Awakening

The old man tapped the spent tobacco out of his pipe onto the frosted lawn below his window balcony. From the right pocket of his cardigan he pulled out a fresh pinch and packed it gently into the pipe's bowl. A match was struck on the weathered railing and brought to his face.

It was predawn, and from a squirrel's view in the tree across the way, all could be seen was a dot of orange puffed to life from the man's window. Smoke was faintly noticed as he exhaled all his anxieties, and then he drew in the sweet smoke once more to soothe the pounding of his heart and the rapidity of his blood.

He startled as a small, round object fell from a tree in the dark across the way, only to realize it was a squirrel embarking on its morning harvest. His thin purple lips pulled back across his yellowed dentures and he smiled in relief as the creature frolicked across the lawn. Pipe in mouth, he pivoted with his good hip and shuffled quietly into his bedroom, closing the balcony door behind him.

The room was heavy with the sweet smell of tobacco. The soft glow of the lamp above his battered recliner cast an atmosphere of light, revealing his lifestyle of hoarding. On the fringe of the light could be seen the head of a Charlie McCarthy doll from childhood and a trailhead leading to miles of books.

The old man shuffled into the dark towards the kitchen, sticking to the paths he memorized by day. He helped himself to more coffee, although sleep was desperately needed after a night of anticipation. He brought the steaming mug to his purple lips and took in the hot black coffee. He stood rigid as it made its way down his inflamed esophagus and into his stomach. He imagined the coffee running over what he thought was an ulcer. He shook himself free of the temporary burning of his innards and made his way to the recliner.

He eased himself down, took another puff of his pipe, and clicked the overhead lamp off. He permitted his eyes to finally close, and before long he was asleep.

Dawn came and went and the day gave way to early evening. The setting sun shined on the man's face and woke him. When his eyes were fully open and his mind registered, he took in the room about him.

He felt his face contort as his mind erupted into an immediate frenzy. Thrusting himself from his recliner, he was, firstly, paralyzed by what he saw, and secondly, startled by the absence of pain in his hip. He brought his hand to his side and gently prodded. Nothing. No tenderness. No pain. And then there was his hand. He brought it to his face to inspect the fingers. Not a one was gnarled from arthritis. He gripped his wedding ring and slid it above the knuckle for the first time in years.

And then he was off.

Standing before him in the bathroom mirror was a polished version of himself. His skin was no longer pale, and with a smile, his teeth were his own. Inching closely to the mirror, he saw the milky film over his eyes was gone. The mysterious discomfort in his stomach ceased, and the simple act of swallowing did not cause him to wince.

He rushed back to the room and all around was order and the smell of Old English on polished bookshelves.
He ran his fingers across the books that had scattered the floor that morning before his awakening. Each spine had been repaired and the pages no longer yellowed from smoke. It was the library he dreamed of, and when he looked to his recliner, he found Charlie McCarthy smiling back, with a new monocle gleaming in the sun.

The man walked to Charlie and lifted him into an embrace. He held the doll close to his heart and suddenly found the impossibility of it all possible. A tapping at the balcony door brought him back, and when he turned he saw the familiar silhouette of a figure against the setting sun through the glass.

Placing Charlie gently back onto the chair, the man moved toward the figure with the beating of his heart pulsing against his wedding ring. Placing his hand on the knob, the man held his breath, and turned it slowly.

Twilight waxed around her as he exhaled and then took in a fresh helping of spring air. He watched her incredulously as the purple sky gave way to the quiet of night.

In the darkness, a long-awaited embrace was almost audible against the pattering claws of a squirrel scurrying up the trunk of the nearby tree. As the small creature hunkered into its nest to warm its young, it regarded the two figures on the balcony across the way, and drifted off to sleep.