Percy

Percy Porter was 89 and had lived in the nursing home in Borough Green for 4 years. He was simply delightful. The kind of elderly gentlemen that always had a story. He lived a very full and diverse life, met many interesting people and his stories would always make me laugh. Did I tell you about my days as a ballroom dancer? And he would immediately get up, hold out his arms as if supporting an invisible woman and start waltzing around the room. He was eccentric and quirky. He used a scarf as a belt when he couldn't find it, and he used a golf club as a walking stick even though he hadn't played in years. Sometimes he would pretend to he didn't speak English to the new attendees so he could chuckle at their confusion.

I was judo champion you know! He would exclaim, and full of energy, he would pick me up and flip me over his back. We all wondered where on earth he got the strength at his age and it would give the Veronica the supervisor a mini heart attack every time as she ran over to make sure he hadn't broken his back. But being an athlete his whole life in one form or another must have kept him good shape! The only part of his body that appeared to be deteriorating enough to resign him to the home was his eyes. Eventually, he could no longer reinact his younger most physical days as his sight went completely, but his stories never stopped making everyone laugh. "In my mechanic days, I was called out to the Prime Minsters wife would you believe! Towed her all the way to 10 Downing street, I did! She wouldn't talk to me though. Not in my grubby overalls she had to hand the driver the money, and spoke through him instead! What a snooty cow!" Needless to say, with all the life inside him as well as his unfailing humor he was my favorite of all the residents.

I suppose what broke my heart the most about Percy, was his continued love for his wife who divorced him in his late 30s after three children. He never married again and still spoke fondly of her, still referring to her as his wife even when she remarried. One evening, when his vision eventually left him completely, I was making my rounds of the residents rooms, when I peered into Percy's. He was sitting in his arm chair holding a picture and tracing his finger across the surface . Never before had I seen him so old in his demeanor. There was no glow in his expression, and at this point his eyesight had gone completely, so I can only imagine he was holding the picture and recalling it only from memory.

One morning as I stepped into Percy's room, I noticed a faint humming sound. It took me a moment to realise that it was coming from Percy himself. He was seated on the bed, eyes closed and lost in thought. It was as if he was in a different world altogether.

I cleared my throat to announce my presence, and Percy snapped out of his reverie.

"Is that you, nurse?" he asked with the first smile I'd seen from him in too long. "I was just talking to my friend."

I looked around the room, but there was no one else there. "Your friend?" I asked, puzzled.

"Yes, the woman who moved into my room. I wasn't sure at first that I wanted a roommate, but then she started singing". His voice trailed off for a moment and his smile appeared to grow even more. "She's been keeping me company. She has the loveliest voice. She was a singer you know! Beautiful. She helps me sleep."

I nodded, not quite sure what to make of it. Over the next few days, I observed Percy's interactions with his imaginary friend. He would sit on the bed, carrying on conversations with her for hours on end. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but Percy would nod and chuckle at her words, as if they were the most amusing things in the world.

One day, I stood outside Percy's door, listening in on their conversation. "Tell me more about your travels," Percy said, a hint of excitement in his voice.

This time, I could have sworn I heard her talk back. The woman's voice drifted through the door. "Oh, Percy, you've heard all my stories already."

"But I love to hear them again," he replied with a grin.

And then, there was silence.

"Percy?" I called out, opening the door. But he was fast asleep, a contented smile on his face.

As the weeks went by, I began to realize that Percy's imaginary friend was more than just a figment of his imagination. She was a part of him, a manifestation of his desires and dreams. And as he grew weaker, his conversations with her became more intense and I'd hear him singing along with her, as if they were preparing him for the inevitable.

One night, as I was leaving Percy's room, I heard a faint whisper. It was the woman's voice, soft and gentle. "It's time, Percy," she said, and then she began to sing. It was as Percy had said. Truly beautiful. And it brought a tear streaming down my face.

The next morning, I found Percy lying motionless on his bed, his eyes closed in eternal sleep. And as I looked at his peaceful face, I couldn't help but feel a sense of bitter sweetness. Percy had found something that had given his life another adventure - something that had made him happy, even in his final days.

As I walked out of the room, I realized that Percy's eccentricities had made him special. They had made him unique, and they had given him a zest for life that few others possessed. And I knew that I would never forget him, or the lessons he had taught me about the power of imagination and the importance of embracing our quirks.

So if walls could talk, they'd probably sing too.