The wide brown door opens to reveal the man who dominates the scene. He lies on a computerized bed in a pale green room, room 311. He likes the Call Don’t Fall sticker on the glass bathroom door, and the binned tabloids with their loud headlines, King of the Orgies, Tennis Ace Fails Drugs Test, make the man laugh.
Behind his closed eyes the walls fade, and his world becomes limitless. Love and care and tenderness engulf him like a mother’s embrace. These are hard days, but the love and peace are like day and night, continuous and pervasive.
As the man sleeps, the end crawls closer in a first approach, its shadow peeks into sunshine, then it twists in agony and turns back towards the gloom like vampire hair. This man is a worthy adversary. So much courage. So much strength. So much dignity. A weaker man stands alone in the antiseptic corridor and struggles to control his emotions.
The man fights death. Never seen a fight like it. The powerful sense of self, sense of being. He knows it will have to end but only on his terms. Morphine dreams, eyes roll, lips grin, voice whispers and grunts through a wondrous fog bank of memories and recollections and fictions and elaborations.
Visitors arrive and there is laughter and caring and loving. And the man smiles a cheeky grin, and he drifts in and out of focus. More visitors arrive and more laughter, louder laughter. The room is swollen with love, care and concern. The sunshine streams through the window. The room pulses and sings with the human touch of love. Hand in hand, cheek to cheek, open faces and open hearts, all soaked in silent golden hues.
A woman caresses the man’s hands. She gently works cream into long fingers, soft pale skin, gently, gently, over, over. The woman massages carefully with absolute tender love. Old friends for decades. Always there for one another. Always, always, always.
The man’s sister talks calmly to the man as morphine tricks him into seeing and being in different places, different times from his past, present and future. Strange phrases and dislocated thoughts stream from the disease and the drugs. The sister accepts the confusion and goes with it, adding to his odd sentences, and engaging in surreal conversation. Her soothing words cool his anxious mind. Their love is tangible as the man fades like a glorious sunset in a wild sky over spectacular landscapes. Always, always, always.
Another man applies face cream to the man on the bed. A light finger flicks over the soft skin leaving the cream in place, to be absorbed over time. A young man holds the man’s hand, strokes his hair, and kisses his forehead. Another man helps with awkward teeth, loving and tender. A woman holds his hand, strokes his arm, touches his hair.
The tattoo on the man’s arm reads HOPE. Always, hope. Always love. Always hope and love. Always, always, always.
The man lies on his bed. His family and friends drink too much. It’s good to be like this. The man understands and gives his sign of approval with a wry grin. He smiles at the caustic banter, jokes and gossip that swirl around the room, like exposed leather underwear.
The man sleeps himself away to some other place, somewhere far from these pale green walls, away from the nurses’ natter, the traffic rumble, the click of the drip, the rampant flower arrangements bursting from borrowed vases, the trays of untouched food, the cool breeze from the window, the deep orange sunset, the pink clouds, the smirking moon, until he is somewhere far away from the slowdown.
The man stands in a warm smog of love, memories and experiences. A sudden light flickers in the distance and he decides to go towards it. The glowing lights swirl pink and orange beams, and music pumps delicious beats from yellow flowers that surround the entrance.
The man knows where he is and smiles. The club is Wythenshawe, Manchester, Los Angeles, Rio de Janeiro, New York, Tokyo, Berlin, London, Barcelona and he knows the place like the back of his hand.
At the entrance to the club the man sees a crowd of familiar, happy people. He knows them all as his old friends, lovers, partners and family. They wave and hug and kiss him as he moves amongst them.
The man looks at each and every person, and he sees their faces change from young to teenage, to middle-age, and some to old age. The man smiles at all of them, and his smile is beautiful and charming and understanding.
After a while, the man knows it is time for him to pass through the calm, yellow glow, and everyone watches him enter this place of wonderful music and extraordinary lights.
For PL.
A very sincere and heartwarming/breaking piece. Great work.