ROOM 254
He had never really liked nursing homes.
They had always made him uncomfortable. Maybe it was the smell. That musty-dusty, day-old macaroni and cheese hospital; the smell of oldness. If he thought about it long enough, he would begin to feel sick and gray inside. Those slithering thoughts would creep in like snakes and wrinkle their way about his mind. But he never allowed himself to think that far. Too much like Sarah, his sister. She was the deep one. Paul liked to stay on the safe side of teenage apathy.
No, he didn’t like nursing homes, yet there he was.
In a nursing home.
His mother always pecked at him about “getting involved.” That’s the reason he was here in the first place. To get “involved.” He was involved. Or so he was able to adequately convince himself. The truth was that Paul McKinney did not like commitment. His parents called him lazy, always triting that youth was wasted on the young. It certainly wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy himself. He laughed with his friends as they discussed skateboarding and girls. He went to parties and listened to those funny rumors about teachers that tend to spawn themselves in teenage-dense environments, which everyone spreads, and no one really believes. He liked The Clash and The Shins and once secretly admitted to Sarah about his affection for The Beatles. And he liked games.
Paul McKinney played any video game he could get his thumbs on. Racing, action, fantasy, even some of the old time Atari games his dad used to play. His mother, like all good mothers seeking to save their sons from video damnation, practiced her daily liturgies of perfunctory admonitions against the “brain rotting” rituals. But Paul continued to play, undeterred by his mothers’ regulated warnings about chronic brain damage. He played anything he thought he could win. And he was good. Paul always won.
“Name?”
Paul looked up.
“Uh. Paul. Paul McKinney.”
“You the one from Danestown High?” the short, frizzled haired lady behind the desk asked him.
“Yeah.”
The squat woman smiled.
“The residents love when ya’ll come. It’s just so great you kids are getting involved.” Paul winced at the word, but managed to maintain his plastic smile.
Pausing a moment, the women shifted through some papers. Paul continued to stand with his hands in his pockets, trying to ignore the momentary abeyance of conversation.
“Room 254. Mr. Murphey’s room,” she said with a smile.
Murmuring a quiet “thanks,” Paul shuffled down the hallway. He tried to ignore the smell.
The room was small and spartan, clouded with blue shadows. Darkly colored wires grapevined up the muted blue walls. Jutting out from the side of the room, a lonely bed rested, its sheets and covers forming mountains and valleys. Beside it, a solitary TV tray with a deserted, half-eaten pudding cup stood against the backdrop of a large, light blue curtain. Paul wondered where the occupant was, Mr. Murphy, was it? Stepping softly, Paul moved to peer around the curtain.
Bathed in the afternoon rays of light that streamed in from the window, a wheelchair sat complacently, its occupant gently dozing. He was an elderly man, white-headed and balding, with memories of ebony around his ears and neck. He vaguely reminded Paul of a great uncle he’d met once long before. Gently, Paul nudged the shoulder of the sleeping man.
“Um…excuse me…uh, hate to wake you but, uh…are you Mr. Murphy?”
The man made a husky gurgling sound, and blinked an eye open. It gazed around the room and fell upon Paul, questioning. The teen stood awkwardly, shifting his weight.
“Er, hi. You’re Mr. Murphy, aren’t you? Um. They gave me your room number, uh…”
A cold realization suddenly spidered its way through Paul’s neck and spine. What was he actually supposed to do? They’d given him no instructions. He was called a volunteer, but what did that mean? The man’s silence was not helping either. Paul looked helplessly.
“Do you want to play a game?”
Paul jerked at the voice. It was surprisingly friendly sounding, almost child-like. The man had reeled the wheelchair around and was suddenly facing him, smiling. Paul relaxed a little.
“Yeah, sure. We can play a game.”
Paul had never been one for board games. But figuring that was what the elderly man had intended, he began listing the possibilities.
“What game do you want to play? Do you have like a game cabinet? We could play checkers, or Monopoly, or Life, or –”
“Those all sound good,” Mr. Murphy interrupted, “but let’s play a different one. One that I bet you kids now’ a days don’t even know. Why, back in my childhood, we played it all the time. I remember when…”
Paul sighed internally and allowing his mind to shift to autopilot. He looked up when noticed Mr. Murphy wasn’t speaking, but instead had a puzzled look on his face.
“Huh, well, actually I don’t really remember playing it as a child. Funny that. Ah well, in the drawer over there,” Mr. Murphy indicated with a raisined finger. Paul obeyed and opened the drawer.
“I think there’s a bag in there, with, yes, that’s it. That’s the one.”
Paul lifted up a small bag and brought it over to Mr. Murphy. The elderly man emptied its contents onto his lap. It had been filled with marbles. Paul stared at the glossy orbs filled with ribboning colors, then at the Mr. Murphy’s face. His eyes glistened with some unknown emotion, then turned on Paul.
“Help me down,” Mr. Murphy reached out a hand. Paul stepped back.
“Uh, I don’t know if you should, I mean, I don’t think the nurses –”
“Oh, hogwash. Them nurses don’t know anything. Now help me out of this chair.”
Paralyzed with the inability to do anything else, Paul acquiesced and helped pull Mr. Murphy out of the chair and set him down on the tiled floor. Satisfied, the old man indicated for Paul to sit next to him. Then, Mr. Murphy pulled blue chalk from his shirt pocket, leaned over and drew a large circle. Then, emptying the marbles onto the floor, he placed them around the circle.
“Do you know how to play?”
Paul nodded. He had never actually played the game, but he knew the basics. Shoot with the larger marble. Aim for the smaller ones. Knock them out of the circle. What you win, you keep.
“So, what’s your risk?” Mr. Murphy asked.
“Uh, I dunno. I’ve nothing to risk.”
“You can risk your marbles.”
“But, I don’t have any mar—”
“Sure you do! You’re a smart boy. Here you can borrow some of mine for the time being. Or, are you afraid?” he asked with a smile. Paul hmphed. Of course he’d play. He loved games and he could beat this silly old man at his.
“Gimme some,” he grunted.
“Whatever you win, you keep. Agreed?”
Mr. Murphy stuck out his wrinkled hand. Paul shook it and snatched the shooter marble. He aimed for a small blue one, and flicked his thumb, sending the shooter across the circle. He missed.
“Better luck next time,” Mr. Murphy smiled.
The game commenced. Aim. Shoot. Collect. Again. Again. The number of marbles around the circle was dwindling. Mr. Murphy visibly had the larger pot. Paul growled at his own inability.
Finally, one marble remained, a pinkish-green one. It was Mr. Murphy’s turn. He looked up sympathetically at Paul.
He said, “It’s okay, you’ll like it here,” and he shot. The marble fired across the circle, hitting the smaller one out of the ring.
“Well, looks like all your marbles are gone. I’ve won them all.”
Paul blinked. He had played the game…and he had lost. He suddenly felt sick. His head hurt. He shut his eyes as the pain set his head on fire. Then, just as suddenly, it lifted. His head felt…lighter. But something was not right. Why was he looking at himself instead of Mr. Murphy? Why did his back hurt so much? Why couldn’t he feel his legs? He looked down. He was in a wheelchair. Fraught with fear he looked toward the boy who possessed his body.
“Sorry, Mr. Murphy,” the boy said, winking. “I suppose that’s the risk of risk. Sometimes you lose.”
Paul struggled to get up, but found himself trapped in the wheelchair. As he saw the boy with his body leave the room, he yelled for help. Two nurses entered the room.
“That boy! He’s me!”
The taller nurse sighed and smiled pitifully.
“It’s okay, Mr. Murphy, calm down. That was Paul McKinney.” She turned to the younger shorter one, whispering, “One of our Alzheimer’s patients. Doesn’t remember a thing. Just keeps talking about how he lost all his marbles.”
She turned back to the wheelchaired man, and despite his cries, wheeled him around to face the window. The two nurses left. Paul struggled in defeat.
Vaguely, he smelled macaroni and cheese.
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