Jim was old and sick. He could no longer get out of bed without help, so they had a nurse take care of him. They put him in a nice white room with a view of the snowy hills. He was waiting for better days.
Sometimes he would lose his lucidity. Like when they put two black chairs in his room for visitors to sit. He could not sleep because of the way the chairs hummed. Or sometimes he saw faces staring at him from outside the window.
But right now he was sharp as a razor and painfully aware of his position. Bedridden, sleepless in the middle of a long, long night.
Fortunately, his friend Charlie came to visit. Charlie, from the war.
“How are you doing, Jim? You look old.”
Charlie was wearing his green uniform, beret on his head.
“Charlie, you are young. Why are you still young? We were so young back then.”
“And now you’re just an old man,” Charlie laughed.
“Yeah, old. I could still teach ’em a thing or two, rigth?”
“You remember the boys? What happened to all of them?” asked Charlie.
“Biff owned a car rental shop, retired now. Sarge got married to his sweatheart, she died. Randy has twelve grandchildren. They are old, like me.”
“Twelve!” Charlie whistled.
“Yeah. Old, like me.”
“No, not the grandchildren, Charlie.”
“You remember that French girl, Jim? The one with the big jugs?”
“Oh yeah,” Jim cackled, “Biggest tits I ever saw. Her name was Frannie. I think I was in love.”
“You ever got married, Jim?”
“I did. Bertha passed on five- no, six years ago. I loved her deeply.”
“But you never forgot Frannie.”
“I always remembered her, because she was a good lay.”
“You’re lying, Jim. You never slept with her. You wanted her to be your goddess.”
“How do you know, Charlie?”
Jim was Alone in the room again, waiting.