"Smile", A Short Story

"I love your smile," Andy told Rich. That was years ago, though. Now he didn't love his smile—or him. He couldn't love his smile; he couldn't love him, and he couldn't love anything or anyone else. No matter how he tried to do so, he just couldn't do so—he had dementia, and the dementia was wearing him down.

One of Andy's best friends came up to Rich one day, when Rich was hunched down from thinking about it. "What's the matter?"

"Andy doesn't love me anymore."

"What? He's always been like a dad figure to you."

"Well, he's sick—just sick."

"Don't talk about about Andy like that—just because you fell out with him doesn't mean that you have to talk about him like that. Do you hear me?"

Rich bit back tears, holding his lower lip with his front teeth as he tried not to cry. "Andy has dementia, sir."

Andy's friend looked stunned. "What?! Andy?....Oh, I'm so sorry."

Nobody but Rich really knew, anyway. Only Rich had gotten the phone call.

"I feel guilty, boy. I can't do it—I just can't do it. I'm so sorry."

"Can't what, sir?"

"Can't love you anymore—and can't love anyone anymore. I'm trying to love, boy. I just can't—I have dementia."

Then the radio blared a Lonestar song in the background. "You can't help how you don't feel, and it doesn't matter why."

Rich bit back tears, thinking a prayer. "Perfect timing, God," he mumbled inside of his head. He then told Andy, "You don't have to explain—I understand."

That phonecall was in the summer. The encounter with Andy's friend was in the fall. The visit with Andy was in the winter, and that's when Rich and Andy's friend played that Lonestar song for Andy.

Then Rich thought to himself what he wanted to tell Andy: "It's like the song says: 'Give me a chance to bow out gracefully...'."

"Go, boy," Andy demanded. Andy knew what Rich wanted: to leave Andy with his friend and go peacefully.

Rich laughed. "Last-minute lucidity; huh, sir?"

"Get out of here, boy." Andy knew that he was dying, and he knew that Rich knew it—and they both knew that they knew it. There was no second guessing and no questioning. Andy was ready to go.

Rich smiled and saluted Andy, a World War Two veteran. "Rest in peace, sir."

Andy then went "in style" after he had kissed Rich on the head and the cheeks—Rich was like a son to Andy, after all. Andy went with his friend beside him as the angels carried him home—and, fittingly, in the winter, for he had been in the winter of his life.

Rich, meanwhile, walked away from Andy's hospital room and down the hall, and he let the tears run down his face and let his pain show.

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