Korwin was wrapping up his duties at the Senior Living Facility, and his last stop was Sal, a ninety-five-year-old relic from the 1st half of the last century.
Sal was listening to the ballgame on his AM/FM transistor radio he had owned for fifty years.
"I could put the game on TV if you'd like, Sal," Korwin offered, as he took a seat near the bedridden senior.
Sal took the TV comment to seamlessly transition to the days of his youth, spinning a yarn of audible radio plays of mystery, suspense, and wonder. "In those days, we used our imagination to provide the visuals of the words over the airwaves," he proclaimed, with a crescent moon smile. Sal spoke of the smell of leather-bound books, leafing through faded jagged edge pages, and the bedtime break between plot twist chapters.
"And the art of penmanship," Sal sighed with bliss. He roared over his attempt to copy the elegant collection of words on the Declaration of Independence. Each story he told spiraled Korwin's mind into a time traveling journey, with Sal's raspy voice providing the audio backdrop. Korwin nodded with each story as if by hypnosis.
A triple by the home team interrupted their conversation of remembrance. Moments later, a nursing assistant creaked open the door and announced it was time for medicine and rest.
Korwin and Sal bid adieu with a warm handshake. Korwin drove home revisiting Sal's stories to combat the constant glow of red lights at intersections during his commute home.
He got home and met his wife at their dining room and relayed his encounter with Sal between bites of lasagna. Her face warmed as she looked off in the distance as if she was part of the days of yore fantasy.
The next day, Korwin whizzed through his duties and made a beeline to his last visit, Sal. As he was about to enter the room, a nurse got his attention. The nurse whispered that Sal had passed peacefully in his sleep in the early morning.
"He left you an envelope," the nurse announced in a low tone, as she handed it to him. Korwin's chin sunk to his chest in sorrow but managed a sentimental smile, thankful for the short time he spent with the old man.
Korwin returned home and relayed the news to his wife Sue as he pulled the envelope out of his jacket pocket.
Sue examined the unaddressed envelope, unsealed it, and removed a fine piece of neatly folded stationery. "He wrote you a note of thanks, and in cursive, also," her eyes lightened as she marveled at how neatly written the note was.
She removed a lined loose-leaf page from a desk drawer and overlayed it over the textured note. "His handiwork is so straight in rows. It's as if he could see guidelines as he wrote," she lauded, as Korwin looked over her shoulder. "That reminds me, I have to write out my great Aunt Missy's birthday card and send it out before mail pickup tomorrow," she stated.
Their evening whizzed by, and Sue announced she would turn in, while Korwin clicked on the TV and found the game Sal was listening to had gone on to extra innings.
Korwin polished off a chocolate chip cookie when he noticed the birthday card on the kitchen counter. He knew her words style of writing and decided to write out the card for her since Sue's mornings were always hustle and bustle to get to work on time.
He grabbed a fine point pen from the drawer and studied the empty side of the birthday card. With precious patience and deep in thought face wrinkling expressions, the pen point skated across the card. He channeled his inner wife's eloquence into greeting sentiments on oaktag paper, using the pen as his instrument as a painter uses a brush on canvas.
The next morning, Korwin, fully dressed and ready for his workday, greeted Sue in the kitchen, as she replied with a yawning, "Good morning." Don't forget your great Aunt's birthday card," Korwin reminded.
"Oh, that's right," she answered as she went to the kitchen counter and saw the card standing on edge. "You wrote it out already, using my mushy nomenclature," she commented, as her eyes sparkled. "And in cursive, also," she beamed, with a massage of her hubby's grizzled face.
Bio:
Jon Moray has been writing short stories for over a decade and his work has appeared in many online and print markets. When not working and being a devoted family man, he enjoys sports, music, the ocean, and SCI-FI/Fantasy media. Read more of his work at moraywrites.com.