It wasn’t until the next morning that Carolyn remembered what she had been trying to accomplish the night before. Upon remembering, she shot up in bed with a little “Oh!” on her lips before curling in on herself, her body unused to such sudden movement after being still for so long. She wasn’t as young as she used to be.
She heard shuffling in the next room, her nurse dusting or sweeping. “Mandy!” Carolyn called, “Mandy, bring me a pen and paper!”
“One minute, ma’am,” the other woman returned, her voice muffled through the closed door between them. There was silence for a moment and then the sound of an old chair scraping against the hardwood floor.
“Don’t drag the chairs across my varnished wood,” Carolyn yelled irritably from her bed, simultaneously trying to reposition her pillows behind her back so that she could lean against the heavy decorative oak headboard. The bed frame was older than she was, and she mused again at the skilled carpentry skills the world had lost when her grandfather had died.
“It’s Amanda, ma’am,” the other woman corrected her, coming through the doorway and kicking the door partially closed behind her.
“Don’t put your shoes on the wall paint, woman,” Carolyn chided in response, reaching out for the pen and paper the nurse held in one hand.
Amanda lifted the pen and paper just out of reach, saying, “Uh uh uh. Medicine first, ma’am, and then you can have all the paper and writing utensils you want.”
The old woman made a growling sound, but she took the offered pills and swallowed them down all at once with a swig of water from her nightstand. She opened her mouth so that Amanda could make sure that the pills were gone and then grabbed the pad of paper and pen from the nurse’s hand as soon as it was again within range.
Grinning, she put the pen to the top sheet and then paused, thinking. Her grin slowly faded into a frown, and finally she tossed the pen and pad to the end of her bed in frustration, saying, “Aggh! I’ve forgotten again!”
This post is part of Flash Fiction February.