Boris had the apartment to himself for the day.
Whittle and Jenn had taken Melody out for her physical therapy - just going for walks to strengthen her leg muscles - and Father Krickett was at the church, finishing up the last bit of paperwork to make it officially theirs and able to open for the public. Boris put on an old jazz record, made himself some tea and decided to spend the afternoon looking through photo albums. Some of his family, some of his wife and daughter, and some he'd taken while at the home. Sitting on the couch, he turned the page, sipped, and came across a snapshot of himself and Polly while on their little bender. She'd bought a disposable camera, and he was so happy to have these brief moments in time captured forever with her. He smiled, just as a knock came at the door. Boris groaned, stood up and went to answer it. Much to his surprise, Ellen was standing on the other side.
"Hey, well now, this is a nice thing to see," Boris said, "What are you doing here?"
"I made a decision about something, and I wanna talk to you about it," Ellen said, "Can I come in?"
"Of course, you want some tea?" Boris asked, as he shuffled aside, allowing her entrance.
"No, I'm okay, actually I just had breakfast, so I'm pretty satisfied," Ellen said, before stopping and turning to face her father, smiling ear to ear, "Dad. I'm getting married."
"I...I know that. I'm dying, I don't have dementia," Boris replied, making her laugh.
"No, I'm getting married in two weeks," Ellen said, "for you. I'm doing it for you. So you can be there to see it."
Boris didn't know what to say. All his words caught in his throat, and his eyes swelled up with tears. He had to admit, of all the things he could've been given before his death, this was the greatest thing of all.
***
Melody hated walking.
She used to love it. She used to go for long hikes and even did jogging at one point. She even ran track in high school. Now though, now that she was expected to walk, she hated it. She hated having things be expected of her, things like continuing to live when she so clearly didn't want to. Whittle and Jenn had taken her for a long stroll downtown, around the bustling shopping areas, hoping that she would get distracted enough by the sights around her that she would forget about how angry she was that she was still alive. It wasn't working. Instead, she just turned stone quiet, unwilling to even communicate. Whittle and Jenn had stopped in front of a large glass window of a store, admiring some dresses, as Melody stood off to the side against the wall with her arms crossed.
"How much longer do we have to be out for?" Melody asked.
"Well," Whittle said, "it's good for you to walk for at least an hour or two every day. Build back your calf muscles."
"Can we at least get something to eat?" Melody asked, and Whittle shrugged.
"I don't see why not," she replied.
"You know you're just buying distractions, right?" Melody asked as the three women started to continue walking, heading towards a small food cart; she continued, "by buying things you're just distracting yourself from the real issues in your life. The things you don't want to face. Nobody wants to face the bad stuff so they put it off for as long as possible."
"I'm perfectly happy with my life, aside from my friend dying," Whittle said, shrugging, "I don't see anything wrong with having distractions if I'm content."
"Right, you mean to tell me you don't have any deep wells of sadness inside you?" Melody asked, "any regrets or anything like that? I find that hard to believe, frankly."
"This might come as a surprise to you, because you're so attached to the idea of wanting to die, but not everyone feels that way," Jenn said, "there are plenty of people who go through their entire lives being thrilled to be alive, never once wanting to end it. That isn't to say they don't experience sadness, of course, but they don't experience it on the level that you do, and it might be hard for you to comprehend that possibility when you're so steeped in depression."
"Coming from the woman who blindly follows faith," Melody said.
"I'm happy though," Jenn said, squeezing Whittle's hand.
Melody sighed and looked down at her shoes as they approached the cart. Jenn paid for their snacks, then excused herself to go to the restroom, Whittle holding onto hers until she got back. Whittle and Melody found a small bench to sit on and eat, waiting for Jenn to return. As Whittle took a bite out of her churro, Melody shook her head.
"I didn't use to be like this," Melody said, "I'm not saying I was happy go lucky oblivious moron, but...I didn't use to be this bitter. I think it's hard to get back to who you used to be when it's been stripped from you for so long. I'd like to, but sometimes I wonder if it's even possible."
Whittle nodded and took another bite, chewing as she thought. Melody started in on her own, and together they sat in silence, eating for a bit. After a few minutes, Whittle swallowed, then spoke.
"I think just recognizing that is a step in the right direction, that this isn't who you were before, and that you don't want to be this way forever," Whittle said, "when I worked at the home, god, I was surrounded by people who just thought this was how they had to be because it was how they'd been for so long. Granted, these people were in their 70s and up, but still. That's one of the admirable things about Boris. He strove to be better. To not be complacent in his shittiness. He didn't want to die not having changed at all. I can respect that. So yeah, I think acknowledging that is a really positive first step."
"And what about your girlfriend? What about her religious fanaticism?" Melody asked, taking another bite.
"It's a safety net, a comfort blanket of sorts, we all have them," Whittle said, "nothing wrong with it. She's just trying to help in the way she knows how."
Melody nodded and exhaled. She knew Whittle was right, and she didn't want to be this way, it was true. She didn't used to want to be dead. But it had come on so strong, and stayed for so long, that she didn't know how to avoid it at this point, and to be someone else entirely felt weirdly disingenious to who she'd been for so long now. Like she was pretending to be someone she wasn't. An imposter in her own skin. Melody hated walking.
But she sure loved churros.
***
"When did this decision come about?" Boris asked.
He and Ellen were now in the kitchen, as he poured himself a new cup of tea. Ellen was seated at the table, looking at her engagement ring. Boris, mug in hand, sat down across from her.
"I asked Miranda if she wouldn't mind moving it up, and we could still have another wedding along the lines we'd planned later on, but I wanted you to be there," Ellen said, "and, because she's perfect, she said it would be fine. I was so scared to ask, but I don't know why."
"Cause you're used to being letdown, which is definitely because of me, and I apologize for instilling that within you," Boris said, raising his mug to his lips and sipping, "but I appreciate this, I really do. I was so sad when you told me you were getting engaged and I wouldn't be there to see it. I've missed out on so much of your life, but to at least witness someone else being there to take care of you, that would give me some sense of peace."
Ellen smiled, pushing her bangs from her face.
"Especially since I did such a poor job," Boris added.
"I don't blame you for everything, if that helps," Ellen said, "I mean, you were trying to push me to do things you thought I'd like, and...and I understand that. What happened could've happened to anyone. And besides, if it hadn't happened, I wouldn't have lost my ability to walk, gotten surgery, met Miranda as my physical therapist and we wouldn't be here right now, so in a way...my engagement is a direct result of your parent ineptitude."
Boris chuckled and nodded.
"I can accept that then," he said, "I take responsibility, even if nobody else will fully lay the blame on me, but I've also come to accept that what happened doesn't define me entirely. Especially so close to the end now, it's been easier to look back at who I was and how far I've come even in just the last few years. I like to think that, if nothing else, I'll be remembered more as who I am now than who I was then."
Ellen smiled and reached across the table, holding her fathers hand.
"I think you will. I'll definitely remember you more as the man before me than the man from back then," she said, "and
"...hey, do you still have your old wheelchair by any chance?"
***
Standing in front of a toy shop window while Jenn and Whittle admired cookware in the window of another nearby shop, Melody couldn't help but feel oddly nostalgic. She could remember being a little girl, and loving her toys with all her heart. She could remember spending hours playing with them because she didn't have any friends, and how much happiness and comfort their company brought her, even if it was, in essence, just her own company projected onto them. And she could remember coming home one day from school, when she was 13, and her father having thrown everything out, telling her it was time to grow up, to be a woman. At thirteen years of age. She never forgave him for this, and she mourned the loss each and every day.
"See anything you like?" Whittle asked, coming up by her side, surprising her, making her jump a little.
"I mean, it's stuff for children," Melody replied quietly.
"There's no cutoff to comfort," Whittle said, "just because you're not a certain age doesn't mean you're no longer entitled to something that might make you feel safe. We all deserve to feel safety, even if we have to give it to ourselves, and especially if nobody else will give it to us."
Melody nodded, then looked back from Whittle to the window. Her eyes landed on a stuffed giraffe of moderate size, and she smiled. When she was little, she loved animals. She even had a subscription to a magazine about animals, and always loved to watch nature specials on TV. For a good while, she contemplated becoming a veterinarian but ultimately she decided against it only because she knew she wouldn't have the heart to handle when she wasn't able to save someones pet.
"Listen," Whittle said, "I'm not gonna be one of those people who tells you things will get better. That's a sickeningly display of ignorant positivity. But what I will tell you is my own personal experience. A few years ago, I was despondant. I was trapped in a somewhat abusive relationship, and I was unhappy with my career. Boris told me, during a conversation, that he wanted his life to end with an exclaimation point, not a question mark, and that really stuck with me. As such, I left my boyfriend, left my job, and went back to college for my culinary degree. It's been hard work, but you know what was harder? Staying alive in the situation I was in. That took way more effort on the daily."
Melody responded audibly with a soft low grunt, then looked at the window again.
"I want that giraffe," she said.
"Then get that giraffe," Whittle said, patting her on the back, "if there's one thing Boris has taught me, it's not to deny yourself something just because the world has convinced you you don't deserve it."
With that in mind, Melody entered the store, and exited with the giraffe. It wasn't a big change, but she was taking the effort.
***
Boris had ordered in dinner that had arrived by the time the girls got back to the apartment. Whittle and Jenn ate a little bit, then took their leave for Jenn's for the night, leaving Boris and Melody alone. As they cleaned up from dinner, Boris looked at the giraffe on the counter and smiled sweetly.
"You get that today?" he asked, and she nodded, not verbally responding; he pulled the strings at the end of the trashbag tight and lifted it from the trashcan best he could, before adding, "I have something for you."
"You do?" Melody asked, and Boris nodded. He set the bag down and then headed down the hall to his bedroom. He re-emerged moments later, pushing a fancy wheelchair out. Melody looked at it with big eyes and approached slowly as he set it up next to the kitchen table. Melody walked up and reached out, touching it ever so carefully, as if it were made of brittle glass she was afraid would crack at the slightest interaction.
"This belonged to my daughter," Boris said, "I caused a car accident when she was a little, and she needed a wheelchair for most of her life until she got prosthetics. But...if you're struggling to walk right now, I figured it could be of use to you. Nobody should rush your recovery, and it should be done at your own pace."
Melody cautiously sat down in the chair and sniffled. Boris pulled out a chair from the table and slunk down into it, groaning as he did. Melody wiped her face on her shirt sleeve, almost as if she were trying to hide her very visible feelings.
"I wish it'd worked," Melody said.
"I know that feeling," Boris said, "and there's no shame in wanting that."
"I just don't understand why people act as though life is some sacred thing when so many of us are brought into this world against our will, given to people who didn't want us, and in the end, wind up being forgotten entirely. Why is there such a negative stigma attached to correcting a mistake?"
"Because people have been brainwashed into believing life is a gift, not a mistake, but not everyones life is a gift and lots of people just can't fathom that. If you come to them with a problem, even if you're truly trapped and incapable of change, they will look at you with the most quizzicle expression because to them they just can't believe someone can't change something because it comes so easily to them so they figure it must to everyone. My best friend OD'd and frankly, the longer I dwell on it, the more I've come to believe it was intentional. She was in too much pain and didn't want to go on. I don't blame her for doing what was right for her."
Boris reached out and put his hand on Melody's knee, and they locked eyes. He smiled sweetly.
"But I want to see you get better, be what I couldn't, and perhaps that's selfishly vicarious of me, but...I think you are capable of it," Boris said, "of being something greater than your sadness. I wasn't able to escape it, but I think you can. I believe in you."
Melody put her arms around Boris and hugged him tightly, making him laugh. Nobody, in her entire life, had ever once told her they'd believed in her, and it was the one thing she needed to hear the most. Most people, if anything, had done the opposite, wearing her down instead of building her up. Most people had given her grief. Boris had given her hope.
Hope, and a wheelchair.
Whittle and Jenn had taken Melody out for her physical therapy - just going for walks to strengthen her leg muscles - and Father Krickett was at the church, finishing up the last bit of paperwork to make it officially theirs and able to open for the public. Boris put on an old jazz record, made himself some tea and decided to spend the afternoon looking through photo albums. Some of his family, some of his wife and daughter, and some he'd taken while at the home. Sitting on the couch, he turned the page, sipped, and came across a snapshot of himself and Polly while on their little bender. She'd bought a disposable camera, and he was so happy to have these brief moments in time captured forever with her. He smiled, just as a knock came at the door. Boris groaned, stood up and went to answer it. Much to his surprise, Ellen was standing on the other side.
"Hey, well now, this is a nice thing to see," Boris said, "What are you doing here?"
"I made a decision about something, and I wanna talk to you about it," Ellen said, "Can I come in?"
"Of course, you want some tea?" Boris asked, as he shuffled aside, allowing her entrance.
"No, I'm okay, actually I just had breakfast, so I'm pretty satisfied," Ellen said, before stopping and turning to face her father, smiling ear to ear, "Dad. I'm getting married."
"I...I know that. I'm dying, I don't have dementia," Boris replied, making her laugh.
"No, I'm getting married in two weeks," Ellen said, "for you. I'm doing it for you. So you can be there to see it."
Boris didn't know what to say. All his words caught in his throat, and his eyes swelled up with tears. He had to admit, of all the things he could've been given before his death, this was the greatest thing of all.
***
Melody hated walking.
She used to love it. She used to go for long hikes and even did jogging at one point. She even ran track in high school. Now though, now that she was expected to walk, she hated it. She hated having things be expected of her, things like continuing to live when she so clearly didn't want to. Whittle and Jenn had taken her for a long stroll downtown, around the bustling shopping areas, hoping that she would get distracted enough by the sights around her that she would forget about how angry she was that she was still alive. It wasn't working. Instead, she just turned stone quiet, unwilling to even communicate. Whittle and Jenn had stopped in front of a large glass window of a store, admiring some dresses, as Melody stood off to the side against the wall with her arms crossed.
"How much longer do we have to be out for?" Melody asked.
"Well," Whittle said, "it's good for you to walk for at least an hour or two every day. Build back your calf muscles."
"Can we at least get something to eat?" Melody asked, and Whittle shrugged.
"I don't see why not," she replied.
"You know you're just buying distractions, right?" Melody asked as the three women started to continue walking, heading towards a small food cart; she continued, "by buying things you're just distracting yourself from the real issues in your life. The things you don't want to face. Nobody wants to face the bad stuff so they put it off for as long as possible."
"I'm perfectly happy with my life, aside from my friend dying," Whittle said, shrugging, "I don't see anything wrong with having distractions if I'm content."
"Right, you mean to tell me you don't have any deep wells of sadness inside you?" Melody asked, "any regrets or anything like that? I find that hard to believe, frankly."
"This might come as a surprise to you, because you're so attached to the idea of wanting to die, but not everyone feels that way," Jenn said, "there are plenty of people who go through their entire lives being thrilled to be alive, never once wanting to end it. That isn't to say they don't experience sadness, of course, but they don't experience it on the level that you do, and it might be hard for you to comprehend that possibility when you're so steeped in depression."
"Coming from the woman who blindly follows faith," Melody said.
"I'm happy though," Jenn said, squeezing Whittle's hand.
Melody sighed and looked down at her shoes as they approached the cart. Jenn paid for their snacks, then excused herself to go to the restroom, Whittle holding onto hers until she got back. Whittle and Melody found a small bench to sit on and eat, waiting for Jenn to return. As Whittle took a bite out of her churro, Melody shook her head.
"I didn't use to be like this," Melody said, "I'm not saying I was happy go lucky oblivious moron, but...I didn't use to be this bitter. I think it's hard to get back to who you used to be when it's been stripped from you for so long. I'd like to, but sometimes I wonder if it's even possible."
Whittle nodded and took another bite, chewing as she thought. Melody started in on her own, and together they sat in silence, eating for a bit. After a few minutes, Whittle swallowed, then spoke.
"I think just recognizing that is a step in the right direction, that this isn't who you were before, and that you don't want to be this way forever," Whittle said, "when I worked at the home, god, I was surrounded by people who just thought this was how they had to be because it was how they'd been for so long. Granted, these people were in their 70s and up, but still. That's one of the admirable things about Boris. He strove to be better. To not be complacent in his shittiness. He didn't want to die not having changed at all. I can respect that. So yeah, I think acknowledging that is a really positive first step."
"And what about your girlfriend? What about her religious fanaticism?" Melody asked, taking another bite.
"It's a safety net, a comfort blanket of sorts, we all have them," Whittle said, "nothing wrong with it. She's just trying to help in the way she knows how."
Melody nodded and exhaled. She knew Whittle was right, and she didn't want to be this way, it was true. She didn't used to want to be dead. But it had come on so strong, and stayed for so long, that she didn't know how to avoid it at this point, and to be someone else entirely felt weirdly disingenious to who she'd been for so long now. Like she was pretending to be someone she wasn't. An imposter in her own skin. Melody hated walking.
But she sure loved churros.
***
"When did this decision come about?" Boris asked.
He and Ellen were now in the kitchen, as he poured himself a new cup of tea. Ellen was seated at the table, looking at her engagement ring. Boris, mug in hand, sat down across from her.
"I asked Miranda if she wouldn't mind moving it up, and we could still have another wedding along the lines we'd planned later on, but I wanted you to be there," Ellen said, "and, because she's perfect, she said it would be fine. I was so scared to ask, but I don't know why."
"Cause you're used to being letdown, which is definitely because of me, and I apologize for instilling that within you," Boris said, raising his mug to his lips and sipping, "but I appreciate this, I really do. I was so sad when you told me you were getting engaged and I wouldn't be there to see it. I've missed out on so much of your life, but to at least witness someone else being there to take care of you, that would give me some sense of peace."
Ellen smiled, pushing her bangs from her face.
"Especially since I did such a poor job," Boris added.
"I don't blame you for everything, if that helps," Ellen said, "I mean, you were trying to push me to do things you thought I'd like, and...and I understand that. What happened could've happened to anyone. And besides, if it hadn't happened, I wouldn't have lost my ability to walk, gotten surgery, met Miranda as my physical therapist and we wouldn't be here right now, so in a way...my engagement is a direct result of your parent ineptitude."
Boris chuckled and nodded.
"I can accept that then," he said, "I take responsibility, even if nobody else will fully lay the blame on me, but I've also come to accept that what happened doesn't define me entirely. Especially so close to the end now, it's been easier to look back at who I was and how far I've come even in just the last few years. I like to think that, if nothing else, I'll be remembered more as who I am now than who I was then."
Ellen smiled and reached across the table, holding her fathers hand.
"I think you will. I'll definitely remember you more as the man before me than the man from back then," she said, "and
"...hey, do you still have your old wheelchair by any chance?"
***
Standing in front of a toy shop window while Jenn and Whittle admired cookware in the window of another nearby shop, Melody couldn't help but feel oddly nostalgic. She could remember being a little girl, and loving her toys with all her heart. She could remember spending hours playing with them because she didn't have any friends, and how much happiness and comfort their company brought her, even if it was, in essence, just her own company projected onto them. And she could remember coming home one day from school, when she was 13, and her father having thrown everything out, telling her it was time to grow up, to be a woman. At thirteen years of age. She never forgave him for this, and she mourned the loss each and every day.
"See anything you like?" Whittle asked, coming up by her side, surprising her, making her jump a little.
"I mean, it's stuff for children," Melody replied quietly.
"There's no cutoff to comfort," Whittle said, "just because you're not a certain age doesn't mean you're no longer entitled to something that might make you feel safe. We all deserve to feel safety, even if we have to give it to ourselves, and especially if nobody else will give it to us."
Melody nodded, then looked back from Whittle to the window. Her eyes landed on a stuffed giraffe of moderate size, and she smiled. When she was little, she loved animals. She even had a subscription to a magazine about animals, and always loved to watch nature specials on TV. For a good while, she contemplated becoming a veterinarian but ultimately she decided against it only because she knew she wouldn't have the heart to handle when she wasn't able to save someones pet.
"Listen," Whittle said, "I'm not gonna be one of those people who tells you things will get better. That's a sickeningly display of ignorant positivity. But what I will tell you is my own personal experience. A few years ago, I was despondant. I was trapped in a somewhat abusive relationship, and I was unhappy with my career. Boris told me, during a conversation, that he wanted his life to end with an exclaimation point, not a question mark, and that really stuck with me. As such, I left my boyfriend, left my job, and went back to college for my culinary degree. It's been hard work, but you know what was harder? Staying alive in the situation I was in. That took way more effort on the daily."
Melody responded audibly with a soft low grunt, then looked at the window again.
"I want that giraffe," she said.
"Then get that giraffe," Whittle said, patting her on the back, "if there's one thing Boris has taught me, it's not to deny yourself something just because the world has convinced you you don't deserve it."
With that in mind, Melody entered the store, and exited with the giraffe. It wasn't a big change, but she was taking the effort.
***
Boris had ordered in dinner that had arrived by the time the girls got back to the apartment. Whittle and Jenn ate a little bit, then took their leave for Jenn's for the night, leaving Boris and Melody alone. As they cleaned up from dinner, Boris looked at the giraffe on the counter and smiled sweetly.
"You get that today?" he asked, and she nodded, not verbally responding; he pulled the strings at the end of the trashbag tight and lifted it from the trashcan best he could, before adding, "I have something for you."
"You do?" Melody asked, and Boris nodded. He set the bag down and then headed down the hall to his bedroom. He re-emerged moments later, pushing a fancy wheelchair out. Melody looked at it with big eyes and approached slowly as he set it up next to the kitchen table. Melody walked up and reached out, touching it ever so carefully, as if it were made of brittle glass she was afraid would crack at the slightest interaction.
"This belonged to my daughter," Boris said, "I caused a car accident when she was a little, and she needed a wheelchair for most of her life until she got prosthetics. But...if you're struggling to walk right now, I figured it could be of use to you. Nobody should rush your recovery, and it should be done at your own pace."
Melody cautiously sat down in the chair and sniffled. Boris pulled out a chair from the table and slunk down into it, groaning as he did. Melody wiped her face on her shirt sleeve, almost as if she were trying to hide her very visible feelings.
"I wish it'd worked," Melody said.
"I know that feeling," Boris said, "and there's no shame in wanting that."
"I just don't understand why people act as though life is some sacred thing when so many of us are brought into this world against our will, given to people who didn't want us, and in the end, wind up being forgotten entirely. Why is there such a negative stigma attached to correcting a mistake?"
"Because people have been brainwashed into believing life is a gift, not a mistake, but not everyones life is a gift and lots of people just can't fathom that. If you come to them with a problem, even if you're truly trapped and incapable of change, they will look at you with the most quizzicle expression because to them they just can't believe someone can't change something because it comes so easily to them so they figure it must to everyone. My best friend OD'd and frankly, the longer I dwell on it, the more I've come to believe it was intentional. She was in too much pain and didn't want to go on. I don't blame her for doing what was right for her."
Boris reached out and put his hand on Melody's knee, and they locked eyes. He smiled sweetly.
"But I want to see you get better, be what I couldn't, and perhaps that's selfishly vicarious of me, but...I think you are capable of it," Boris said, "of being something greater than your sadness. I wasn't able to escape it, but I think you can. I believe in you."
Melody put her arms around Boris and hugged him tightly, making him laugh. Nobody, in her entire life, had ever once told her they'd believed in her, and it was the one thing she needed to hear the most. Most people, if anything, had done the opposite, wearing her down instead of building her up. Most people had given her grief. Boris had given her hope.
Hope, and a wheelchair.