The Forgetful One
by: Everette Bell“I’m forgetting something.” The old man in the wheelchair mumbled as he foot propelled down the hall of the nursing home. “I shouldn’t be here this long. I know I shouldn’t.”
Shafts of tired afternoon sunlight peeked through yellow curtains to cast long shadows across the drab hallway. The forsaken, the forgotten, the demented, they all ambled down the beige corridor in their gowns and sweat suits. Some were in slipper socks, others in orthopedic shoes. Unkempt hair and sad eyes were as common as the droopy expressions brought on by strokes, the clack of walkers against the tile floor, or the scuffle of shoes on the feet of a Parkinson’s Patient.
“What is it,” the man asked aloud with significant emotion in his voice, “what have I forgotten. I know it’s important.
The wheelchair came to a halt in front of the med cart halfway down the hall. Sharon, the middle-aged nurse with a bob haircut and glasses to go along with her teal scrubs, took no notice of the well-used chair and its occupant. Her eyes followed her fingertip across the medicine log in front of her. The daily duty of dispensing afternoon meds—the first thing she did at the start of the second shift—had been seriously set back when a code was called on Elma Taylor up in 304. The one-hundred-three-year-old’s congestive heart failure was getting worse by the day. Every one had figured by the end of the week her colorless lips would be in an o shape, ears pinned back—to a nurse classic signs that a patient was very near death. Here it was three weeks later, and yet another code. Delay death as long as possible despite quality of life so that the patient’s insurance could be billed. Years ago Sharon gave up pondering the ethics of the arrangement; it was how she made her living. Even if she wanted to do something else, at forty-five with her arthritis, Sharon knew perfectly well no one would hire her. Despite it all she hated to see them suffer.
Glancing at her watch she exhaled in frustration. In fifteen minutes she was supposed to be in the dining room to help feed patients, and the meds were nowhere near being handed out.
“Miss, Miss,” the old man said repeatedly until the woman looked up, her face crinkled in agitation. “Who am I? What have I forgotten? I know I have forgotten something very important.”
Plopping elbows down on the top of the cart, the woman massaged her temples. "Cooper, if I kept up with what everyone in this place had forgotten, I’d go nuts myself. Sorry, can’t help you.”
A spark of hope came to life in his dull gray eyes. Something Sharon had said rang true with him. “Cu. . .” His lips spasmed impotently as he tried to force out some word that wasn’t coming to him the way he thought it would.
“Cutip,” he said excitedly. “I’m Cutip. That’s it.” The look of utter job dissatisfaction in the nurse’s eyes, and the shake of her head ruined his enthusiasm. “Pit, pit.” Her expression didn’t change. The old man looked away in shame. “I just don’t know what it is.”
Cooper was one of the old timers at Rose Manor Nursing Home. He had been there all ten years that Sharon had, and before that she had no idea.
He was a short pudgy man with a round face and arms and legs that seemed more suitable for a child. Thin wisps of white hair fell from a mole- splotched head to hang around his face. The sparse locks had a little bounce to them as if remembering a curl they held long ago.
Beneath his wrinkled shirt and pants a diaper—brief was the term used to preserve dignity when everyone in the room knew you meant diaper—rustled like a hungry alley-cat trying to get into a discarded Twinkie. He seemed to be plagued with incontinence like many of the other residents.
“I’m sorry to cut this short, Cooper, but I got work to do. You better go on up to the dining room.” And without another word she pushed the cart in the opposite direction. He watched her go. Her interest—albeit rushed because of her job—in the patients was appreciated.
The old chair squeaked as the man continued onward. Sharon didn’t look back, but she thought she heard him crying. It made sense, after all there was absolutely nothing to be happy about in a nursing home. She’d worked in them long enough to know that, but still, she couldn’t bring herself to look back. She preferred buying into the lie; they like it here—they see it’s good for them anyway.
He’s just having a bad day, she told herself.
* * *
“Something’s wrong, Nathan. I can feel it.” Cooper’s voice was gravelly as he stared blankly at the plate of overcooked meat and soft broccoli. “How long have I been here?”
The old black man stopped chewing long enough to put another bite in his mouth. “What the hell kind of question is that? How should I know how long you’ve been here? You were here when I got here, and that was what, three, four years ago?” He resumed his chewing.
The small man looked up with tears in his eyes. “I feel like I’m losing myself. Things I used to know are gone, just slipping away.”
As he asked his question his face plead for understanding from his companion. “Do you ever feel that way?”
“We all do, Cooper. It’s called getting senile.” Nathan’s sarcasm did little to help matters.
“I feel like I’m even forgetting my name. Everyone calls me Cooper, but somehow I don’t think that’s it.”
After his friend shoveled in a heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes, Cooper queried. “Do I have any friends or family that come visit me?”
“Are you kidding me?” The tone in Nathan’s voice was different now. Only one thing could rob his friend of memory like this—Alzheimer’s, the dreaded. That name was as feared by the elderly as closet monsters were feared by children. It was their disease, their personal demon. Alzheimer’s wiped out frail old minds leaving soulless husks behind that caused the terrified onlookers to shake their heads in fear—“Poor man. It’s a shame he has to live that way.”
Tears flowed with greater intensity from Cooper’s eyes. “I don’t remember, Nathan. I’m scared.”
“I’ve never seen anyone come to visit you.” Nathan said helpfully, “but I used to see you visit the old woman in 304 quite a bit. Elma I think her name is.”
“Do I know her,” Cooper asked hurriedly.
Nathan was concerned for his friend. He wiped his face with his napkin. “Maybe you should tell one of the nurses, so you could see a doctor.”
“It’s not like that. I know I’m losing things—like they’re just disappearing out of my head. And I know I’ve lost something important to me, an object. I need to find it.”
He looked Nathan in the eyes. “You don’t know anything about that do you?”
The black man shook his head. “You mean what you’ve lost? I don’t know of anything, at least you haven’t said anything.”
The old man’s shoulders began rising and falling as he wept. “Something’s happening. I can feel it. Something that shouldn’t be.”
Kindly reaching across the table, Nathan put a hand on his friend’s arm. “I just remembered one more thing. You spend a lot of time in the sitting room looking out the window. The same spot every day for hours.”
Strangely, Cooper felt better. A smile came to his face that he couldn’t explain. He felt stronger even. There was hope after all.
* * *
Nathan’s daughter and grandchildren came to get him from the dining room. He was at first hesitant to leave his friend. Cooper was really upset, but the round-faced man waved Nathan on saying he would meet him for breakfast—the same table as usual.
Pulling out from the table the small white-haired man turned his wheelchair and started rolling himself through the lobby. Two obese women snored an annoying baseline to the recreation woman’s guitar playing. A half a dozen residents watched her, heads bobbing as they dozed.
“Are you feeling any better?” A voice called. “Cooper, I said are you feeling any better?”
He looked up as he passed the nurse’s desk. Sharon was holding a legal pad and pencil. “Did you remember what you lost?”
He shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”
“What always happens to me,” she said, “is I put things in safe places.”
She laughed. “So safe and secure as a matter of fact that I forget where I put them.”
He wiped the tears off his face. “Nathan told me I go visit the woman in 304 a lot. Is that true?”
The nurse put down her pad to give the man’s strange question her full attention. “You used to visit every day until her husband stopped coming to check on her.”
Concern was unmistakable in her voice. “You don’t remember that?”
“Who is she?”
“Elma Taylor.” She then spoke like she was an acting coach helping him with his lines. “Very sick old woman that has been here for seventeen years—bedridden since she was eighty-five. Her husband came everyday to see her, and never missed a day until he had a stroke and couldn’t come anymore.”
She picked up a can of diet cola off the desk and took a sip.
Cooper's soft wrinkled chin dropped—such a terrible story. Obviously he loved her greatly to come see her every day. Immediately, Cooper remembered that he had always been a hopeless romantic. Hearing about true love had always touched him.
A phone started ringing, so Sharon rushed her response. “You used to wheel up to him and tell him thank you. I usually saw you sitting with the woman before her husband got there. A couple times I saw you brush her hair to make her pretty before he arrived—it was so cute. But when he stopped coming you took it hard. Maybe you’re forgetful because you’re depressed. I’ll check your meds.”
It was all news to him.
“Got to go, Coop.” The woman turned her back to him to answer the phone.
Walking his wheelchair down the hall using the heels of his feet like twin keels on a ghost ship, he picked his brain to see what he did recall. There was something before Rose Manor, but he could only snatch tiny glimpses, blue skies, sweet melodies, smiling faces of people whose name’s he didn’t know, people kissing. Suddenly the pleasant collage in his mind was disrupted. An image flashed that made him gasp—one he would have rather not seen. A cold hard-faced creature with tiny horns poking out of its forehead grinned sinisterly. There was no unifying thread between the images; he couldn’t place them in regards to a time or a place. Besides those faint clues there were only endless memories of these halls, these sad faces, so many of them void of love in their lives.
He didn’t stop at his room. Many of his fellow residents at Rose Manor nursing home were getting ready for bed, so he knew chances were good that the sitting room would be empty. Turning at the end of the hall he saw two nursing assistants frantically trying to stop a man from urinating in the hallway. Like characters in a black and white silent comedy, they tried to keep him from dropping his diaper. When that didn’t work the duo rushed to get him in a bathroom. Finally slamming the door.
“Shit!” Came a voice from behind the door. Seemed they didn’t make it in time.
The sitting room was crowded which was a surprise considering the time of day. Two gray-headed women played checkers at a folding table in front of the TV. It was turned on, but the volume was off.
“My grandson is graduating from high school tomorrow, Gladys,” one of them screamed to the other.
“I most certainly was not to dumb to go to high school.” The thinner woman’s hearing aids wailed terribly as she answered angrily.
“No, I said my grandson is graduating.” The woman spoke in the monotone scream reserved for the deaf and foreigners.
Anger flashed on the other woman’s face. “Fine then.” With hearing aids blaring she stormed off.
Cooper parked himself in front of the large picture window looking out at the garden in the courtyard. The sun had sunken below the edge of the roof, but the pink-smeared sky still left enough light for the small old man to see by.
Red and yellow flowers danced amidst a variety of bushes and shrubs. The ground was covered with cobblestones. Off to the edge of the courtyard beneath trees were stone benches. In the center of the cobblestone area was a large circular pond. Stone urns filled with leafy plants were scattered about.
The scene was incredibly peaceful for Cooper to gaze upon. It was the first time all day that he was calm. The urgency he had experienced was replaced by a happiness to simply look out the window. It just felt natural, so much so that he wanted to be there. He understood why he would come hear for hours.
Behind him he heard the woman get up and walk out of the sitting room. He was alone except for the glare of the TV images reflecting off a portion of the large window before him. Quietly he began moving toward the door that led to the courtyard. Cooper navigated through two card tables and their partnering chairs to sit before a glass door with a sign that read, “No Exit. Alarm will sound.”
Looking through the door his mind whirled. Cooper was not his name. It was. . .His thoughts flailed helpless to try and grab it from the murky waters of his brain. It was useless—nothing.
He pounded fists on the side of his head in frustration. “I’m stupid, stupid. What’s wrong with me?”
Outstretching an arm he moved toward the door. Whatever was out there that made him feel so calm had to help him. There was nothing to lose as far as he was concerned. He had to have some answers.
The alarm sounded, quick obnoxious blares. Over the door a red light flashed in his eyes. Struggling to move the door he pushed his wheelchair forward to keep the door from closing.
“No, Cooper,” a voice sounded behind him. “You can’t go outside. It’s too dark. You might hurt yourself.”
“No, I have to,” he screamed. “I belong there. I know I do. This place is too cold for me. I never should have come.”
“Hush,” the voice said comfortingly, “you’ll wake people. Let’s lay you down.”
He was helpless against her strength as she rolled him back down the hall in the direction of his room.
* * *
When the light in Cooper’s room flipped off he felt terribly alone. The bedrails were in place; there was nowhere for him to go but to sleep. His mind racing with fear prevented even that however.
In the door of his room he saw a familiar silhouette. “Good night,” Sharon said sadly. It hurt her to see another of the long time residents begin to slip into the grasp of dementia. She pulled the door.
The clock on the wall ticked. . .for hours. How long had he been losing himself? What had he lost? Had his identity being going over weeks, months? What did it have to do with Elma Taylor, the courtyard?
Sleep never came.
Tick. . .tick. . .tick.
Was this what it was like to go insane? God, let it be something else. And he wept as the cloak of night brought on the saddened cries of the lonely souls that had been deposited in Rose Manor until they faded into the past. The dark air was so cold and loveless that Cooper found it difficult to breathe.
* * *
Sharon walked into the charting room, still upset from the night’s events. Cooper was beginning to slip away like they all did eventually. Being very young and being very old were remarkably similar, but there was one major difference that had always bothered Sharon. Departure from this earth was seldom as beautiful as arrival.
On the other hand, possibly, Cooper was on too high a dose of one or more of his multiple meds. Many of the residents were on nearly two dozen medications for everything from toe fungus to dry mouth—the ladder being a side effect of some other medication. The least she could do was go over his chart. There was no chart. She checked the room assignment list to see if he was listed in a different room. Not the problem—there was no Cooper, in any room. That was strange, but then something odd occurred to her. In the years she had worked here, never once had she had any medication for Cooper.
How in God’s name does this happen? A hospital not having enough records to compile a personal biography, this was absurd. In 2001 this kind of thing just didn’t happen. Whole charts didn’t just disappear.
She got on the phone. “Donna, I’m back here looking for a chart on Cooper in 211, and I can’t find it.”
“What do you mean is that his first name or his last name? I don’t know. Cooper, you know, Cooper. Little guy always foot propels his wheelchair. You know, Cooper. He’s been here as long as I have.”
The nurse was eerily silent.
“What the hell are you talking about, there’s no Cooper.”
Glancing up at the wall clock she saw that is was 11:30. “Ok, well, I’ll look into it tomorrow.” After a few brief words of small talk, Sharon hung up the phone.
Walking down the hallway in the direction of the employee exit, the nurse felt a little creepy—like watching a scary movie in the dark and then having to walk down squeaky steps to a bed in the basement. The halls were a little more quiet than usual; she couldn’t help but notice since it was so rare. To satisfy her curiosity the woman walked by Cooper’s room on the way out. She put her hand on the knob and started to turn it. At the last minute she yielded to an absurd thought. What if he wasn’t in there? Then what would she do? Knowing full well she couldn’t handle it if the room was empty, she just hurried out the door.
* * *
After the footsteps faded down the hall, the man sat up in his bed. Sleep had never come and the fear had finally pushed him to the point of courage. Awkwardly crawling to the foot of the bed he carefully stepped off onto the cool floor.
It wasn’t as if he hurt. The worn out body really slowed him down more than anything else. Cooper’s movements were restricted like that of a ballet dancer wearing a giant chicken outfit—his body seemed to hang on him in the same way as a costume.
He paced.
“What have a forgotten?”
Back and forth.
“It must be in the garden. Why else would Nathan see me there every day.”
He was getting tired, so he groped in the darkness for his wheelchair.
“I bet Elma knows.” He said. Then began to cry again. The very air in the building seemed to vibrate with desperation and panic as another resident’s voice cut through the nursing home like a specter on the moors.
“Oh, please, she’s got to know.”
* * *
The breakfast trays had all been passed out, and the nursing assistants were gathering at the far end of the hall for a little bull session before beginning the task they loathed dearly—changing linen. Cooper set out down the hall.
He easily made his way around the recliner chairs with sleeping elders strapped in them. The smell in the hall told him the linen patrol would be busy this morning.
On his left the door was ajar. He gave a gentle knock.
There was no answer.
Nor to his second knock.
Walking his wheelchair forward, the man pushed the door aside and entered a very dark room. The room was cold to Cooper—goose bumps came to his skin. Something deep within him churned uncomfortably; it begged for him to go. This was no place for him.
“Wait,” a weak voice croaked from the bed. “Herbert, is that you?”
He didn’t answer. Honestly, he was too scared.
“The kids told me you died of a stroke.”
The woman’s voice began to quiver. “You’re here, thank God you’re here. I’ve been so afraid.”
Cooper’s eyes moistened. The woman’s sickly voice embraced a tone of love and compassion that had been cultivated over decades. It was one of the most genuine sounds he had ever heard, and he felt himself drawn to it like a fly to a light. Reaching into the darkness, he touched an old wrinkled hand. It could have been a reunited twin to his very own.
“Oh my darling Herbert, I have loved you since that first day we met at the train station. I want to thank you for coming to be with me on this day. I knew if there was a way you’d find it.”
Cooper shook from his sobs.
“Will you look for me in heaven, dear?” The words were the sound of pure unconditional love. It touched the small man deeply, kicking up memories into his consciousness. He heard a glorious melody drift through his mind, a song played on strings of starlight, a song he had heard countless times.
“I will my sweet.” He spoke soothingly despite his tears. And her hand went limp.
* * *
Some minutes had passed before Cooper lifted his face from his hands. The glorious song was still playing in his head. The old man was no longer sad. A joy filled his heart, and it was like a homecoming to him. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he could recall having felt this before.
Although feeling much better, the man was still at a loss for many things, and he knew there was only one way to answer his questions. He had to go to the courtyard.
“May you dance arm in arm in the light of Heaven forever.” He said softly as he foot propelled his wheelchair into the hall.
* * *
“I need your help, Nathan.”
The black man looked to be enjoying his toast more than anyone ever had.
“I need you to get something from the courtyard for me. I’m positive what I’ve lost is there.”
Toasted bread crunched as Nathan took another bite. “Your memory must be improving.”
Cooper answered with a smile. “Thanks to you. I went to see Elma, and she helped remember what I lost.”
He washed down his toast with a sip of coffee. “Then what is it?”
“I don’t know exactly,” Cooper chuckled, making a sound fresh with youth that was completely alien to his old frame. “I just know it’s beautiful.”
Nathan’s fork clinked against his plate to pierce a bite of eggs.
“Nathan, old friend, I don’t belong here. Please help me.”
“You know we aren’t allowed in the courtyard.”
“Yes, but I’m sure if you look around, you’ll find it. I know it’s something beautiful—you can’t miss it.”
“Who are you Cooper?” Nathan’s eyes fixed on the smaller man across from him.
“I know that’s not my name, and I know without your help I’m doomed to keep it.”
* * *
All day Nathan and Cooper waited in the sitting room—waited for a moment when they were alone. That time never came. All the residents of Rose Manor—the ones that were capable of getting out of bed and more importantly able to be left alone—came to the area. It was the one place where they could escape, let the bright cheery light deceive them into thinking they were at the “rest home” by choice.
The beautiful view was something outside the silent taunting shadows of their bland rooms. The sitting room was a place to remember the good times. And because of that it was full all day.
“Hey, Nathan, I saw your grandsons the other day. They’re growing like weeds.” A pear shaped woman with skinny arms in a floral top said in between sputtering breaths. Her locked elbows trembled as she tried to support herself on her walker.
She glanced at the empty chair beside him. “What are you up to today?”
“We’re just watching the day go by,” Nathan answered.
She gave a strange look in response to his comment. “I see. Well, I better go. Marie and I are going to try and play cards today if my breathing stays settled.”
After the woman was out of earshot, Nathan looked to Cooper. “What was that all about? She looked at me like I was crazy.”
The small man in the wheelchair was white as a ghost. “Nathan she looked right at me and didn’t even see me.”
“What are you talking about, Cooper.”
“She thought you were crazy because you said we were watching the day go by, and she only saw you.”
The black man crinkled his brow. “Are you feeling ok, Cooper. You’re scaring me a little bit.”
“Well watch this.” Cooper backed his wheelchair away from the table and rolled over to a bald man in a sweater sitting alone.
“Hello, excuse me. Can you tell me what I’m wearing,” he said.
No response.
“Can you tell me what I’m wearing.” This time he screamed at the top of his lungs. No one in the room batted an eye—except for Nathan.
“Cooper will you control yourself.” He said firmly. “You’re going to get the nurses called down here.”
Everyone looked at Nathan.
“See, they can’t see me.”
“Then why can I.”
Cooper replied thoughtfully. “And why can Sharon the nurse.”
Several people were very uncomfortable watching Nathan converse so emotionally with thin air. Many eyes were wide with fright. Displays of lunacy were shunned. They reminded residents of what could happen to them. Hardening of the arteries as many of them called it when someone lost their mind frightened them all—so much so, many of them whispered their mantra of protection. “God, I’d rather die than loose my mind.”
A few moments later two nurses walked into the sitting room and carefully moved toward Nathan. “Nathan,” one of them said, “let’s take you back to your room so you can get some rest.”
He looked at Cooper then back at the nurses but didn’t say anything.
“I don’t know what it is Nathan, but don’t get in trouble over me. Go with them.”
The man stood up. “Sure, sure. Yeah, I have been feeling a little off today.”
Cooper’s eyes constantly bounced from the waxing and waning crowd to the “No Exit” sign on the door. He was completely confused. How long had people not been able to see him? Why could some people see him and others not? Am I real, he kept asking himself over and over. He wanted to go for the door, but who else could see him? They would catch him like Sharon did last night and put him in his room.
* * *
“Who are you, Cooper?”
The old man was surprised to hear Sharon’s voice. Time had gotten away from him as he sat in the sitting room failing miserably at squeezing information from his inept mind. He didn’t look up, kept his eyes on his hands in his lap.
“If I used to know, I don’t any more.”
The woman came over and pulled up a chair next to him. “You know you don’t even have a medical chart here.”
He laughed, disgusted at the situation. “That doesn’t surprise me in the least. It seems you and Nathan are the only people that can see me anyway.”
“What?” She was shocked. “What do you mean we are the only ones that see you? That’s not possible.”
“If you don’t believe me, ask the day shift nurses who Nathan has been talking to in the sitting room. They’ll tell you nobody—an empty chair.”
“What about Elma in 304?” She said hesitantly.
“Perhaps. I don’t remember.” His response was sad.
“You know Elma passed sometime today. A couple of the nursing assistants found her.”
He nodded his head. “Yes, I was with her.”
“I don’t have a handle on what’s been going on here, Sharon,” he continued, “but it has something to do with Elma. It was magical when I was with her. To hear the love she had for her husband, Herbert, was unlike anything I have ever witnessed.” The tone of his voice was odd—like that of someone recounting many experiences.
“What about Nathan and I? Why can we see you?”
“Maybe because you are looking,” he pondered. Slowly the man looked up at the door in front of him. “Sharon, let me out into the courtyard. The answer is out there.”
The nurse got up and walked over to the door. She punched in a code before pushing the door open.
A warm breeze tossed the old man’s hair. It was wonderful, a lover’s touch. His little legs walked his wheelchair out into the late afternoon light.
Sharon watched patiently as the old man rolled around the courtyard. His eyes darted around wildly. What he was in search of even he didn’t know. Her heart swooned with sadness. This poor old man was slipping away like all the rest. She was certain of it now.
Strange and sudden vitality rushed into Cooper. His mind echoed with the sweet song he had heard at Elma’s passing. The volume in his head increased as he walked his way to a tree next to a stone bench. Gingerly getting out of his chair and sitting on the ground, the old man began to dig in the soft earth.
With each handful of soil he moved the music grew louder.
Sharon was speechless. After several moments she saw rays of golden light soar skyward from the hole Cooper had dug.
Slowly he reached in and lifted a golden harp. Suddenly the old man was bathed in a radiant light that smoothed his skin, replaced his limp white hair with glorious blonde curls, and his clothes fell away in ribbons, leaving him in a pristine linen loin cloth.
Brilliant white wings unfolded from his back. Lifting the harp he strummed an ethereal tune that danced across the summer twilight. The sound awakened a pleasant tingling in Sharon that coursed through her veins to every region of her body.
“I shall never forget what you and Nathan have done.” He said with a smile.
The odd little cherub took flight and landed in the center of the fountain, where he turned to stone.
* * *
As time crept towards the small hours of morning, the silent courtyard seemed to sleep like the rest of the world. Only the chirping of crickets indicated otherwise. Like dying stars the lights in Rose Manor turned out one by one.
“So the best you were able to come up with was Cutip and Stupid,” a voice laughed harshly, “Cupid you crack me up. You’re lucky as hell you managed to find your way out at all.”
The stone cherub in the fountain smiled warmly at the statue of Pan crouched behind one of the trees. “Luck has nothing to do with it, satyr. I made it out because there was love in that building after all. Yet again I win our little wager.”
A scowl stained the goat-man’s face. “But you got to admit there wasn’t that much love in there or you wouldn’t have lost your power.” A hateful smirk and a curt nod brought his point home. “Do you agree?”
“Not at all,” the chubby cheeked god said, shaking his head, “I was just looking in the wrong places. Nathan risked his reputation for me. Sharon, she broke out of her rut to help me.”
Then there was a long silence. “And Elma,” he was choked up as he went on, “she held onto love for many years. She kept the faith when there was no reason to do so.”
Looking up at the large window in the sitting room, Cupid thought back to a debate the two Gods had had many years ago. “Our original hypothesis was that man can not show love when he is in pain, either mentally or physically. We chose three people, and I went in to do a little experiment.”
He was caught off guard when he saw Sharon and Nathan walk into the sitting room. Part of him was regretting what he had put them through. Another part of him was thrilled that the love was as strong as he had always thought.
“The dolts are back,” Pan jeered.
“Not so my friend. I have been in this business for many ages, and I have learned many things motivate us. Tonight I can’t help but think I awakened an old feeling in these tired souls.”
The satyr spat a cold reply. “Think whatever you want.”
posted by Tim @ 4:40 PM
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