An Original Cowboy

By John Guslander

The old man sat up in bed, slowly twisted his body and put his feet to the floor. He stared out at the empty room and glared at the walker that stared back at him. He reached for the walker and lifted himself up cursing and muttering as he did so. The irritating metallic click of the doorknob caused his head to turn in the direction of the door.

A cheery nurse walked briskly into the room saying, “Bob. I thought I heard you talking to yourself in here.”

Bob caustically replied, “You know one of the things I really hate about this place is you can’t even talk to yourself without being interrupted.”

Unphased the nurse nudged his walker and said, “Bob, you know the doctor said it was good for you to get up and walk around.”

Bob replied, “You mean good for the doctor not for me. He is happy if my heart just keeps ticking.”

The nurse countered, “Now Bob you know you are lucky. Your son and grandson are visiting today. Some people in here have no one to visit them.”

The old man did not respond, not because he agreed with her, but because he no longer cared to converse with her.

Bob slowly moved his walker down the hall to dining area. The aide brought him a bowl of cereal but as she offered coffee Bob scowled and said, “I don’t want any of that sludge.” Bob looked up to see Vera sit down across from him. She prattled on about something involving birds and sunshine. Bob said nothing. Vera frowned.

She said, “Don’t you want company?”

“No”, he replied. “Can’t you see I am trying to study this memo on the warning signs of depression.” Vera sulked. Bob ate. Still chewing the last bite of cereal he reached for the walker.

Vera said, “Your not just going to go back to that room and sleep are you?”

Bob paused, swallowed and replied, “You know I have always said the best preparation for a good night sleep is a good day of napping.” Bob returned to his room and lay down to sleep.

Quickly falling into sleep, he dreamed. He traveled down the two dirt tracks of his dream road on a wagon of a style that was obsolete even when he was a young boy. The occasional bump in the road did not jar him like they should, instead he felt like he was riding on a big marshmallow with wheels. This discrepancy with reality was so disconcerting that he turned to the passenger next to him in the wagon and said, “This must be a dream. No real wagon ride would be this smooth.” The words woke him up inside his own dream and he said to himself, “I am awake inside my own dream.” With the awareness of a child he looked around at his surroundings. He stopped the wagon, jumped to the ground and began running across the dream earth. He saw a canyon of a kind from his youth. He descended the gradual slope of the first coulee and waved to his dream companions to follow him. He touched the rocks and trees. He looked into the face of his companion who seemed to be unaware and asleep in his dream.

He turned back to look at the dream trees which seemed not to be asleep but instead were even more awake than real trees. He moved his hands up and down the bark excitedly laughing to himself. He moved his hand to the surface of a rock and began to quickly move his hand in a circle. The texture of the rock began to smear like wet paint. The movement of his hand bored a hole right through the rock and gathered in the dream sky and trees until they all disappeared in a swirl like a spiral galaxy or the cream in a coffee cup. Enraptured he gazed at the back of his hand as though seeing it for the first time and tried to move his gaze from his hand up to his dream arm but as his eyes moved to the heart of his dream body he awoke.

He awoke back in his room an old man in need of assisted care. There was no sunlight in the window of his room. He had slept all day. The small desk lamp reflected off the flat paint on the walls. But instead of depressing him the reflected light seemed to glow with a quiet happiness. He smiled as he heard the doorknob turn.

“Pop you awake,” he heard his son say. His son slowly walked into the room closely followed by his grandson. Bob raised himself to a sitting position on the bed and looked at his son and grandson. His son questioned him, “You look different, happy, like when you talk about mom.”

His grandson added, “We brought you some good coffee. How about if I make some?”

Bob nodded and said, “That sounds good.”

The grandson put on a kettle of water on the stove to heat and prepared a cone filter over an old ceramic cup advertising a Farmer’s Union gas station that had quit business twenty years ago. They talked of old times and new times and Bob drank the coffee from the old cup. The grandson felt like he saw light coming off his grandfather’s face and coming out of his eyes. The grandson wondered about all the stories he had heard about his grandfather. The grandson laughed to himself thinking about how his father called his grandfather the original cowboy. The son would later tell his wife that pop looked better than he had in years.

The visit ended and Bob lay down in his bed. He did not feel sadness at being alone in his small room. He wondered if his dreams were just delusions composed of forgotten images stolen from his real life. He wondered if his dreams were real. Could something new and original happen to him even now at the end of his long life? He laughed to himself about how his son called him the Original Cowboy. He lay down to sleep hoping to dream again.