“I still don’t understand why I can’t just drive myself,” Harry said, as his dad turned into the parking lot of the Oak River Retirement Community.
“Because we need the car so we can take your brother to his games–you know this, Harry,” his dad, Peter said, and pulled around the front of the building. I’ll pick you up at around seven, alright?”
“That’s the thing! They have nothing for me to do after six–I’ll just be sitting here for an hour.”
“I’m sure they can find something else for you to do, Harry–you need those hours to graduate.”
Harry heaved a sigh, and got out of the car, staring at the grey building in front of him. There was no river. There were a few oaks, but they looked…tired. As tired as the old people he could see milling about inside, through the windows, playing bingo, or whatever it is old people do when they get old. Harry was seventeen–getting old was as far from his mind as it could possibly be–he was getting ready to go to college on a football scholarship, but like an idiot, he’d put off his community service until the end of the year. At least he only needed ten more hours–five this week, five next week, and he’d be good to go.
“Fine, I’ll see you at six, dad,” he shut the door, Peter waved, and drove off again to fetch his younger son, Aaron, and take him to his baseball game. He was just a year younger than Harry, and they were often mistaken for twins because of how similar they looked–and when they were with their dad, there was never any mistaking the resemblance between them all–strong jaws, blonde hair, green eyes, and a natural athleticism that had served both boys well through their youth. Their father, Peter, had aged gracefully, turning forty a few years prior while keeping his muscular physique, all of his hair, with only a touch of grey at the temples and in his short goatee.
Harry stepped up to the doors, feeling very out of place, and saw a reception desk off to one side manned by a young woman. “Hello–My name’s Harry, and I was told I could volunteer here today for my community service requirement at school?”
She smiled, “Hello Harry–we’ve been expecting you. Each Saturday, from noon until five, we like to have young students over for some social time with our residents. It helps them keep their minds sharp, and we like to think you students learn some things from our elders too. The room is just down the hall there, to the left,” she said, pointing down the corridor behind him. “Mr. Elroy runs the sessions–just ask for him if you need any help.”
Harry thanked her, and went in the direction she’d indicated, and after a few doors, he saw a sign with “social time” written on it, and an open door. Inside, there were a few students he recognized from school, all of them seated with residents, listening–or at least trying to listen, in some cases. A middle aged man, looking to be about fifty, stepped up and greeted Harry as he entered, shaking his hand. “Hello! Come to join us today?”
Harry nodded. Mr. Elroy showed him to a sheet where he could sign in, so that they could confirm that he’d attended for his school, and then he took Harry to a seat, next to a very old man who started telling him about the war–after an hour, he never did figure out which war exactly he was talking about, but he learned the names of two men who’d died in front of the guy’s eyes, and also the names of several prostitutes he’d gotten knocked up while on leave. That, it turned out, was the most entertaining story any of the residents had to offer him. His attention began to lag, and whenever it was clear that he wasn’t paying attention, Mr. Elroy would come over and force him to engage with whoever he was talking to, prompting questions, looking for new stories, and by the time five o’clock hit, Harry was sick of the guy. Still–he just had to do one more week, right? It hadn’t been too bad, really. The residents filed off to dinner, and the rest of the students went to the front of the building, chatting a bit about what they’d been listening to. Still, ten minutes later, Harry was alone on the bench outside, staring at his phone, stuck waiting for his father to be done with his brother’s game so he could come get him.
“Thanks for coming today–you have no idea how much they appreciate it, even when you aren’t really paying that much attention.”
Harry gave a start, and looked over to see Mr. Elroy standing by a trashcan, smoking a pipe in the evening spring light. “Oh, yeah…some of the stories were interesting…”
“Kid, you wouldn’t be able to remember anything about what they said if I asked you, don’t lie.”
Harry scowled at him, “So what? You just said it didn’t matter if I listen or not.”
“I could always just scratch that name of yours off the list you know,” Mr. Elroy said, a gleam in his eye, “You should watch your tone, young man. Memories matter–you’d hate to see what happens when you lose them.” He tapped out the pipe and tucked it in a pocket of his coat. “In fact, come on, I want to show you something.”
“Dude, just leave me alone, I’m sorry, alright?”
“Come on, or I’ll scratch out your name. If you do come, I’ll mark you down for twice the hours–how’s that sound? Double or nothing.”
Harry didn’t know what to say, really. Could the guy really do that? Well, of course he could, but would he? Harry heaved a sigh. “My dad gets here to pick me up at six.”
“We won’t be that long, promise.”
Bracken's Corner 