Water Under The Bridge

• Ourania Theodorou, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2017

It was a nice sunny evening, old man Mac Crumby smoked tobacco on the porch of his equally old farmhouse, with flaking red paint and a leak in the living room. I picked some fresh oranges from rows of luscious green trees. Sitting down eating oranges whilst Mac Crumby smoked was my favourite afternoon activity. I sat down, ready for the usual relative silence.
But Mac Crumby leaned towards me. Something that never happens unless he’s bothered. With the most concern, I could place in my gaze, I turn towards him. “Something wrong, gramps?”
In his usual, breathy voice he asks, "Nursing homes are like villages, right?"
It was a rhetorical question but it handed me many horrifying implications. I nodded my head absently and swiped the implications clean off my mind. Some tense silence ensued, and then he spoke again. “I’m eighty seven now and you are…”
He trailed off seeking for a loose thread in his head. His memory loss affecting him. “I’m sixteen gramps.”
“Ah! Yes, sixteen and very beautiful. It would do you good to start looking out for feasible men.” I chuckled at his words thinking, no hoping that he was joking but he just stared expectantly.
“Gramps! Do you know what age people get married at nowadays? Twenty or something! But it doesn’t matter because as long as you’re here I don’t need anyone else.” I hoped he knew that.
He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened, then closed. “Listen, I have a confession, soon I won’t be able to return your feelings or any sign of life at all, so I want to make sure we don’t leave any water under the bridge.”
So he told me his plans. I didn't say anything much and just stared ahead whilst nodding my head. "...I will of course have someone come here often. I don't want to waste this once in a life time chance, of course there’s not much life left in these old bones. But that makes it all the more important. Think of the opportunities you would have!" He gave a wheezy chuckle and I joined him.
"Yeah, we wouldn't want to leave that water under the bridge." I whispered back. In the next silent minutes, I analysed the implications of what he said. I felt dizzy. Did I really want this? The thoughts travelled down my swirling head and up my churning stomach before resting into an apathetic state in my heart. I was angry! I realized. There was, of course, no way I could stand by and let this happen. I had to think of something. A few more minutes and I devised the perfect plan.
“…Hrmph?”
“……Uh?…”
“……………Grace….”
“…There is a revolver in your hand.”