When his memory started to go, Nelson became even more methodical in the shower, washing each part in a precise order. Thursday, he became stuck with the warm water cascading his back, the soft bar of soap curled in his right hand, fingers cradled by the crook of his elbow, as he tried to figure out whether he had already scrubbed his left arm.
By the time his wife checked on him, the water had long lost its heat and his tired legs had given way. She found him with the soap gripped in his fist like a soft cartoon neck.
We all have that to look forward to. We’ll-written.
‘Well written’ not ‘we’ll written’ ?
Great simile at the end…fresh and the perfect tone for this story. Nicely done.
Well written snapshot of the dying embers of a life. Thought provoking. I particularly liked the image of the hand gripped around the soap ‘like a soft cartoon neck’ – lovely evoking of both pathos and impotent rage.
Wow Professor, I really enjoyed this! You really humanized the relalities of what getting older can look like.