William Raith stares at the wall every day. Cross-legged he sits, peering at the freshly painted cream slab his bed sits against. He isn’t upset by the recent change from eggshell white. He isn’t happy about it either. The only time he seems to show any emotion is when someone distracts him from gazing at the wall.
“William, I’ve come with your lunch,” a nurse says comfortingly, stretching out the sandwich tray as if feeding a dangerous animal. She sets the tray down on the bedside table, swapping it for the empty tray from last nights curry.
William says nothing. He doesn’t even acknowledge her existence. If the wall were a mirror, she’d see the glassy haze covering Williams pupils. His eyelids strained, stretched slightly too wide, revealing the full ring of his hazel irises bobbing within a sea of pure white. His pupils shrank to the size of a pinhead, fighting the glare from the white hospital LEDs. It’s a shame that eyes so beautiful would be wasted on a man who refuses to see.
Later that day sharp screams could be heard from William’s room. Rushing into the dementia ward nurses found the room exactly how it was left. The sandwiches sat on the side table uneaten. William was still sitting cross-legged, staring at the wall. His jaw clenched so hard that it was audible to hear his teeth grinding from the doorway.
Manic, guttural screams emanated from his closed mouth. Screams, unlike any the nurses had heard before. William wasn’t in pain; he was beyond pain. Screams that could only be made by a man at the intermediate stages of dementia, aware of his own demise. Memories vanished into the wind. William had seen the other patients, he’d heard them. They twitched and spasmed, saying nothing spare the occasional vague cry. He’d heard the despair of visitors, parents, children, lovers, who’d come to check on patients only to be forgotten. He could barely count the number times he’d heard the phrase “Sorry who are you?”.
William had seen it happening to himself. He’d catch himself staring at the wall, without reason. Often lunch or breakfast still sat uneaten on his nightstand. Had he been staring all day? Was that even today’s lunch?
The nurses kept their distance as Williams cries subsided to a muffled whimper. Tears glazed over his eyes as they returned to watch the wall.
It wasn’t so bad. Like a scratched record random memories would jump and stutter through William’s mind.
One day silhouettes came to sit at the foot of William’s bed. He could hear them talking but, wasn’t sure what they were saying. Most of the words didn’t even make sense.
“Dancing” a single word William recognised ignited memories of his youth. He gave a childish whoop of joy, before returning to his silence. Soon the silhouettes left. William wondered if they had been his family. He didn’t want to be like the other patients, he couldn’t end up forgetting his loved ones. William had to let them know that he still knew.
The silhouettes exit was interrupted by a soft mumble
“Thank you for coming, I love you.”
The nurses could only muster a sad smile as they hung their heads. No one was coming for William. Just as he had forgotten the world, the world had forgotten him. Still, at least they could give him some fleeting joy before he passed.
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from Short Stories
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