The Rug

A short story about an old man coping with his bride's struggle with Alzheimers.

He clutched her age-spotted and wrinkled hand in his own as he stared at her pale, closed eyelids. Some memories had faded but hers were completely forgotten. It was heart-wrenching.

After fifty-seven years together, three children, nine grandchildren and five great-grandchildren, Earl Franklin felt tied in knots.

He closed his eyes and sighed. What did love mean if it could be taken away like this? What did a life-long marriage mean if only one spouse knew that it had ever really existed? Why? Just why?

Standing slowly, he grabbed his cane and limped around the tiny room. Poorly lit. Sparse furnishings. A few photographs pinned to a bulletin board. Lee and Mel as boys in their baseball uniforms. Grace in her tutu at her very first dance recital when she was three.

A tear pooled in the corner of Earl's right eye. Flicking it away, he ran a shaky finger over the images of his legacy.

"Oh, Annie," he whispered gently. "Gracie looks so much like you. I wish you could see her now." Turning toward the small window that overlooked the front parking lot of the care center, Earl began to sob. "But, you wouldn't remember her anyway." Reality almost choked him.

Glancing back toward his wife, he noticed the old tattered Bible on the scratched nightstand. Anger welled inside his chest.

"God! God! Please, let her remember. Just one thing. I need to know our lives weren't wasted." Thumbing through the old Bible, several envelopes fell to the floor. Letters from overseas, Crayon scribbles from days gone by, movie stubs from their first date. Earl scratched his bald head in confusion. He never knew she had treasured these things.

A small cough cut through the room's silence. "Earl?" Annie's voice trembled. She seemed frightened.

Earl took his wife's hand in his own once more. "I'm here, darlin'," he answered.

"There's a stain on the rug," she smiled, that old familiar sparkle in her cornflower blue eyes.

Looking down at the bare, cold tile floor, Earl shook his head from side to side. "There's no rug, Annie," he said softly.

"There's a stain on the rug," she repeated as she reached upward, rubbing the shiny skin atop her her husband's bald head. She began to laugh. Lightly. Joyfully. Heartily.

Earl laughed too. Deeply. Robustly.

"Remember?" Annie asked.

"I remember." He giggled, squeezing her hand.

Years earlier, Earl noticed his sandy-colored hair was becoming extremely thin. He tried natural remedies, pills and creams. Nothing worked. As the condition worsened his self-confidence waned. He was convinced Annie would no longer love him. He decided a toupee would solve his every problem.

Annie didn't say a word when her husband had walked through the doorway but went on with her normal routine; supper on the table, handing Earl the mail and daily newspaper, then the hug around the neck.

"There's a stain on the rug," she had whispered in his ear.

"Do we need to call a carpet cleaner?" he had asked.

Annie had laughed as she snatched the toupee off the balding head and pointed out a big white spot. "You don't need this. I will always love you. Hair or bald, skinny or fat, glasses, hearing aids, wrinkles or false teeth. I love your heart and soul. Remember that!"

Earl had almost forgotten that day, but he remembered just as his bride remembered.

Their lives had not been wasted.

Author's Note

Please give an overall review on this short story. Thank you!

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

A little bit sad and a little bit sweet, this is a fine story. Hopefully, they'll soon find a cure for that awful disease. (For alzheimers. A cure for baldness wouldn't be bad, either)

[MelissaAndres]

Haha! I love your comment, Sam! Thank you so much for reading. And, yes, I wish for both too!