Finn liked the home. He had lived there the last twenty years, since he was ninety-five. Before the home he had been living with his grand daughter, Carolyn and her family in Chicago since he had that unfortunate accident with the stove while living on his own. He didn’t see what the big deal was, people accidentally started fires all the time. No one was hurt. So what if the kitchen had to be redone and there was minor water damage in some of the other rooms, that’s what insurance is for. He wasn’t losing his faculties, by god. He was the one to call 911, that had to count for something.
Carolyn had insisted he move in with them on the North side of Chicago, that had been a huge mistake, He liked Carolyn enough and knew she had a good hart, but it was a small apartment and they were constantly in each others way. He could tell she was as miserable as he was, so the experimental living arrangements lasted five years till she blew up and was yelling at him about some ridiculous thing that just didn’t matter and he was shouting at her about something equally ridiculous.
A retirement home had been her suggestion and at first he balked at the idea. He wanted to go back to living on his own. Carolyn insisted that was not an option and Finn knew she was right so that was a fight he conceded. But ‘where’, was the next battle. She wanted him to stay in the North Chicago area and he needed to be away from the whole family. He felt they were smothering him, and she was neglecting her own family. If he were close enough Carolyn would be visiting every day and he felt that would not be in either of their best interest.
That had been the problem when he was living with them. Carolyn would cater to his every need. She had her dinner with him so he wouldn’t eat alone and Finn could retire to his bedroom early, but her husband didn’t get home till after six and the kids were doing school activities and ate later. He tried to go to some of the kids soccer games and things, but if he wasn’t up for it, Carolyn would not go either and stay home with Finn. She rarely left him home alone at all. She was doing to her kids what he had done to her mother and uncle. Avoiding them.
So he wanted to get some distance between them not only for himself but for the sake of Carolyn and her family. Her husband and kids needed her more than Finn did, even if she didn’t see it that way.
So he told her that his old bones couldn’t take the Chicago winters anymore and he needed to get South of the Mason Dixon. They settled on the “Key West Retirement Home”. The corporate headquarters were in Chicago so Carolyn felt she could go raise hell with someone in person, if she felt she needed. And it was far enough away for Finn that a spur of the moment visit from her or her family was highly unlikely.
The home itself was pretty nice. They had a weight room, Finn had used, working his arms and legs with the lighter weights, till he had been confined to a wheel chair. He still liked to go down and hang out with some of the friends he had made over the months and years. The dining room had a stand up piano that Finn liked to sit at and play, dreaming of times gone by in places gone by, with friends and family gone by. Even at ninety-five when he had first got to the home, he could still play pretty good. His hands had been spared the worst of the arthritis that plagued his back and hips. But each year his memory lost it’s sharpness, he would sit longer and longer at the keys trying to think of what came next. There was no muscle memory in his fingers any longer and when he could remember the music he struggled getting his hands to catch up with the music in his mind.
In other area’s he was fit as a fiddle. Finn had always liked to play cards. Neither his mind nor his hands had to work as hard. He played poker regularly on Friday night, often losing more than he won, but that was due to the fact he wasn’t good at poker. Never had been. It had nothing to do with a diminished mind. But he kept playing because he liked the ‘act’ of playing cards. Much like a fisherman who will catch and release the fish, it’s the act of fishing that’s the draw. He did miss the cigars though, that had been a big part of playing with his friends in years past. Often during these games he had heated political debates with men and women much younger than him. Finn would argue both sides. If his opponent was a damn Democrat he would argue they were ruining this country, but if he knew they were a damn Republican, he just as easily argued how they were the ones doing the ruining. He didn’t belong to either party, they were all a bunch of crooked weasels as far as he was concerned.
As time ran on Finn found he was the one running these Friday night card games as one buy one the original card players died off and were replaced by new residents of the “Key West Retirement Home”. Like the Energizer Bunny, Finn kept on going.
Occasionally when a hurricane threatened, they would pack up all eighty-three residents, most of which would be sent inland to higher ground. Finn, along with a few of the other less mobile patients would go to the local hospital where they would, if necessary, ride the storm out in the hallway of an upper floor. In 2005 they had to evacuate for hurricane Katrina. The residents who got evacuated to the mainland ended up all the way in Orlando. Finn and his group rode it out on the third floor of the hospital as the storm came by them as a category one hurricane. He felt bad for those people in retirement homes in Louisiana who didn’t evacuate. They must have been terrified. That’s the thing he didn’t want was to die frightened. He couldn’t think of a worse way to go.
He was old and he was tired. He was ready to die. His affairs were in order. Most of the people he saw in the home assumed he was on some kind of government program in order to stay here. A few people would say he was a rich old man, but he very rarely talked with anyone about it, very few new what he really was worth. He had decided years ago to leave a substantial portion to the National Endowment for the Arts Jazz Masters. They were good about helping old musicians down on their luck and educating new musicians in Jazz. The rest he split up here and there. Some of the people who worked at the home would get a big surprise after he was dead and gone. They wouldn’t have to clean up anyones crap again for the rest of their lives if they chose not to.
His own kids were long gone and the grand kids and great grand kids seemed to be doing fine. They didn’t realize he had anything to leave them and he wasn’t going to let them know anything different.
He wasn’t religious at all. He had been raised Catholic, but WWI had him questioning what kind of god would allow the things he had seen there. Then when Kim and his oldest son had been killed in WWII, he was convinced that God, if he had ever existed, was dead and couldn’t help anyone, anywhere. There was no after life and there was no one on the other side waiting with open arms. This was the only life you got, so better make it the best you can.
This was not a popular feeling amongst the people who lived or worked in the home, so of course, he felt the need to express his beliefs every chance he got. He loved to goad others into a brisk debate over the likely hood of a God watching out for each and everyone of us, or the more likely scenario that this is all there is, when you expired your spirit didn’t go anywhere except into that grave with your cold corpse.

His frozen breath told of a cold his body did not seem to feel. The fog was so thick there were droplets drifting on the light wind currents as his body moved through the empty space. He took a deep breath, the cold air burning a bit as it made it’s way deep into his lungs, he exhaled an even thicker fog that dissipated into the surrounding whiteness. He couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a breath as deep or enjoyed air as fresh as this. Even through the discomfort of icicles stabbing deep in his chest, he relished the fresh air.
Click, click.
Finn took a step forward and felt the spongy forest floor give under his weight. He smelled the Norwegian Spruce and knew right away he was in the mountains of France. He had visited them often with Kim. That was a long, long time ago though.
He walked further, stepping high through the deep snow. Snow covered trees materialized out of the fog to block his way or to stand guard either side of a trail for him to take. The path had been predetermined and Finn was being escorted. The fog parted in front and closed again behind him.
Click, click.
He walked down the snow covered path not knowing where it led. The snow here, was at least two feet deep but Finn was able to wade through with no problems at all. His feet high stepped his way along the path, punching fresh holes into the new fallen snow with each step.
“Not bad for an old guy”, he said out loud to no one.
Click, click.
He looked to his left as a large olive colored caribou stepped out from the trees. Click, click as it walked. It turned it’s white face, with black anthracite eyes, to stare at Finn. He could see his own reflection in those dark eyes. Odd, they showed him resting in a hospital bed.
It was an intimidating looking animal, standing at least four and a half feet at the shoulders and weighing over four hundred pounds. He had a massive antler rack balanced atop it’s head like a crown, giving him a regal authority and status.
The big animal dipped his head to Finn and then turned it to the path. When Finn continued to stare in wonder again the head was dipped and turned to the path. Finn shook his head wondering why this caribou would be wanting him to travel down the path. He couldn’t figure out what was happening. It was as if the fog that was covering these mountains had seeped into his consciousness and obscured any sensible reasoning he might have had.
He started down the path once again, this time with the caribou behind him. Click click went the hooves of the big animal. The way their feet had been designed caused the clicking sound when they walked. Not unlike a horse walking along a cobble stone road, if not a bit more muted. The distinctive sound carried enough that hunters often could track the animals.
Where was this place now? It looked like the mountains he had seen in Southern France. The Pyrenees, that’s what they were called. Along the boarder between France and Spain. Why would he be in the Pyrenees? Finn’s foggy brain was having difficulty making any sense of any of this.
As they progressed down the slope the weather improved degree by degree. The temperature warmed as the snow faded away and the fog began to clear. His head began to clear with the improvement of the weather. He realized as the sun broke through, warming his face, that although the fog and the snow had been cold just a short time ago, he had not felt the deep cold from hypothermia he should have. He certainly wasn’t dressed for the cold.
He looked down and saw a pair of brown leather shoes sticking out from a sharp looking pair of tweed slacks. They looked familiar but he didn’t remember the last time he had owned a pair of tweed slacks. His hands sticking out from the crisp white long sleeve shirt had none of the wrinkles and age spots he was so used to seeing. A wide, blue and gray herringbone tie competed the ensemble.
He was standing and walking. That alone convinced him this was a dream. He hadn’t stood anywhere by himself in over five years.
A soft breeze was blowing into his face. It didn’t matter which way he turned, the breeze stayed in his face. It was like a warm springtime breeze with a recent rain shower smell to it.
The caribou nudged him from behind urging him to continue along the path. Finn continued to stand still. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose filling his lungs. A smile crept to his lips.
There were other odors in the air that came in on the breeze. They were there and then passed, teasing his senses as they moved on. Coffee, or more precisely espresso. He had loved the French espresso in the mornings. He thought of sitting in Park des Buttes-Chaumont in Paris on a spring morning in April with Kim. The smells of men walking by with droopy mustaches and long mutton chops, smoking expensive cigars, women with sweet perfumes. The hawker calling out fresh baked bagels, croissants and other edible treats. Fresh cut grass with children running barefoot chasing one another, while parents spread colorful blankets on the ground preparing the area for picnics. These were the images playing out behind his closed eyes, conjured by the smells drifting on the breeze.
Finn opened his eyes to see he was indeed standing at the edge of this beautiful park. He could hear the breeze flowing through tree tops in the park and there was a piano playing in the back ground. Playing the Jazz he loved to listen to and play himself. He could even smell the old taverns he had played. This he realized was heaven.
As he walked he felt rather than heard, “Not now, you’re not ready.” He turned and was surprised to see the caribou still with him. Was that the caribou who said that? Telling him he was not ready.
But he was ready, he knew what lay beyond the Park. Kim was there waiting for him. He started walking faster. And there was Kim, sitting at a small table outside a cafe. Sitting alone as if she were waiting for someone. She was young and beautiful as on the first day they met.
“Not yet”, the feeling-voice came over him again.
The scene began to flicker, as he walked on faster and finally Finn began to run to the table and to Kim. But the faster he ran, the further away she got, and then she was fading as if she were evaporating before his eyes.
“Nooo”, he cried.
CRACK, the sound of gunfire, caused Finn to slide to a stop and instinctively duck. Kim was gone, the table and cafe were gone, the park was gone. There was nothing to duck behind so he crouched as low as he could, scanning around him. It was a hellish landscape, barren muddy field, a few dead trees with bare limbs looking like stick drawings of a child, and rolls of barb wire stretching into the distance. He held his hands to his ears to block the noise. The chaotic yelling of men in trenches as they ran up ladders and died falling back. The screaming of the wounded waiting to die, the terrified horses stampeding up and down the trenches looking for a way out.
His hands did nothing to block the sounds of war in his head, and could do nothing to clear the smell of mud, blood running out of dying men, the smell of terror seeping out of men crying not to die.
Mikey’s bloody, dying face abruptly filled Finn’s vision.
“Why?” he cried. “You killed me Finn, why did you kill me?”
Finn turned his face and squeezed his eyes tight, but Mikey was wherever he turned and through tightly shut eyes, he couldn’t escape from the accusing face of his long dead friend.
“Finn, you’ve got to go back.” Mikey said. “If you stay you’ll die here in this hell, you have to go back now.”
But Finn was afraid to move. He kept his eyes shut and shook his head from side to side trying to escape the vision of his friends face to no avail.
The face changed. It was as if it melted away leaving only the white skull with two black bottomless pits, Finn felt he could fall in and never stop falling.
“Run away now.” The skull screamed.
And Finn ran. He ran away as fast as he could, tripping over his own feet as he ran to get away from Mikey and the war he had never escaped. He ran back to the mountains from where he came. Back to the fog and snow and trees. The caribou that had been running with him, now disappeared into the shrouded forest. Struggling up the hillside the short fern needles scratched at his face as he ran through low hanging limbs. He ran and ran as his chest burned and he fought to keep his breath.
Finally he fell clutching his chest. His breath came out in rasping puffs of white vapors. The once strong legs he had earlier now failed him as he tried over and over to get up.
Crap, his chest hurt. He grasped at his sweat soaked shirt. Had he been shot after all, was he wounded he wondered?
He heard new sounds. More chaotic sounds. Furniture being scraped across linoleum floors, people talking in loud fast tones, and amongst it all he heard his name repeated over again and again.
“Finn! Finn! Finnnn!!!! Mr. O’Riley!”
He blinked in rapid succession as he opened his eye and focused on his surroundings. “Where was he?”, he thought. Faces came in and out of view as he felt himself being lifted and placed in a bed.
Someone shone a bright light in and out of his one good eye. No use checking the other, it was an empty socket. Tightness gripped his right bicep as a blood pressure cuff did it’s thing.
The ‘Home’, that’s where he was. The Key West Retirement Home. The nursing home he has lived in for almost fifteen years. He had fallen out of bed, or out of his chair, he wasn’t sure. Ed, the big black nurse had picked him up and laid him back in the bed.
Ed attached cold sticky electrode pads to various parts of his chest. They were attached to machines that tracked Finn’s heart rate and the blood pressure machine was wired in as well. They had all the state of the art machines here. For all the good it did, the old farts here still died. The only difference was they had a little more warning of when that might be.
Some of the residents had these machines hooked to them twenty- four seven. Every so often you would hear an alarm and all hell would break loose for twenty or thirty minutes, which at the end the poor soul was either dead or sore enough from the “Life Saving Measures” that he wished he were dead.
That wasn’t Finn. If he were on his way out of this world you had better not try to stop him. He wanted no part of “Heroic and Life Saving Measures” on him.
“Man, you are one lucky son of a bitch”, Ed said. “You must have had a heart attack, and from what I see you were pretty much dead. I know we got a DNR on you, but it looks like you resuscitated yourself when you hit the floor.”
I don’t feel lucky”, Finn croaked. He had a cold sweat and his heart was still racing. “I feel like I got run over by a truck.” Recalling the face telling him to run caused a shiver to run through his body.
Ed helped him out of his sweat soaked shirt, and got a fresh one out of the dresser. “The docs on his way. He’ll check you out, probably send you down to x-ray to see if you broke anything.”
Ed picked up a cup and the pitcher of water on the bedside nightstand. The two items looked almost like toys in his huge mitts. Ed was a big man, six-eight, by Finn’s best guess and weighing about three eighty. The soft features across his ebony face were a sharp contrast to the intimidating size of the man.
Handing Finn the cup of water he said, “Here drink a little to help calm down. You gave us quite a scare. If you were to up and leave us I’d sure miss you buddy. You’re an ‘Old Fart’, but your our ‘Old Fart’. The world is a better place with you in it.”
“That’s debatable. The world doesn’t know I exist”, is all Finn said.
“The world knows more than you think, old man.”
His heart gradually returned to a more normal rhythm as the doctor finally strolled in.
The doctor was a young man of thirty-three. He was fit and you could tell by looking at him he was one of those who got up early to exercise. Probably ran marathons and shit. He had one of those beard things Finn couldn’t understand. It was like he kept a four or five day growth going on. It never got any longer, but he rarely saw the doc completely clean shaven either.
“Either shave or grow a real beard.” He had rag the doc on more than one occasion.
“This is how I am,” the doc replied each time.
Finn figured it was supposed to be a sexy look. Something to turn the women on he guessed. Or turn other men on, Finn didn’t know about the young man’s sexual orientation, nor did he care. Doc Ben, as Finn called him, was a nice enough fellow and from what he saw the doc was a fine doctor. As long as he was good to his patients and gave them good sound advice, it made no difference to Finn if the man were Straight, Gay or from another planet.
Doc Ben made him laugh when he talked about how he needed to take care of his health. Finn had turned one-hundred and fifteen on his last birthday. He didn’t feel as if taking care of his health was an issue. He just kept on living. And he was fine with that. If this turned out to be his last moments here on earth, he was fine with that to.
He had seen a lot in his life, some of it not so nice but a lot of it was magical. As the Jimmy Buffett song went, “Some of it’s tragic, some of it’s magic, but ‘Finn’ had had a good life all the way”. When he died that would be it, There would be no reunion with his wife in a Paris park, that was a dream his aging mind had made up. There was no heaven, and he had already been through hell.
At one time he believed that crap but he found a long, long time ago there was no god. At least not anymore. That crap he was hallucinating literally fifteen minutes earlier was nothing more than his mind playing tricks on him. He sometimes had dreams like that. He also sometimes had nightmares a lot worse.