The Asher Complex

08: Nostalgia

ASHER

The past three days have made me realize New York is fucking expensive. I blew half the $300 mom gave me this weekend with Chad and another $50 on lunch and dinner on Monday. As I was getting off work today, Chad messaged me asking if I wanted to get a beer. With Chad, it's never just a beer. Just as I was about to text him some bullshit excuse, I got a frantic call from Julie. It was actually pretty good timing. I haven't heard from Julie or anyone at the home since I left for the UK. She asked me if I was free and able to fill in, and for some reason, I said yes. 

The drive down to The Creek is long as fuck; I'm almost glad my car doesn't need gas. Almost. I lock the car door and pace around the front entrance for a few minutes. I haven't stepped foot in this building in a year and a half. I wonder who's still around. Harold is probably still kicking; that geezer will likely live until he's a hundred. Harold always used to say that the only acceptable way to go is with a whiskey in one hand and your lady's ass in the other. Seeing as he's 90 years old and single, he'll have to hang on until he finds himself a girlfriend.

I swing my guitar over my shoulder as I push through the frosted front doors of Peace Creek Retirement Home.

Well, it still smells like geriatrics in here. The same floral wallpaper is plastered along the walls, and shitty wooden green fabric chairs are lined up by the front window. The receptionist at the front desk looks up at me and smiles.

"Asher!" She scoots out of her chair and circles the desk, limping with every step. "Thank you for coming! We haven't seen you in forever. Gosh, we've missed you." She wraps her meaty arms around me.

"Yeah, it's been a while, Julie." I give her a quick pat and look down at the cast enveloping her leg. "What happened? Another heated game of Mahjong with Charles?" I ask jokingly.

"Oh, pish." Julie playfully swats at my arm. "I tripped over the dang doorsill last week. My little hiccup has been the talk of the town all week." She pauses as her smile fades. "Charlie passed away a couple of months ago."

My chest tightens. Charles was one of my favorites. That man took so much of my money. Never bet a retiree that you can beat them in Mahjong, you'll walk out with your tail between your legs and your wallet empty.

I scratch my head as I look around. "Is uh- Is Harold still here?" I ask quietly.

Julie loops her arm through mine as we walk to the activity center. "Oh, you know Harold, he'll only go when he's ready."

Relief washes over my body. "And he's not...ready?"

"Relax, Asher. He's still here." Julie smiles. "He's so excited to see you! He wants to hear all about your adventures in London. Honestly, we didn't even know if you were back in town. Calling you was a hail mary, as Harold would put it. I know you said you weren't available anymore but Jordy, that's the new guy, canceled and we were desperate. Thanks for answering the call and coming by. I'm sure you'll put on a great show."

As we enter the activity center, we're greeted by quietly mumbled hellos. I scan the room looking for Harold. As anticipated, he's huddled around a circular wooden table, seated comfortably in his wheelchair with playing cards fanned out in his hand.

A wide smile spreads on my face as I walk towards my old pal. He's playing poker with two other decaying old men.

"What's up, dickhead? Long time no see." I grin as I give him a gentle pat on the back. His head turns quickly, well as quickly as a 90-year-old can muster.

"You little prick!" Harold grabs my sleeve and pulls me down towards him. I have to catch my guitar before it slides off my back. "When did your sorry ass get back into town?"