Two good days
Sitting in the living room, I heard a noise and looked up. Without saying a word, Spike leaned against the door frame, then stumbled in, led by a friend from our old crowd.
My old buddy looked like a geriatric rock star shambling through Heathrow in a ragged, oversize fox fur coat. The woman who he had been living with in recent years had, after much effort, expense and grief, let him leave. My apartment was his obvious last stop.
At first, I thought Spike was incoherent, maybe even a little crazed. He spent the first hour pacing, anxious and agitated, uncalmable. I learned he had cancer and other incurable ailments with arcane names.
He was more blind than not, bumping into things, instinctively moving towards the light when nobody stepped in to guide him.
Eventually, he calmed down, stretched out on the couch and took a long nap. I sat working and watched him breath.
After Spike woke up, he was calmer. We went outside. He moved slowly, unsure of his footing, relying on my nudges and tugs for direction. His old prickliness was gone. He was happy to greet anyone who took time to notice him. Nods were exchanged, impressions of weather traded.
We walked to a nearby bar. I sat outside with him, reminiscing, sipping beer at a picnic table. As the hours passed, our old rapport returned. I’d forgotten how articulate Spike could be, how, when we were sitting together, he’d sometimes nudge me to make sure I was paying attention.
I learned he wasn’t crazy, just overwhelmed by age and sickness. Too much to bear — joints stiff, companions lost in the dark forest of time, memories that made no sense no matter how long he gnawed on them.
His red hair, always neatly trimmed, now was long, straggly, white in patches.
That night Spike slept on the floor of my room. It felt good knowing he was there. I woke in the middle of the night and listened to him breathe, then heard him grumble in his sleep and stretch, maybe chasing ghosts.
Originally Spike was supposed to leave yesterday, but that plan didn’t work out. He spent another afternoon sleeping on the couch while I worked. After dinner we all went for a slow walk in the woods north of town in the twilight. Last night I got to listen to him mutter in his sleep a few more times.
This morning I woke up before Spike. He was lying on his side, body curved forward, head and limbs pulled towards his chest. Hoping he’d enjoy the comfort of a little extra sleep, I crept out to the kitchen to make coffee.
When I returned, Spike was up, starting to stretch. Hearing my voice, he angled in my direction to say hello with gentle wags and a wet nose against my knee. I’m glad we had two good days together.
Written 9/05/19
