Rick Slickman ached from his neck to his toes, his joints creaking louder than a rusty door. At 72, every trip to the shared bathroom down the hall in the old house on Bewildered Street felt like an Olympic event.
“Hey Ron, how’s the warehouse job?” They talked while taking care of business. “Nice seeing to you. Be good to your girlfriend and be safe at work.”
Rick made it back to the tiny room and dropped into his recliner. His wrecked knee had ruined his life, but he stubbornly refused to have it replaced. “Life is tough and the tough keep going.”
1968. Cedaredge High School. He and Robyn had ridden across the brilliantly lit football field in a red convertible Corvette as Homecoming King and Queen. Gorgeous with long brown hair and hazel eyes, she was his first, and he hoped his only. With time running out in the fourth quarter, so had his luck. A linebacker from Hotchkiss High took out his knee. As a result, he nearly missed the homecoming dance where she had waited patiently, refusing to dance with any other man.
Rick gulped from a cheap gallon of red wine and sang, “I took my troubles down to Madame Ruth’s. You know that gypsy with the gold-capped tooth. She’s got a pad down on Thirty-Fourth and Vine, selling little bottles of Love Potion Number 9.”
He remembered his past mistakes, the unfortunate events, and most importantly, his lifelong love – a girl with a beautiful smile and a talent for baking chocolate chip cookies. He declared, “I would have kept my jeans and her dress zipped.”
Back then, he was determined to dance despite being badly injured. He limped into the gym towards Robyn with the grace of a waddling duck. He’d envisioned sweeping her off her feet with a romantic spin, but his messed-up knee had other plans.
He stepped on her right toe which made his swollen knee buckle – causing him to stumble into a group of innocent girls who fell against the snack table, scattering fruit punch, salsa, and chips through the air like confetti.
Dancing couples stared and laughter broke out.
He stood with his face dripping fruit punch.
Robyn doubled over, mirth spilling from her lips.
Rick realized he didn't have to be perfect to win her over. With a goofy grin, he limp-waddled back to her, chips and red sauce stuck to his face. “At least we’re having fun, right?” He said with a smile that could light up a black hole.
She wiped away tears of laughter and took his hand. “You are a disaster… but you’re my disaster.”
As the music resumed, he took Robyn’s hand and led her out to his car since he couldn’t dance. The warm night had an atmosphere of glorious adolescent romance, and he popped the question, “Will you marry me?”
She accepted the small marquise diamond ring, saying, “I love you with all my heart and soul.”
But love sometimes has a wretched sense of humor. Six weeks later, Robyn learned she was pregnant. She shook her head. “We only made love one time. I can’t believe it.”
They agreed to name it after popular tunes: Michelle, Sweet Caroline, or Sherry if it was a girl. If it was a boy, Jude or Billie Jo. He promised, “We’ll make it somehow. I’m not afraid of hard work.”
Her strict Mormon parents promptly shipped her off to live with relatives somewhere in Utah. Despite pleading and promising to join their church, they slammed the door in Rick’s face. He never saw her again despite thousands of periodic efforts to find her over the years. He constantly wondered what their baby looked like. Was it a blonde with blue eyes like him or a brunette with hazel eyes like her? She was the love of his life. His heart ached more than his joints. God, how he wished.
Back in those days, he thought he was destined to be a brilliant attorney who helped the poor. Failing to get a football scholarship, he was drafted to fight in Vietnam. He stayed in the Army as a non-commissioned officer, volunteering for the most dangerous missions, hoping to be killed since he had lost Robyn. After fifteen years, they booted him out for drinking too much. Rick stumbled through two half-hearted marriages like other lonely men. None stuck because he was in love with Robyn, but he took solace in the fact there were no kids to inherit his terrible dance moves or the permanent stains on his reputation.
Days turned into decades.
After the Army, he did carpentry jobs here and there. The fucking knee kept giving out and causing more injuries. Now on a pittance of social security, he suffered from more aches and pains than he cared to count and was invisible to the world. As the sun set on his life, the ghost of his knee nibbled at his sanity, and he sank into a deeper depression, perpetually marinated in his Love Potion Number 9 since it numbed his burning knee. He mumbled to himself, sad about the dumpster fire of his life.
After a particularly grueling day of greeting people at Walmart, every joint ached with arthritis. He sank into his faded recliner with a sigh loud enough to wake the ghosts of his past. They stomped past as he sipped from a gallon jug of Love Potion Number 9 and popped another pain pill.
Staring out the window of his bare room at the bustling youths playing soccer in a Grand Junction neighborhood park, he fantasized about being back in 1968 when everything was fresh. He imagined how he would change things, especially what happened with Robyn after the homecoming dance. He took another pain pill with a gulp of wine. A guy couldn’t change the choices made in the past.
One night after working at Walmart, he took an existential leap off the deep end, mixing his Love Potion Number 9 with pain pills and the nostalgia of lost dreams. This was the ticket to his one-way adventure to the land of regret-free football fields and sweet kisses from Robyn. He was ready for the ultimate escape and guzzled the gallon of cheap red wine like it was grape juice, sucked cigarettes although he hadn’t smoked since Nixon was president, and washed down a large handful of pain pills meant for his sciatica. The potion soothed the burning in his knee, the terrible ache in his back, and numbed his empty heart. That’s what he needed: a pain-free death. With a contented sigh, he crushed out the last of the Camel filters, and slumped into his lumpy recliner, lost to the embrace of potion-induced dreams filled with visions of being with Robyn. He drooped, slobbering wine onto his chest.
With a cacophony of muffled sounds, Rick felt the strange sensation of being pulled through a tunnel before crashing into a familiar yet fuzzy place. When he arrived at the other side, he didn’t find paradise or a cramped room filled with regrets. Instead, he sprawled on the stadium-lit football field of Cedaredge High School in the middle of a game, wearing a tight jersey that accentuated muscles he hadn’t possessed in decades. “What in the name of fried donuts?” He exclaimed, popping up like organic rye bread from a toaster.
“Who are you talking to, Rick?” It was Charlie, the quarterback, and his cousin. They were seniors at Cedaredge High School in Western Colorado. Their number one goal was to get scholarships to a small college and avoid the raging Vietnam War the US was losing. Even Walter Cronkite, the trusted CBS newscaster, said it was unwinnable.
“I’m talking to a relative I’m trying to forget.”
Charlie rolled his eyes. “As you okay? I thought you were knocked out when you caught that pass since that Hotchkiss player speared you.” He patted his shoulder pads. “Nice first down catch. You’re the best tight end in the conference, and you make me look good with those impossible catches.”
“I’m alright.” He staggered to the huddle, holding his head. He was back in high school as a senior! He looked down at himself and nearly fainted. No more skinny, sagging, age-spotted arms—he was a hawk-eyed teenager again. A thrill of youthful energy surged through him.
The next play was between him and the right tackle. He knocked the Hotchkiss linebacker down, and their fullback made another first down. He helped the opponent up, but there was anger in the kid’s dark eyes. “I’ll get you.”
The next play, the linebacker tried to take his right knee out, but Rick anticipated it this time. Instead of having the cartilage in his knee torn to shreds, he shoved the boy’s head down onto the turf.
The young man glared at him. “I’ll get you on the next play.”
It was a reverse to Rick. The pulling guard opened a hole and seeing daylight, he turned on the afterburner. The defensive backs had followed the offensive movement to the right. He was the fastest man on the team. Putting everything he had into it, he sped for the goal line with the defense chasing him. Touchdown! It was an accident because he tripped over his own feet while showing off as he trotted backwards.
The final horn sounded.
“We won!” The Cedaredge fans tumbled from the stands onto the field.
Instead of having the coach tell him, “Your knee is badly swollen. I’ll wrap it, but you should see a doctor on Monday,” he blinked against the bright field lights, and before him stood bell-bottom jeans, psychedelic shirt patterns, and the aroma of patchouli oil in the air.
And there was Robyn, running to him across the field, stunning with flowing brown hair, her hazel eyes filled with pride. “You did it, you scored the winning touchdown!” She threw her arms around him and leaped up with her muscular cheerleader legs straddling his grass-stained uniform pants.
This time would be different, he promised himself. Armed with the wisdom of an old man, he would woo her without fail.
He felt the shock of paddles on his chest. His drunken eyes flickered.
“Good!” The EMT turned. “Guys, he’s alive; let’s get him into the ambulance. They need to pump his stomach.”
Days later, his eyes fluttered open in a hospital room, tubes in his arms and clear bags of some shit above him—this was not the heaven he envisioned. He looked around in confusion. Pissed him off. He’d rather be playing football and kissing Robyn. He moaned, “God, please, if you care, take me home.”
The hospital social worker came in and talked with him, asking about his life and why he wanted to end it. After three interviews, she said, “According to your medical records, you need two rotator cuff repairs, a right knee replacement, and your spine fused at L 4-5.” She caught his pained blue eyes. “If you agreed to the surgeries, you might find life a lot more tolerable.” Seeing the doubt in his eyes, she added, “Medicare will pay for it.”
“No, I’m ready to go to the other side. I don’t have any friends or family, and I’ve lived with pain since I was a senior in high school.” He shook his head quickly. “It would be a waste of medical resources.”
The nice social worker shook her head. “You are a stubborn man, aren’t you?”
“Yep. Once I make my mind up, I make it happen.”
Mary Sue stared at him. “Rick, I’ve seen you greeting people at Walmart. You make us feel warm and welcome. I hope you’ll change your mind.” Somewhat upset, she left.
Closing his eyes, he didn’t give a thought to having the surgeries. He was done.
He heard a noise and this beautiful woman in her fifties with long brown hair and hazel eyes quietly walked in. Behind her stood two adult children who looked somewhat like him—the muscular man was adorned with blonde hair and the brunette female held a baby in her arms.
He stared at the lady. She looked just like Robyn. Am I dreaming?
“They said you’re well enough to have visitors.” She gently took his weathered, spotted, and blue-veined hand. “Thank God, I’ve finally found you.” Moisture rose in her eyes.
“W..who are you?”
“I’m your daughter, Sweet Caroline. I paid for an internet search to get your phone number, and I kept calling you that night. Your buddy across the hall told me about the EMT’s saving your life.” She smiled, oddly mystified. “Ron wondered why you didn’t answer your phone so he went over to check on you.” She introduced the kids, “These are your grandchildren – Jude and his sister, Michelle, and the baby is Sherry.”
His Love Potion Number 9-free brain was clear. “Where are you from?”
“We drove over from Salt Lake City. I’ve been trying to find you since I was fourteen.” A tear ran down her pink cheek.
“Well, it’s sure nice to finally meet you. You’re lovely. I’ve always wished things had turned out the way your mom and I wanted.”
“May I call you Dad?”
“Well, of course!” Something in his chest broke loose. He fought the tears welling up. A tough man doesn’t cry, but he couldn’t avoid her eyes. She looked exactly like Robyn.
She leaned to him, softly wrapping her arms around him. They kissed as tears ran down their cheeks.
The two grandchildren moved to the other side of the bed, their hands reaching out. Sweet Caroline sat on the bed, and everyone held hands. No one could speak.
Michelle placed her baby on his chest.
He wrapped his arms around the baby, holding it gently, looking at its familiar face. He caught his breath. “Where’s your mother?” He stubbornly forced the tears to stop.
“She’s at the motel. Mom is afraid you might not love her after how her parents treated you. Her husband died ten years ago.” There was something in her hazel eyes. “They never had children, and Mom refused to marry him in the Mormon Temple for time and eternity because you belong together.”
A lump rose in his throat. He gritted his teeth.
They talked for over an hour, and Sweet Caroline realized the old man was tired because his eyes kept closing. She stood. “We’ll come back tomorrow.”
“I’d love to see Robyn.” Those darned tears started up again. “She’s the only woman I ever loved.”
Sweet Caroline and her children smiled brightly.
He slept soundly for who knows how long.
The social worker came in. “I heard you had some visitors. How do you feel?”
“Wonderful.” He shook his head with disbelief. “I haven’t felt like this since Robyn was sent away.”
They had a delightful talk. At the end of her visit, Mary Sue asked, “Would you consider talking to one of the surgeons? Your medical records say you have been suffering for many years.”
“Sure.” A smile rose on his lips. “Maybe send the knee replacement doctor.”
The food service cart arrived. Rick couldn’t believe how good the hospital food smelled and tasted.
Slept like a rock. No football nightmares.
In the morning after coffee and a great breakfast, he pulled himself up and raised the back of the bed as he worked to control his excitement. Unable to, he managed to move the IV lines so he could make it to the restroom without using the plastic jug. There, he got cleaned up, using water to smooth his thin blonde hair. “Oh well, she’s got to look old too.” He flashed his famous smile that out shined any weakness..
To his surprise, the pain wasn’t as bad, so he walked up the hall and back, pushing the IV rack in front of him, using it like a cane. He asked for his clothes, but a doctor had to order the IVs removed first. With steely determination, he sat on the hard leather couch, waiting, the IV rack to his left side. His heart pounded each time he heard footsteps approaching his room, hoping it was Robyn. He hadn’t felt anything in his empty heart for years. This was both exciting and confusing.
The hours passed.
Disappointed and afraid Robyn might not come, he ate lunch alone. The tasteless food in his stomach made him sleepy, so he crawled back into the bed and slept, dreaming of her, of them – of having a family.
A light touch on his right arm startled him awake. It was Sweet Caroline. He looked around. She was alone. He stared into her eyes.
“Mom is outside. She’s too nervous to come in.”
A wide grin on his face, he said softly, “Tell her I won’t bite.”
She turned and called, “Mom, come in. Dad is awake and he wants to see you.”
With long silver hair, Robyn walked in with a shy smile, her hazel eyes down, wearing his small marquise engagement ring and a plain white dress as if she was going to the Temple.
Their anxious eyes met.
Suddenly, he was happy to be alive.
Excellent short story, just my kind