He spent the next hour helping little old ladies hobble around on new joints. One younger guy had hurt his knee playing softball and bitched the whole time about how he didn’t need any help. He had to eat his words and say thank you after he tripped and would have gone down hard if Mitch hadn’t caught him mid-fall.
“Okay, last patient for today. I saved the best for last,” the nurse said with a smile. “Mr. Barnet is one of the few surviving World War II vets in the country. He’s quite the character. I think you’ll like him.”
They entered the small, all-white room. Mr. Barnet glanced over from his TV, whereJeopardywas playing at top volume. “Oh God, Marge, now what? Can’t a man get any peace in this place? Who’s this guy?”
Mr. Barnet had to be in his nineties and looked it. He was bald and wrinkled, but had intense, alert blue eyes that indicated not much got past him. He farted loudly and looked away. Mitch suppressed a laugh.
The nurse reached up and turned off the TV. “Mr. Barnet, this is Mitch MacDonald. He’s here to take you for a walk. You need to get that hip moving. I expect your best behavior.”
“Come on, Marge, I’m an old man. Give me a break. Just this once?” His dentured smile did nothing to persuade her.
“Not a chance. Get your ass out of that bed and get moving.”
Mitch chuckled at the nurse’s bossy command and jumped in. “Hey, Mr. Barnet. I saw some pretty hot numbersdown the hall, what do you say we go check ’em out?” He moved to help the old man out of bed.
“Stop trying to look at my butt, Marge! You think this is some sort of peep show?” Mr. Barnet scowled at the nurse who Mitch knew was named Beth.
“Fine, I’m leaving. Two laps tonight, Mr. Barnet and not one step less.” She left the room laughing.
“Mean little thing, isn’t she?” Mr. Barnet had a mischievous grin as he struggled out of bed and slid into his slippers.
“I’m sure she means well,” Mitch said. He liked the old coot. “You ready to take a stroll?”
“At least you’d be able to catch me if I fell.” He grabbed his walker and maneuvered it out the door. “What are you doing here helping old farts like me, anyway? Young, handsome fella like yourself. You must have better things to do.”
“Well, if you must know, I was tricked into coming here. I think it’s supposed to be penance for being such an asshole or something like that.”
“Humph, honest at least,” he snorted.
They took their first lap and a half without incident. They talked amicably while making slow progress around the ward. Mitch told him about what he did for a living and then found out about Mr. Barnet’s family. His wife had passed on a few years ago, and he now lived alone in the house he’d lived in for the last fifty years. His kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids visited as often as they could, which usually meant once a month or less. In Mitch’s mind, that didn’t seem like much.
Halfway into the second lap, Mr. Barnet slowed considerably and became winded.
“Why don’t we rest a sec? I’m getting tired,” Mitch suggested.
“Don’t bullshit me, young man. I know damn good and well you’re not tired. I am, though, so I will rest a second.”He sat on his walker, which was also designed to be a seat. “Maybe we ought to head back,” he said, nodding toward his room.
The ward was a big circle, so whether they headed back or kept going, they had about the same amount of distance to cover. “We may as well finish the lap. I don’t want to get fired, and you heard Beth. She seemed pretty serious about you getting two laps in.”
“Ugh, all right. Help me back up, eh?” Mitch did, and they continued on slowly.
“Why do you call all the nurses Marge?” he asked. A half a dozen nurses had engaged them in conversation along the way, and each time Mr. Barnet had called them Marge.
“I’m an old man. I can’t be bothered to learn everyone’s name. I just call ’em all Marge. Easier that way.”
Mitch laughed. “Must be nice being old. You can do whatever the hell you want, and no one complains.”
Mr. Barnet smiled at that. “One of the few good things.”
They made it back, and Mitch helped him into bed. “You did great, Mr. B. How’s that hip holding up?”
“Oh, it’s fine. I have no idea why they even bother fixing me up,” he scowled. “I’m gonna die any day now anyway. What’s the point?”
“I’m sure a stubborn old bugger like you has a few good years left.”
“Will I see you again, Bob?”
It only took him a second to figure out what he meant. “I assume all the men you meet you call Bob then?”
