nosleep

A patient at my nursing home recently went missing. We found this note tucked under the arm of an unknown woman left in his bed:

I recall with a vivid clarity the first day I laid eyes upon Carolin. She entered my room with the youthful confidence of fresh blood. Two weeks out of nursing school, the first of her family to earn a college degree, and she had already landed a position in Summit Ridge. Her radiant blonde hair glistened even under the humming fluorescent lights. The brilliant sheen was eclipsed only by the natural warmth of her smile. The grace and finesse of her movements mirrored a seasoned dancer. Every inch of her exuded pure compassion.

As she greeted me and introduced herself I beckoned her closer. Without my glasses I could not see in perfect clarity. My trembling hands could muster no more than a fragile grasp around the thick metal rims. I leaned forward and asked in my most humble of voices for some assistance. She bent and reached forward, securing them over my ears. I rested my fingers upon hers and took a deep breath. How I longed for sturdy hands again. Such a shame it would be to see her tremble.

Hours melded and warped the day’s passage as they do when little more than daytime TV and worn bingo boards occupy one’s time. Before the setting sun departed, Carolin came to fetch me for dinner. Youthful divinity guiding meticulous navigation around unseen obstacles, she wheeled me into the dining hall. Further escort was essential. My legs would not carry me beyond the door lest they fall from under me. Gone for now were the days of roaming on a whim.

“Carolin, my dear,” I said as we arrived, “would you be so kind as to help me from my chair?”

“Of course,” she replied with a grin.

She placed her arms underneath my own, bent her knees and hoisted me. Such perfect form, fresh from years of training and preparation. As I stood, I rested my hands upon the tops of her legs feigning the need for greater support. I drew a deep breath and righted myself. How I longed to stand on my own again. Such a shame it would be to see her perfect posture flawed by degenerative weakness.

Through the evening I embarked on the most pleasant of dreams. Days of my youths both recent and long past, lovers lost to the tests of time, the simple joys of days started and ended with the rise and fall of the sun. Fond dreams were a rare but welcomed deviation from nights of shallow darkness and broken replays of the former afternoon’s non-events. Those memories were a scarce gift, a gift well deserved. As was Carolin. Her smile was no less flawless than the day before. The morning glow danced across her golden hair but the waltz stopped two steps short of the crescendo, interrupted by an attack of occasional gray strands.

“Time for the morning cocktail,” she said with a chuckle.

A rainbow of tablets and capsules rattled around a small plastic cup as her quaking hands reached across my bedside table. She watched her own movements wielding an uncertain concern. With a stable reach and firm grasp, I took the cup from her and offered a sheepish yellow stained grin. And though my hands no longer shook, I could never refuse her caring invitation to aid with menial tasks. She helped me wash my face, pick my clothes, and brush my teeth. To someone so young, so eager to provide a relentless kindness, I could not muster the courage to tell her the mangled protrusions I excused as teeth need not draw her worry. But in her exuberant persistence, I tilted my head back and allowed her to ward off my morning stink. As the bristles made contact, I took a deep breath. How I longed for perfect teeth yet again. Such a shame it would be to tarnish her flawless smile.