A Tale as Old as Old People

That morning started like any other morning in Gordon Biederbaum’s life. His eyelids quivered and then popped open at the exact moment that the glow of the sunrise passed onto them just like they had for each of his 2 years fighting in Korea, just like they had for each of his 47 years as a businessman and just like they had for each of his 8 years of retirement.

His weathered, green eyes still shot to life at the start of each and every day, even though the rest of his body could no longer keep up with them. With his days as a scrappy, young businessman behind him, Gordon found that now even the most mundane daily tasks where enough to keep him occupied for hours. Five minutes to slowly and carefully sit up in his bed and drag his tired bones into an upright position. Another few minutes to walk the five feet to the bathroom. From there, it usually took a good hour for him to safely and properly get in and out of the shower, wash his leathery, wrinkled skin, pop in his dentures, take his pills, and dress himself all without causing a dangerous fall and have to use his life-alert bracelet. Not to mention at least an extra half an hour for Gordon’s other morning bathroom duties.

Gordon was especially perky on this morning because it was Saturday. Saturday mornings in Boca are when all of the retired women who were still young and spunky enough to walk, strolled across the beaches in their skimpiest, mid-thigh-length skirts.

Gordon liked all mornings. But Gordon Saturday mornings.

It was after Gordon took close to two hours to slowly, but carefully, prepare himself for his favorite weekly ritual that he set out on the hardest part ofhis morning.He went to wake up Herman.

Herman Hurstly first met Gordon Biederbaum in Korea. They were in the same platoon together. Herman was more of a night owl and never did well waking up early, so since their first day ofactive duty in the army Gordon had been waking Herman up. ¡ordon was Herman’s alarm clock for 2 full years during the war. Then, after the war when they started their own business together, Gordon woke Herman up every morning for 47 very successful years. Nowadays, Gordon would let Herman sleep most mornings, only waking him up long enough to make sure his oldest friend hadn’t died during the night. Except on Saturdays.

“Herman, it’s Saturday! Now wake up or we’ll miss all the broads,” said Gordon as he ripped off Herman’s sheets revealing not one, but two feeble, tarnished, old bodies, four ancient legs intertwined, four saggy breasts and one proud morning erection. Herman was probably the only man in all of the Pinecrest Place retirement community who hadn’t been using Viagra ofsome sort for years. The other body belonged to Dotty Binderman, a woman known for her strong, non-arthritic hands that made her one of the best quilters in the community as well as one of the few women that could still give a decent hand job.

Outraged and embarrassed, Dotty screamed, waking Herman and nearly causing him to tumbleout of bed; whatt could have been a significantly life threatening fall when¹ou’re 78 and an even more threatening fall when you consider Herman probably would have had only his glorious morning wood to break his fall. Still repulsed by the intrusion, Dotty made the two men help her up out of bed, had them help her get her clothes back on and then had them call a nurse to escort her to her room since she always forgot which room was hers and had had enough embarrassment for one morning.

“So you’re fucking Dotty Binderman now?” Gordon asked.

“Well I’m not fucking her now, right now I’m trying to get my stiffy to go down so I can get my pants on and go on your stupid walk,” Herman retorted sarcastically from within his closet.

“It’s not a stupid walk. I like the fresh air and lord knows we both need the exercise. ?ot to mention the view,” reasoned Gordon.

“Trust me, I’m all exercised out after last night. I tell you, I’m sick of these women using their hip surgeries and knee replacements as an excuse to make me do all the work between the sheets,” exclaimed Herman as he finally just grabbed a pair of sweatpants and started eyeing his socks.

“You know what, just spare me Herman. I’m old too and I don’t even want to hear about that.

“I’m happy to go on your walk with you Gordon, but for Christ’s sake why must you insist on just looking at these women?

Gordon didn’t respond. Herman knew full well that even though the one woman Gordon had ever loved died 7 years ago; Gordon would probably never be unfaithful to her. Through 2 years in Korea and 47 years as a businessman, Gordon was always loyal to his high school sweetheart Betty. Herman on the other hand had never hada relationship last more than 6 weeks and he liked things that way.He was the indomitable bachelor, even now in his twilight years.

It was only just within the last few years that Gordon had even started to look atother women, let alone talk to them with romantic intentions. He convinced himself that his old friend was thinking with his little head and not his big head ignoring the brotherly advice.

“Come on, we’ve got to get going,” said Gordon, rushing Herman along rather than continuing what he knew to be a futile conversation.

As they walked down the beach ogling the women of the community they reminisced, discussing things they missed about “their day” and all the things that today’s young people were screwing up. They paused occasionally to notice how Alice Burbush still had a nice ass even at 83 or to discuss whether or not Barbra Feinstein’s boobs were real.

“All I’m saying isif they’re real, they’re fantastic!”

“And I understand that but I still believe that”“ Gordon stopped mid sentence, staring off ahead of them, leaving Herman to momentarily ponder whether or not his best friend was having a stroke. But Gordon was fine and, as soon as Herman’s eyes gravitated to what Gordon’s eyes had fixated on, they were both silent.

Her name was Ethel Manningham. She was the widow to an old oil billionaire and had used her days as a billionaire’s wife to stay young, healthy and buxom. Though gravity and a long life had worn away her once perfect figure, she was still a fine specimen.

“I heard she had some of the male nurses hitting on her the other day,” gossiped Herman. “In fact, I’m pretty sure her last boyfriend was a veteran…from the -ar. ?an you believe that?”

“She’s…gorgeous,” muttered an entranced Gordon. “Why she’s must still on the free 6-month trial of her AARP magazine. She’s so…amazing.” Gordon’s entranced state came to an abrupt halt as he realized that Herman was no longer by his side but approaching Ethel with a familiar strut to his step. ¡ordon panicked as he saw the one man he’d always known to be able to get any woman on the planet go after only the second woman Gordon had ever allowed himself to desire in his life. He knew that the second the man who he’d woken up every day since they were army buddies in the 50’s turned on the charm Ethel would be tainted by his lustful, unstoppable inhibitions.

Gordon bolted, literally ran for the first time since before he qualified for social security and dove through the air, grabbing his oldest and dearest friend around the ankles and dragged him down to the ground.

Herman landed witha thud, nothing broken but in total shock and confusion.

“WHAT THE-” but before the obscenity of Herman’s choice could reach his lips, he was silenced as Gordon had immediately scrambled to his feet and socked Herman right in the jaw.

Now no longer trying to make sense of what was going on but rather realizing that he was engaged in a dire battle Herman looked to his left and saw a crowd growing. Two older women, one in a wheelchair and the other with a walker stopped in their tracks, staring at the two old men who were fighting like school boys. Gordon let out a near-inhuman cry and began to charge at his old friend. Herman, without hesitation stepped to his left and yanked the woman’s walker from beneath her swinging itthrough the air and striking his former business partner in the side of thehead with it. Gordon and the woman each hit the ground.

The woman screamed, mostly out of fear and confusion.

Gordon turned on his side and brought a hand to his left cheek. He used two fingers to swab up a bit of the warm blood that was running down the side of his face and onto his favorite Hawaiian shirt. The same shirt he saved to wear every Saturday morning. He brought his bloody fingers to his mouth and licked them, growing ever more enraged.

“Gordon, what the FUCK are you doing?! Stop this and let me help you up,” as Herman reached out his hand as an olive branch of peace he quickly found himself on the same plane as his old army buddy. Gordon’s leg sweep was too swift for Herman to even see coming. Using this opportunity to gain the advantage, Gordon leapt to his feet, grabbed the cane of a 95 year-old man who had joined the growing crowd of onlookers and raised it as if he was a Ronin warrior and it was his samurai sword.

Herman slowly arose, grabbing his hip as if it was injured. Meanwhile, Herman used his other hand to grasp a large amount of sand.

As Gordon lunged at Herman with the cane his eyes filled with a dry, stinging and he dropped the cane staggering backwards and nearly tumbling over a bench. He cleared his vision just in time tosee his oldest friend winding up for a knock out punch. He ducked out of the way just in time allowing Herman’s own forward momentum to propel him into the bench causing him to flip over it and land on his back.

Gordon was out of breath and still partially blinded from the sand. Herman was lying still on his back with a look of sheer painon his face. Gordon gathered himself and went over to his old friend who laid squirming and moaning slightly.

“Herman. Not this one. This one is mine. I call dibs on this one.”

“That’s fine Gordon,” responded Herman with a pained chuckle, “just tell that to Tony Pepsacola.”

Gordon turned around to see Ethel Manningham walking off next to the old Italian man, her hand around his arm. The new pair was laughing and talking, no doubt, about the strange events that had just unfolded. With a thud, Gordon collapsed next to his beaten and battered friend and sighed, “That fucking Guido-schmuck.” as the two lay there for a while and enjoyed a laugh together as they waited for the ambulance to arrive.

¼span class=“Apple-style-span” style=“font-style: italic;”>Bobby Wheeler is the pen name of Matt Portman, a TV-R student at Ithaca College and a member of the comedy troupe Cannibal Potluck.