Memory Delivery

Rick Phillimore looked at the little dwarfs standing before his mirror. He swiped the pills in front of Sneeze and washed them down from the glass on his night stand. It was Sneeze Day according to the calendar that hung on his wall. When did he get a Snow White calendar? He put a big X on the day and moved to his stairs.

The chair growled as it lowered him to the bottom. It growled on its way back up. He stopped it halfway up and large tears clouded his vision. Dopey was not waiting for his turn to ride it down.

He grabbed his cane and waddled down the hall. The walls were filled with photos, but only seven were his. The rest were stock pictures of families. He reached for one to take it down, but stopped. His wall would look empty without them. Besides they kept Mrs. Phillimore compony. He put two fingers to his lips and touched them to a photo of his wife with Grumpy, a golden lab.

“I am the luckiest man alive to have had you for my wife.”

He moved to the kitchen and put two eggs into a pot to boil and plumped down in the corner chair. His back was sorry that he did, but he ignored it and began his word puzzle. He breezed through it; jotting down answers like ‘The Queen’ and ‘The Poison Apple’. That done, he looked up to see an empty bowl on the floor.

“Dopey, your bowl is empty. Now that won’t…” fresh tears touched his eyes. His father’s memory had not waned with age, why was his? “Is this punishment for failing you,” he yelled at the sky.

He threw down his word puzzle and stomped to the back yard. A loud buzz came from over the neighbor’s fence. Will they not leave him alone? No, apparently not. The buzzing was getting worse. The high pitch whine sounded like a thousand mosquitos. He hated mosquitos. The malaria pills might be worse than the disease but they both came from those annoying little buggers.

He took a slow breath. Why wasn’t the memory of him being as sick as a dog with malaria taken from him? It down right sucked getting old. You hurt all the time and could only move as fast as a three-legged ant. But that wasn’t the worst of it, no. Every morning he lost more and more time with his wife. Did they ever have kids? Before long he might even forget… no he won’t forget her. Never. Even if everything else was taken from him, he would remember her to the end. He would take her to his grave.

The buzzing whine reminded him that he wasn’t dead, yet. He looked over his lawn. Dandelions dotted it. His father would be disappointed. He scuffled to the closest one and smashed it with his cane. Now, to do the same to the rest of them. That was his short-term plan. Memory told him a scarce secret that no matter how he willed it, that would be insufficient. But they had to go first and then pieces of his long-term plan could take effect. He would make his father’s memory proud and these toxic weeds will fade away. It might even come to the point where he doesn’t even remember what a dandelion looked like. You know, that would be nice, wouldn’t it.

He moved to the next pesky little thing. “I am not sorry about this at all,” he said and squashed it. His eyes darted around the ground, looking for his next victim. They rested on a ball whose green fuzz had long been gnawed away. It was Dopey’s ball. He picked it up. “I am sorry friend, but Dopey is gone. I know, I know, I miss him too. Don’t cry. Be strong. You have to be because… because… well, he’s watching. I wish I had better news, but he is. What would he think about you being all… dopey?

“You know, he’s not the only one watching, no. All of them are watching from Grumpy to Doc. My little Snow White, she’s watching too. All the time. I feel her when I take my meds or when I do my puzzles. I even feel her watching when I put Scott lawn products on this very lawn. Yes, I do. Let me tell you a secret; I never remember refilling the glass next to my bed, but every morning it’s full.

“He watches too. Watches me disregard all the things he ‘suggested’ that I do with my life. He wanted me to be a banker like him, can you believe that? I did try, I did. Felt like a sardine in a tin can with a rope tied around my leg. Wish I could show him. One final act to make him… proud, no, no… understand. Yes, I would settle for him to understand.”

A contraption flew over his fence. He searched his memories for what the thing could be. They came up blank. He wanted to swat the thing with his cane, it wasn’t so important that he couldn’t replace it after the thing chewed it up and spat out its slivered corpus. The thing just sat in the air; it’s whining seemed to get louder as the moments passed.

“How about you little friend,” he said and looked at the ball in his hand. “How would you like one last chance to make Dopey proud?”

He took aim and threw Dopey’s ball right at the flying machine. He’d missed, horribly, and the ball flew over the fence. That was stupid. Why did he do that? He didn’t know his neighbors and they probably wouldn’t bring his ball back.

The flying thing convulsed and faded over the fence. At least it was gone, as if that was any consolation. Fast little bugger. Might as well go back inside; the only thing left for him out here were the dandelions… It came back. Flew right up and over the fence to torment him. He noticed something new about it this time, it had a claw. Of course it did and no surprise it held Dopey’s ball. Little devil.

Promising himself that he wouldn’t give it any joy in its torment, he turned to leave. It flew straight at his face. He paused. Research showed that running only encouraged predators, but he wouldn’t be prey. No, not him. Clearly the thing did not expect him to stand his ground and it stopped dead in the air, so close that he had no problem reading on its side, Made in the United States.

It hovered there, not moving. He gave it the stinky eye, the one he used after Dopey had gotten into the bread again. It dropped his ball and flew back a few feet. What was this?

The thing hovered, unmoving, almost as if it was waiting for him to do something. Suddenly it convulsed again, almost as if it sneezed. It moved up and down. He bent down to the ground and picked up the ball. The thing buzzed up and down more vigorously. It brought back memories of when Dopey was a puppy. He threw the ball over the fence. It zipped away only to return with the ball once more. A single throw made the flying toy bob over the fence and back. He kept repeating the action, not wanting the moment to end. He was shocked at how much he enjoyed the simple game.

Every once in a while, his new friend sneezed. Had mice chewed some of its wires or was this just normal behavior? Certainty out of anyone, he wouldn’t know. “You do not look sick,” he whispered. He intended to say more, but it slipped back over the fence before he could even through the ball.

He waddled back inside; shocked at how energetic he felt. “What would your father think about you getting all excited about playing with a toy? Pah, who cares.”

Perhaps he could do it again tomorrow… as long as he didn’t forget about his new friend. No, no, of course not. How could he forget Sneeze. It was Sneeze Day after all.

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Rick Phillimore looked at the little dwarfs standing before his mirror. He swiped the pills in front of Bashful and washed them down from the glass on his night stand. It was Bashful Day according to the calendar that hung on his wall. When did he get a Snow White calendar? He put a big X on the day and moved to his stairs.

The chair growled as it lowered him to the bottom. It growled on its way back up. He stopped it halfway up and large tears clouded his vision. Dopey was not waiting for his turn to ride it down.

He grabbed his cane and waddled down the hall. The walls were filled with photos, but only seven were his. The rest were stock pictures of families. He reached for one to take it down, but stopped. His wall would look empty without them. Besides they kept Mrs. Phillimore compony. He put two fingers to his lips and touched them to a photo of his wife with Grumpy, a golden lab. He stopped next to a photo of his wife and an Australian Shepard, Sneeze. Why had that photo grabbed his attention? Nothing came to him.

In the kitchen he put two eggs in a pot to harden and moved to the corner chair. There was a noise, it sounded like a swarm of horrible mosquitoes and it was coming from his front door. He peaked out his front window; something hovered over his door mat. It deposited a little box and flew away. He waited for the non-descript box to catch fire or something, but nothing happened. He moved back to the corner chair in the kitchen, but something was nagging him. He waddled back and grabbed the little package. It was as light as a toenail. He plopped down in his chair and opened it.

There was a single piece of paper inside and all it said was, “Dinner is at 5.”

A ploy to poison him, but why? It wasn’t for his beauty, that’s for sure. His wealth then? No, he wasn’t his father. The little paper vexed him and he forgot his word puzzles. He wandered around his house all day wondering who had sent the note and why. That annoying little flying contraption buzzed around his house several times. It even had the nerve to fly into his back yard and steal Dopey’s ball. Sure, it returned the sorry thing, but still.

It wasn’t until 4:45 that he felt calm enough to settle into his chair and begin his word puzzles. He breezed through them. Just one more for the day, it was easy. The puzzle had seven crisscrossing lines and a single clue: dwarves. Bashful was first, then came Doc, followed by Dopey, Grumpy, Happy and Sleepy. One left, easy, it was…

Memories flooded his mind. A ball and a flying contraption that sounded like mosquitoes… Sneeze. It was Sneeze. He looked at the clock. It was 4:59. He jumped up from his chair and scurried out his door.

He approached his neighbor’s door and paused. Grumpy and Sleepy sleepers donned his feet. What would they think of him coming to dinner in slippers. He turned to go home.

“You’re here.”

“I’m not dressed for dinner,” he said and looked down.

“Grumpy and Sleepy, right? Come in, come in. You look wonderful. We were just about to start, you’re just in time.” The woman hurried him in. She sounded happy, but there were tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I just a weird old man who loves Snow White. That’s where I met my sweetheart, in a play. I was the dwarf Bashful.”

Sneeze appeared in the hall and they followed it into the dinning room. A boy held the controls and smiled at him.

Tears touched his eyes, “Wait, I know you.”