Eleven Shorts +1

The End

THE END

by Shireen Jeejeebhoy

THROUGH THE SUN-HAZED window, the two shop assistants watch the old woman hobble along the sidewalk on her daily trek. They wince at her faltering gait, her hunched shoulders, her dim-sighted view of the ground. Every so often, the old woman stops to lean on her cane and peer at her surroundings with a quick curiosity. They wonder what she sees.

“Oh God, here she comes again. Every day I hope it’s her last.”

“Yeah, I wonder who lets her out. They should’ve put her in a nursing home long ago. I’m surprised she ain’t dead yet.”

“Huh. I’m always scared she’s going to fall down and break a bone in here.” They continue to eye the old woman’s shuffling progress towards their door.

“Whose turn is it to serve her, anyway?”

“Yours! I put up with her yakking yesterday, after you ducked out of it. And she reeked as well. I figure you owe me double duty for that. Don’t forget to bring her a chair, eh?”

“Yeah, I know,” sighs Ginny as the other assistant walks quickly to the back before the old woman can see her.

The old woman leans on the door and slowly opens it; the bell tinkles its welcome. She stands still for a minute, blinking and letting her feeble eyes adjust to the inner dimness. Ginny hurries up to her, carrying a chair.

“Good morning. Beautiful day, eh?”

“Oh yes. I love sunny days; they make you feel so alive, don’t you find?” The old woman looks up at Ginny, who gives a quick smile in return but says nothing. The old woman sighs as she sinks into the chair, and her eyes grow reminiscent. “I’m not as spry as I used to be. When I was a child, I lived in the country and used to love running about. After my morning chores, I’d run through the back meadow, feeling the sun on my face, or I’d lie on my back and watch the clouds scud across the sky. I used to imagine they were beings from another planet.” She shakes her head at the foolishness of her youth. “I used to hate the end of summer then, but I welcome the change of seasons now; puts everything in perspective, you know.” She looks up at Ginny, like a near-sighted Buddha, her chest heaving up and down. Ginny feels sea sick.

“Yeah.” Ginny says, “Why don’t you stay here while I get your things. Do you have your list?”

“Bless you, dear. You’re always so thoughtful.” She unclasps her old-fashioned handbag, and her gnarled fingers reach in to retrieve her list; then she raises her glasses, hanging on a chain round her neck, to her eyes and hooks first one earpiece then the other over each ear.

“I’ll just check it over. I don’t want to forget anything, and my frightful memory fails me at the worst of times, you know. Makes me feel old.” She smiles enigmatically at Ginny before she scrutinizes the shaking list in her hand. The old woman’s lips move as she reads her list, one item at a time. Just as Ginny wonders how much longer she has to wait, the old woman lays her glasses to rest on her fallen chest and hands the list over to Ginny with a smile. Ginny leaves immediately.

As she turns from reaching for a box of cereal, Ginny almost falls over the old woman standing right behind her. The silly twit! She never does stay in her chair. Ginny barely turns her exasperated sigh into a questioning smile.

“Does that cereal taste good? My doctor, such a lovely young man, you know. He’s so kind and interested in his patients, unlike so many of the new doctors nowadays. All they want to do is take tests, and more tests, and more tests, until they suck you dry. Then they prescribe dozens of pills and pat you out the door, as if that’s the end of that. You can almost hear them say, now don’t bother me, I have far more important work to do. In my day …”