Charlie lived in his armchair facing the television, but he never watched a programme; all he looked at was the framed photo standing on top of the set.
It was a boy and a girl, taken decades ago, at a wedding.
Charlie couldn’t move his body much and his mind was becoming immobile too.
The boy, he thought was himself, and the girl? He wasn’t so sure.
It looked like a teenage wedding, they all married young back then. They did it truly for love.
Hadn’t they married in New Orleans? They got an apartment; the icebox full of TV dinners and ginger ale. They had a huge number of records, rock, rhythm and jazz. They played them loud all day long, but not at night because of the neighbours.
What happened to them after that? Did they have children? Charlie wasn’t so sure. He couldn’t remember visitors coming to his room.
Hadn’t there been a car, a red car, a wreck but it got them around.
His head slumped onto his chest, he was tired. Was it time for bed? Had he had supper? Drool trickled from the side of his mouth.
Why couldn’t he remember properly. Who was the girl in the photo? Tears trickled into his drool.
Later, he asked the woman who cleaned him about it. Bertha had no time for chit-chat, but knew the photo had been in the frame when they bought it, there were others like it in every room in the home.
Click here for more stories about old age
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 