Eavesdropping

"Daddy?" they both said in unison. He looked up at them trying to remember what his daughters looked like. He didn't recognize them. They were strangers trying to take his food like the seagulls at the pier. He got up and started to back away. He turned to run away only to come face to face with two very large women and one very tiny blond one. They all had smiles on their faces but he knew this was a trick, a trick to get his food. He wasn't going to let them have it. It was his. They can find their own.

"Phil," Cheryl's voice said gently in his ear. "I love you and only you for now and for always. We're here to take you home."

He looked at her and saw her smile too. Everyone was smiling. "They all want my food," he thought.

"No!" He screamed. "Get your own food. This is mine."

He felt arms grab him from behind, strong arms. He looked and the two large women had their arms wrapped around him and he couldn't move.

"Phil, it's all right," Cheryl murmured. "We're going to take you home. Back to your home and your family. You'll be okay, Phil. Everything will be all right."

"NOOOOO!" He screamed.

He started to shake and his mind went blank.

The rat sat there staring with his beady red eyes as Phil pushed the damp cardboard box away from his face. The rat was waiting for his breakfast and the steady rain wasn't going to deter him from his meal. Neither was Phil. Both the rat and the piece of a man that was once Phil Harclerode headed to the dumpster. The man found part of a cup of coffee and a crust of bread, the rat found something unrecognizable and smelly. Both ate their feast sitting under the dumpster lid.

The rain stopped and the sun came out. Phil squinted up at the sky thinking that the trash cans down by the park usually had food that the tourists jettisoned because they bought too much. The biggest problem was that big black guy that slept over by the Safeway was usually down there scrounging for his lunch. He was mean and thought nothing of throwing a bottle or something at competition invading his territory. One time the big black guy sent Phil to the hospital over half a hotdog. Phil rubbed his head where the stitches used to be at that memory.

He started walking, walking nowhere in particular, just walking to keep the neighbors and shop owners from swatting at him with a broom or squirting him with a hose. He ended up at the park standing behind a big tree looking around for the big black guy. There were joggers and families holding kid's hands and young people on bikes, but today there was no big black guy. Walking so no one could see him he checked out the first trash can. Nothing eatable. The second was better; there was an almost full cup of coffee. As Phil reached for the cup he felt an incredible pain on the back of his head and fell to the ground looking up. The big black guy was standing over him holding a large piece of wood. He raised it over his head and smashed it back down onto Phil's chest. The pain in is head was now equaled by the one in his chest. The piece of wood crashed down again and that was the last time Phil saw the big black guy or anything else.

Phil woke up in a hospital bed. He'd been in hospital beds before especially when the weather turned cold. All he had to do was go to the emergency room and tell them that he found black tarry blood in his stool. They admitted him right away and started the tests all the while knowing that he wasn't really sick, he just wanted a place to sleep for the night. Phil tried to get up but his arm was in a large bandage and there was tape encircling his chest. There was excruciating pain in his chest whenever he tried to move. The urinal bottle on the table was as close as he was going to get to the bathroom so he filled it, put it back, and lay back to sleep. That's when he noticed someone sitting in the chair in the shadows at the other end of the room. It was a woman. She looked familiar but he couldn't remember from where.

"Hi Phil," the woman said standing and walking over to him.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he growled.

"Don't you remember me?"

He squinted and stared and images of another woman, similar but at the same time different, entered his mind. Then the pain came again. The source of his pain was the woman standing in the room. Her hair was almost completely white now but he remembered it to be brown and shiny from a long time ago. The lines at her eyes and mouth were more pronounced. The woman standing in front of him was old and not as attractive as the one in his memories. A lot of time had passed since the images in his head formed: A lot of time and a lot of pain.

"Yeah, I remember you. You're that bitch I used to be married to."

"That's right Phil. I'm Cheryl, the bitch, and you're still married to me. I never abandoned you, I never divorced you, and I never will. I love you and only you for now and for always."

"What do you want?" he barked again.

"The doctors said you'll be well enough that I can take you home tomorrow. You're going home. Your daughters are fixing up a room for you to stay in as we speak and in a few days you'll have a clean, safe place to live. No more alleys or abandoned buildings, you're going to come home with me and meet your grandchildren."

He looked at her for a while trying to figure out what she was up to. "Will there be food there?" he asked.

Cheryl smiled her big smile and said, "Of course, as much as you want."

"Well okay then. When do we get out of this place?"

"Tomorrow. The doctor said we can leave tomorrow."

"Awwwww shit. The food in here stinks. Can you get me a hamburger or something?"

"I'll see what I can do Phil. Why don't you just lie back and get some sleep. We've got a long drive ahead of us tomorrow."

He relaxed and turned to the wall to sleep. Images of things, bad things, started flooding into his mind. Images of the past. Things he didn't want to remember. But they were flooding in anyway, out of control.

He started to shake and his mind went blank.

All of the azalea's blooms had fallen to the ground, all except one. He cried as they gently cascaded to the grass weeping for each bloom that died becoming memories of soon forgotten beauty. He did the same thing for the forsythia bush last week too. As he wiped his tears away he felt a hand touch his own. He turned and saw an old woman sitting beside him. She too was crying. But she wasn't crying for the dying azalea bloom, she was crying for him.

"How are you today Phil?" Cheryl asked. The crow's feet at her eyes were gone replaced with wrinkles and age spots. Her one time brown hair was now completely white. Her eyes no longer sparkled. Her smile was gone. She sat hunched over. Her once exquisite hands were now arthritic and pale. The beautiful young woman was gone, replaced by a broken down old crone.

"Who... are you?" He asked haltingly.

"I'm your wife Phil, Cheryl," she said with a tear in her eye. "Don't you remember Phil? For fifty-three years I've told you that I love you and only you for now and for always."

He stared at the old woman for the longest time trying to dredge up memories of her. He couldn't. They were gone. All his mind could find was a log cabin by a lake, but it didn't make any sense. Nothing made sense anymore.

"I'm sorry. I don't... remember."

He turned back to the azalea and cried as the last bloom fell.