“If only I had the same strong legs I used to have I could stand up. If my back didn’t hurt so much I could pull myself up. If I could shout loud enough somebody could hear me, or maybe if I had somebody, that person could be just a few steps away. If my eyes stopped missing some details I could watch life going on again with the same enthusiasm. Maybe then I would have the strength to go on.” – he said in a low voice.
He was standing in front of the TV, watching the news and taking the same sandwich as the past couple of evenings. The news man was telling the story about a woman whose doctor had given up trying to fight her cancer, but somehow the brave woman found a way to bounce back and smash the very thing was claiming her life.
He found the story pretty nice, some time ago he would even cheered with it, writing to the woman to congratulate her for the victory and spreading the news to all of his friends so they would feel encouraged to fight for something. Not anymore. He wasn’t that kind of person any longer. He could feel the changes in his body, his mind. Not that he doesn’t wanted to be that guy anymore, but the time and the circumstances have finally beaten him.
Sustaining his body weight with the aid of the walking-stick, he got off the chair. The right shoulder burned immediately and he noticed that simple task was getting harder day-after-day.
“After all, I’m lucky Katherine isn’t around to see me like this” – he whispered.
Slowly walking through the hall he went to the kitchen. Hanging on the wall there was the frame that used to display one of his favorite pictures, their trip to Barcelona, Spain. They have had great times on that place and the picture once had a status of treasure in that home. Now, all of was left was an empty dusty frame suspended in an equally dirty wall. The tiles of the kitchen that were once red showed a pale orange now. They were as old as the house and many of them have cracked or presented gray stained circles at this point, because of the use of the walking stick. His blue rubber slippers layed over one of the little stones that came off the tile, hurting his toe.
At that time he felt like doing the dishes, after all, one single plate and a glass wouldn’t justify the use of the washing machine. Although simple tasks like that required some will these days, he couldn’t live with the fact he wasn’t able to do such things anymore. The least he could do was to take care of himself.
“Not that I have anything more interesting to do at the moment, though…” – he considered.
He approached the sink and put down the plate. He sustained his weight into the good leg to get both hands clear. The knee complained a little bit. He rested the walking stick on the right side of the sink and grabbed the detergent. The left elbow, in which he holds the dish burns, is giving sign that it’s not the same anymore.
“At least I’m still capable of doing the dishes” – he appraises himself.
While turning left to store the plate into the cupboard he doesn’t notice the large amount of water laying on the tiles. He treads on the puddle and the rubber slippers slides on it. Suddenly he can’t feel the floor anymore. He tries to reach his stick, failing to help himself out of the hazard. He tumbles with a cracking sound.
Laying on the floor he says in a low voice: “If only I had the same strong legs I used to have I could stand up…” – the voice fainting on the enormous kitchen.
