The floating book shop was drizzled out today. Here's an excerpt from an unpublished rock n roll epic, Rising Star:
Mitchell approached the room tentatively. His grandmother was sleeping peacefully, face up, hands folded over her abdomen. There was a tube emanating from a plastic bag hanging on a metallic rack, feeding a clear solution into her left arm. He'd expected more - oxygen mask, life support system, plastic tent, several intravenous tubes. The other bed was empty. He shuddered, imagining the patient had died.
He decided not to wake her and sat in the lone chair, which was opposite the foot of the bed. He heard weeping.
"Is this how it's gonna end for me, God? Is this how it's gonna end?" a woman nearby lamented pitifully.
It forced a lump to his throat. His flesh crawled as he recalled the groans he'd heard while visiting his grandfather, who'd succumbed to cancer two years ago.
"Nurse!" another woman called harshly, repeatedly.
He shivered. He was proud his grandmother was maintaining dignity even in death. He wondered how he would face it when his time came.
"Mitchell?" said his grandmother suddenly.
He sprang from the chair, kissed her withered cheek and took her hand.
"I thought I was dreaming. How long have you been waiting?"
"Not long. I didn't want to wake you."
"You were always such a good boy."
"How are you?"
"Comfortable. They say my heart is very weak, but I don't feel anything."
"When are you coming home?"
"Who knows? I talked to Rachel on the phone just now. She's driving all the way from Long Island to see me tonight. I have such wonderful grandchildren. I won't be unhappy to die knowing they're going to live long after me."
"Don't talk like that, Grandma."
"It's not the same without my Mordy." She averted her gaze, pained. "I tried, but it's not the same. Fifty years. He was part of me."
"So are we. We need you too."
"No, it's not true. You may love me, but you don't need me. Your father has your mother. Rachel has her husband and children, and some day you'll have a nice girl too. And you have your music, and your other grandparents too, very nice people."
"But they're in Florida. We hardly ever see them. And I don't love them the way I love you."
"You should."
"But I don't."
She avoided his gaze. Her face had taken on many wrinkles and brown spots the past two years. She'd lost a considerable amount of weight.. Her cheeks had hollowed. She'd ceased coloring her hair, which was now a shocking white. She'd lost her zest for life, which had been powerful. She looked even older than 75.
Again the woman's cry of "Nurse!" interrupted the silence.
"That poor woman. All day long and no one answers. It's a curse to be old and alone."
"But you're not alone, Grandma. You have us."
"I don't want to be a burden. I'm afraid I already am."
His eyes glazed. "That's crazy. You always brought us joy."
"You're young. You don't understand. Even your father doesn't. You will when you're old. Tell me, how's the band?"
"Good. We have a manager now, a Jewish girl."
Her eyes sparkled. "Wonderful. I know you'll be famous some day. Your poor grandfather wanted so much to be famous, but it wasn't meant to be. I remember the day we gave you the guitar, your twelfth birthday. You didn't want to play the piano. It was for sissies, you said. You wanted to be like the meshuga, who's it."
He smiled. "Led Zeppelin."
"The first time you played that record - that scream. I thought someone was murdering my Mitchell." She smiled, tears glistening in her now dull blue eyes. "I don't understand that music. I remember when your grandfather took me dancing when we were young. The music was so romantic and he was so handsome, just like you. Times were different then, I guess. It was before that devil came. Sometimes it seems even crazier now, though."
Her smile vanished. Age returned to her.
"You were the best teacher I ever had. You knew more about the piano than any of my professors. You should still be giving lessons."
"You like it now?" She was glowing again. "Maybe someday you'll compose a beautiful concerto and make the name Weinstein famous like your grandfather always dreamed."
"And I'd owe it all to you. I need you to teach me more."
"You've learned all that can be taught. The rest you must find yourself."
"A nurse entered. "Do you need anything, Mrs. Weinstein?"
"No, thank you. I have all I want - my grandson. Isn't he handsome?"
The nurse nodded. "I can see the resemblance."
She left quickly.
"A very nice girl," said Mrs. Weinstein quietly, "and pretty. What kind of name is Connolly?"
"Irish. You know that."
"I hope when you find the girl you love she'll be Jewish."
"I don't think I could love a girl who wasn't Jewish."
"I hope you're not saying that just because I'm dying. I worry because all your friends are gentiles - nice boys, but gentiles. Remember our history, Mitchell."
"I will, Grandma. You taught me well."
"My parents were lucky. They saw what that devil was doing and came to America. We lost everything we had and had to work like dogs to prosper again, but at least we survived. My aunts and uncles wouldn't listen and they all died with their children. Your poor father was only six when we left. He was so sick on the crossing we thought we were going to lose him. Thank God we didn't. He's all we had. Remember, Mitchell, remember."
She squeezed his hand weakly and closed her eyelids tightly, forcing teardrops from the lids. She drifted back to sleep. He sat in the chair, weeping, praying she wouldn't die in his presence. He noted her chest rising and falling slightly at each breath, and was relieved yet fearful it would cease action suddenly.
Visit Vic's sites:
Vic's Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
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