Perhaps it was the heady thought of Guiness chilling in the refrigerator at home. Perhaps it was the wafting aroma of green chile  carried on the evening air. Perhaps I was exhausted after a week in  corporate hell. Whatever the reason, my usual diligence failed me as I slipped from the protective circle of light in the parking lot and into the unknown.

I'll just swing into the first available space and sprint into the store. Seemed like a logical concept in my tiny villa - only a few blocks away from my house. I'll only be a moment.

Lost in my reverie of a worry free weekend, I sauntered across the parking lot, never noticing the three figures lurking only a few steps from my car. In a rush of sneakered footsteps and a flurry of arms I suddenly found myself sprawled face down on the pavement - my molesters receding into the darkness with my purse and my pride in tow.

"You sorry sonsabitches" In an adrenalin induced panic I sprang to my feet, my head snapping right and then left as I scanned the parking lot. Then the nausea hit me. All my unfinished ideas were in that notebook. What was I thinking, taking my bag into the store? Hot tears welled unbidden in my eyes and I brushed them off angrily. Thank God I wasn't stupid enough to toss my damn keys in my purse.

"Excuse me Ma'am. Are you ok?"

"Don't even think about touching me. You have no idea who you're messing with." The sentence spilled from my lips before I could stop it as I spun around, keys brandished in my fist, prepared to pummel the living crap out of who ever just called me 'ma'am.'

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." The young man stared intently at me, his jade eyes flickering as they reflected the parking lot lights. He reached out his hand in greeting.

"Don't think so, Son. I'm only stupid once." I shook my keyed fist at him with all the venom my quivering flesh could muster after face planting in the parking lot.

"Well, I just saw what happened. I can help you. Do you need me to call some one? Your knee, well it looks pretty messed up." He let his hand fall to his side.

"I'm fine." I spat, jaws clenched. I took a breath and looked down at my kneecaps. Maybe he noticed they were shaking so violently they were slamming together. A trickle of bright red blood wound its way from my knee to my ankle, and an angry patch of rashy flesh covered the top of my foot. "Well, I'm fine except for missing a shoe."

"Its over there." He pointed a few feet away. "I really want to help you." He stepped toward me.

"You know what? I'm fine. I'm just gonna get in my car and drive home to my husband who is expecting me any time, and knows exactly where I am right now. So, thanks but no thanks." I straightened my frame and stomped backwards toward my car with all the force and authority I could muster as the young man continued to watch me intently. I threw myself into the drivers seat, slamming on the door lock mechanism, and revved the engine as I turned my lights on. Then I shot my most venomous look at the young stranger still standing in the parking lot. The slightest hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth as he raised one eyebrow and held a finger to his lips. He then bowed deeply and sprinted off in the direction of my attackers, his oversized green hoodie billowing out behind him like a cape. Jerk! I bit my lip and threw the car into reverse, hearing a dull clunk as my back tire rolled over the shoe I'd neglected to retrieve. Damn shoes. Damn purse. I'm such a dumbass.

I held back the tears until I was safely nestled in my familiar spot on the couch, chilled Guinness in hand. Then the sobs came as I recounted the events for my husband and children.

"Did you kick him in the ass, mom?" my younger boy piped up.

"Don't say ass. And no I didn't." I took a gulp of foamy stout.

"So what did this kid look like? Maybe I will run into him at school tomorrow." My hulking teen smacked his beefy fist against his palm in a threatening motion.

"Um yeah. Four against one. I don't know. He looked kinda like Robin Hood. You know, mysterious eyes, quiet demeanor and a great big cape like sweat jacket. Forest green."

"Sure, mom. Robin Hood swipes your purse in the parking lot. Mom, robbed in the hood!" The conversation dissolved into giggling as someone suddenly knocked hard on the front door.

"Who the hell is that at this late hour."

"Maybe its Robin the Hood." My younger boy pulled his knees up under his chin and rolled on the floor as he laughed.

"Don't laugh at your mother. Honey, I told you you shouldn't carry your whole life around in that giant bag lady thing." My husband pursed his lips and sighed.

"Yeah, well my life is over now, huh. Get up and see who it was, Son." 

"Dang mom, we're just joking." My older son uncurled himself from beside me on the couch and walked the few steps to the front door. He opened it wide and peered out into darkness. "No one's here, Mom. Hey is this stuff yours?" He turned to face me, my stolen purse dangling from one finger as he clutched a pair of new shoes in the other.

"My purse." I snatched the bag away from my child. Rifling through it, I found everything in place, money, credit cards and my precious notebook. A page fluttered out of the notebook as I flipped through the pages. It came to rest on the floor. 

"What's that, a love note? Dear, ma'am - here's your purse. You'll find all is in order. I hope the shoes are to your liking. Best regards....Robin..."

"Gimme that!" I snatched the note away from my younger boy. Robin? Suddenly the image of a jade eyed, green clad young man flooded my memory. I smiled as I stared out my open front door into the darkened night. Thank you Robin. Where ever you are. 

TL Boehm 

Despite the crisp predawn air, the coffee tinted water felt tepid as I dug my toes into soft sand. I swung quietly into the old metal boat and aimed the prow for the center of the pristine lake. Eddies swirled and danced in the wake of the oars. Our summer refuge seemed smaller through my adult eyes. Surveying the placid scenery, I pulled in the oars and let the boat drift.  The gentle current rocked me back to that time when you and I sat in that boat in the hot summer sun. How we froze when dragonflies strafed the tips of our fishing poles because you said if a shadow crossed the water, the bluegills would never bite. So many mornings and afternoons cruising the pond with our two horse mercury and the only thing that ever bit was the deerflies and hordes of mutant mosquitoes.  I shifted in my seat, kicking an aged plastic yellow and red bobber loose from its tangle of dry rotted nylon. Maybe you left it last time you were here. How long had it been? That was the beauty of our summer hideaway. The timeless birch trees waved lithe white branches as pines stood sentinel over tiny cottages dotting the rim of the lake. Nothing changes here. Except you.

My promise brought me back to the present. Taking a small envelope from my shirt pocket, I poured its precious contents into my hands as the sunlight slipped gently across the tree tops. You never let me stand up in the boat but maybe this time you’d forgive me as I rose and closed my eyes. Taking a breath, I flung your ashes skyward watching them cascade in a sunlit shower of dust settling on the surface of the lake you loved. You said we’d share another sunrise and like a true friend, you kept your word.

"And if I had the choice

I'd always wanna be there

Those were the best days of my life"

TL Boehm 2006 inspired by the above song lyrics