Antiqua Vir
Tealman, Delano Tealman is old. Even an antique dealer, which he was until they stuck him in a home, wouldn’t put him on a shelf in any antique store. He’s that old, like too old for old, right; like he’s fuzzy with his own skin dusting off of him leaving him in a soft, surrounding-grey haze, unable to be in the display case. Nice guy, though, probably his downfall, but remains kind to everyone in his friendly home away from home; away from his home that is not his home anymore. They took that too. And, that’s too, because they took his store away from him when they stuck him in that home away from home.
People are good to Delano Tealman, he thinks. They have always been good to him, they say. He was good right back, or was he just good because he was good.
Today, though, Delano Tealman has an issue; he’s tired. He’s tired of knowing exactly how all of it turns out, because everything follows the same pattern; he can see it unfold right in front of him in the same old way. He is tired. He can hardly stay awake for more than an hour in one sitting; bedridden-tired. This guy has few moments as an antique human being, if there is such a thing. But, he made it to the side of his bed, so the nurse can change the bedding, pillow cases and such. With his hands on his bare, skinny, old knees, he looked at the floor, more because he can hardly lift his head to see anything other than the floor, but he looked at the floor and focused intently on a copper coin just at the foot of the night stand.
“Nurse, did you drop a penny?”
“No, sir.” The nurse, who carried that work-weary haze for an expression on her face, pulled hard at the sheet Delano was sitting on and Delano positioned himself to almost standing. The sheet was slid out from under him and he rested again, focusing on the tarnished penny. That thing’s got to be old. So, as the antique dealer he is, or was, he got to his knees as if in prayer, at least that’s what the nurse thought, and picked up the penny and put it in the flat of his open, soft, old hand.
“Nineteen forty-three copper penny,” he said aloud. The nurse just responded with a courteous agreement and went on to ask Delano if he’d stand again while she got the sheet under him. He did, still looking at the one-cent piece.
Nurse Gwendell finished the bedding and Delano laid back, covered his scrawny, ugly legs with a blanket. “Do you need anything, Delano?”
Delano shook his head and waved at the nurse with the back of his long-fingered hand and focused on that copper bit as the nurse left the room.
In nineteen forty-three they made pennies out of steel, because of the war, Delano remembered, but this is copper; look at that. This penny is probably worth my life’s savings before I came in here. Damn, if that don’t beat all.
Delano Tealman rested the old penny on his thumb and curled his forefinger around, then flipped the copper penny up in the air. It spiraled in a tight, fine motion so as not to see one flat end. It looked like a copper ball twirling through the air. As the penny descended, Delano opened the flat of his hand and it slapped, heads-up right in the middle of all that white, soft, hazy, old flesh. He rattled a deep breath and did it again; flipped the coin.
Down it came into the palm of his hand, Delano’s hand, though a tough, leather-skinned hand that had the years of labor, and woodworking, blacksmithing on them; tails.
Closing the penny in his fist, he could feel strength. He could feel his heart eager and excited again. He looked up from his resting position and he swept that sheet across his body and flung his legs at the floor like he was in his forties and stood up straight. A lung full of air; he had meat on his legs.
“Damn…” He opened his hand and looked at that old worthless bit of shit he found on the floor and he turned it over; heads-up. It all just flushed right down; wasted, dry, shriveled and frail. He dropped right back into bed and could hardly keep awake, struggling to keep his head up, air seeping from him in a ghastly purr.
“Damn…” In a brief moment of clarity, he opened his hand again and flipped the penny; tails.
Delano Tealman walked right passed nurse Gwendell, as she was pinching greasy potato chips from a rattling plastic bag, and he shuffled out into the parking lot, keeping that worthless, old, tossed coin tails-up in his hand. “Damn…”
— — -// — — -
Yea, I know. — L.J.M.
