The Old Man Who Looked Out the Window!

“Pass it here. Quick!” Billy kicked the can over to Donny. Donny kicked the soda can through an imaginary goal, “Score!” So caught up in their play, the boys didn’t see Brent Flanagan watching them from his picture window.

Brent laughed, “Marcy, come watch this. These two kids are playing kick the can. I played that when I was their age. Some things never change. It seems like yesterday. A blink of the eye and bam! It’s over.”

Marcy came out of the kitchen, walked over to the window, and stood next to Mr. Flanagan. Pausing, she watched for a moment. She looked down, “Mr. Flanagan, for you, more than a blink of an eye.”

Brent smiled, “Are you implying that I am ancient?”

“If the shoe fits. Never mind. Your stew is ready. Do you want to eat here or at the kitchen table?”

“In the kitchen, I need to stretch these stiff legs anyway. Then maybe afterward, you and I can play kick the can.”

Placing his hands on the recliner, he pushed his way out of his seat. Then untangled the plastic tubing and grabbed the handle on the green roll-around oxygen bottle. The twelve steps to the kitchen winded the 85-year-old. He sat down at the kitchen table and took several raspy deep breaths.

After catching his breath, “Marcy, you know, during the Korean war, I went on long forced marches. As a postal carrier, I walked miles a day. I think retirement did me in.”

“Ummmm, Mr. Flanangan, you don’t think a two-pack a day habit of Chesterfields might have something to do with your lung cancer, not retirement?”

“I haven’t smoked in three years. And, Marcy, would you please stop calling me Mr. Flanagan? Call me, Brent. Mr. Flanagan was my father, and he is dead.”

Everyday Brent sat at the picture window. A little bit of life returned when he watched Donny Bowers and Billy Dixon pass his window. They barely noticed him. Always too preoccupied playing, walking, and talking. Brent lived vicariously through these boys.

While walking to Donny’s house from Orville’s Market, Billy glanced over at Mr. Flanagan’s window. Hey, look. That old man is staring at us from the window.

Donny replied, “So, he ain’t hurting no one.”

Billy leaned into Donny and whispered, “You think he’s a perv?”

“No. That is Mr. Flanagan. Mom says he is a nice man. Several years ago, when Mr. Flanagan found out that my dad was in Afghanistan, he offered to help fix things around the house. He said that marines take care of each other.”

When they were down the street out of sight of Mr. Flanagan’s house, Billy said, “How would you like to pull a prank?”

Donny said, “And do what?”

Billy said, “Nothing that would hurt anyone.”

Billy ran around the side of Mr. Flanagan’s house. Donny followed. Billy turned and said in a low voice, “Follow me. It will be fun.”

Billy and Donny ducked under the large picture window then duck-walked over to his porch. Billy rang the doorbell then the boys raced under the window back around to the side of the house. The boys covered their mouths as they snickered.

A moment later, they heard the door squeak open. After hacking and coughing for several seconds, Flanagan gruffly yelled, "I know it is you, boys. I saw you on my security camera. If you don’t stop these shenanigans, I will call the police. Can’t you let an old man have some peace?”

Pranking the man became a daily habit. At first, the tricks irritated Brent. After a day or two, he looked forward to hearing his doorbell ring and learned to enjoy their harmless game. Besides, it broke up his dreary existence.

One day while the boys were around the corner of his house listening for the door, a hand grabbed each boy by the shoulder. “You boys should be ashamed of yourselves. Mr. Flanagan is very ill.”

Donny looked around to see a woman standing behind them. “I am sorry. We didn’t mean any harm. We were having some fun.”

Billy shook the woman’s hand off, “Don’t touch me. Who do you think you are anyway.” Marcy stepped back and eyed both boys, “I am Marcy Whitcomb, Mr. Flanagan’s hospice nurse. Do you think your parents would be happy if I told them that you were harassing a dying man?”

Billy ran off, “You don’t know my name.” He turned his head stuck his tongue out at Marcy. Then he ran to his house two streets away.

Donny didn’t move. “My name is Donny Bowers. I’m sorry. I didn’t know Mr. Flanagan was sick. Mom likes him.”

Shaking her head, Marcy responded, “Do you think you owe Mr. Flanagan an apology?”

Donny shook his head, “Yes, ma'am.”

With Marcy right behind him, Donny went around the house and knocked on the front door. Mr. Flanagan opened the door and smiled down at the boy. “Yes, may I help you.” Donny looked up at Mr. Flanagan then down at his feet, “I am sorry for ringing your doorbell and running away. It won’t happen again.”

Reaching with his gnarled hands, Brent grabbed Donny gently by the chin, “Where is your friend? What’s his name?”

“Oh, you mean Billy Dixon. He ran home.”

“Son, I realize you boys were playing. So, we will let this go.”

Donny walked into the Bower’s home. As was customary, he took his shoes off at the door.

While sitting in his chair, Mr. Bowers scanned the newspaper. “Hey Beth, did you know that Mr. Flanagan will be honored this coming Saturday by Mayor Grumm at the V.F.W.? For a guy who did everything to avoid the draft, Grumm loves to shmooze the vets.”

Beth stuck her head around the corner of the kitchen, “Donny, is that you? Dinner is almost ready. Donny go wash up and please set the table.”

Donny ran up the stairs two steps at a time, “Yes, ma'am.” Washing his hands, he smiled to himself, “Smells like Chicken Divan. Mom’s Chicken Divan is the best.”

“Hun, why is Mr. Flanagan being honored? I hear that Mr. Flanagan is sick and dying of cancer. You know, under that gruff exterior is a tender-hearted man. While you were overseas, I had gone shopping at the Sky-mart shopping center. The temperatures were sub-zero that day. I had come out of the store with Donny and several bags of groceries. The car would not start. Mr. Flanagan jumped the car. When I told him that the marine corp had deployed you to Afghanistan, he made sure I made it home, then purchased and replaced the battery for me. He refused to let me repay him. He said that he and my granddad served together in the Corp. Marines look out for each other.”

Tom Bowers rustled the paper then turned to the continuation page. “WOW! This guy received the Medal of Honor for heroics during the Korean War. That is the highest honor any service member can receive. The paper goes on to say that as Plattsville’s only living Medal of Honor recipient, Brent William Flanagan, 85, will be honored in a ceremony held at V.F.W. Post 816 this Saturday at 2 pm. The ceremony is open to the public.”

Marcy had found out Billy Dixon’s address and contacted Billy’s mother. Billy received two weeks restriction. With his buddy grounded, Donny was bored and lonely.

Donny rifled through his secret hiding place, “Aha, here is my five-dollar bill.” He ran out the door, jumped on his bike, and went to Orville’s Market to restock his candy stash. While passing Old Man Flanagan’s house, Donny heard, “Hey kid!”

Donny turned and saw Mr. Flanagan. With his oxygen bottle in tow and tubes coming out his nose, he leaned against the doorpost. The boy applied the brakes to his bike.

Donny replied, “Mr. Flanagan, since your nurse busted us, we have not rung your doorbell.”

Brent laughed to himself, “Kid if you only knew how mischievous I was when I was your age. Marcy may have overreacted a little.”

Mr. Flanagan pointed to his mailbox. “You are not in trouble. Could you do me a favor and grab my mail and bring it to me? I get winded these days easily, and as you can see, I have to drag this blamed contraption everywhere.”

Donny hesitated for a moment. Mom always told me to never speak to strangers, but since Mr. Flanagan is not a stranger but a sick old man, I guess I can help him.

Donny got off his bike and put the kickstand down. Walking over to the mailbox, he grabbed an armful of mostly junk mail and advertisement papers then carried the bulk to Mr. Flanagan.

Flanagan set the mail on a small table sitting on the porch. He then sat down in a lawn chair, “Thank you, kid. What’s your name?”

Donny stood at the bottom step of the porch, not quite making eye contact with Mr. Flanagan. “Aahhh! Donny, Donny Bowers.”

Brent reached up, scratching his head, “You are Tom and Beth’s boy?”

“Yes, mom said you served with Great-granddaddy in the Kurin War and that you are a big war hero.”

Mr. Flanagan smiled at Donny’s little slip-up, “Yes, your granddaddy and I served together. We were friends. We met for coffee weekly until he passed away.”

Donny looked wide-eyed at Mr. Flanagan, “During wartime, were you scared?”

Mr. Flanagan nodded to another chair. “Have a seat, Donny.”

Donny sat down in the other chair, then reached in his pocket for some bubblegum offering Mr. Flanagan a piece. Brent shook his head, “No, you keep your hard-earned candy.

After clearing his throat for several seconds, “He-eck, yes, I was scared. Anyone who tells you otherwise is a fool.”

Before he could continue, Flanagan started coughing. After spitting and wiping his mouth with a white handkerchief, he said, “Donny, I was a young man trying to come home and bring my buddies with me.”

“Are you lonely, Mr. Flanagan?”

Flanagan thought for a moment then responded, “Sometimes.”

A tear speckled the corner of his eye, “I miss my best friend and partner of over twenty years. After I retired from the Corps, I went to work for the post office. We met while I delivered her mail every day.”

Brent pulled out a white handkerchief then wiped his nose. “She died a few years ago. We never had children of our own.”

During Billy’s absence, Donny visited Mr. Flanagan every afternoon. He had grown to like Mr. Flanagan. He would tell Donny sea stories, “You know marines are tough, right?”

Donny smiled and nodded, “Yeah, granddaddy was a marine, dad was a marine. Grandaddy was tough when he was alive. Dad still is pretty tough.”

Mr. Flanagan continued his story. Well, even the meanest marine can get seasick in rough seas. I remember watching this one big Marine the size of a football lineman. Leaning over the rail, he heaved his guts down the side of the ship.”

Brent started laughing, which turned into a coughing fit. Once he regained his composure, he continued his story. “I knew this one smart as…ellecky sailor who worked in the galley. He was the scrawniest squid I have ever seen. This guy could stand under a clothesline during a rainstorm and stay dry. He walked over to the seasick marine. Staying out of arms-reach of that marine, the sailor lit a cigar and blew that heavy smoke toward the guy. The poor guy looked up at the sailor, then leaned back over and blew more chunks into the sea.”

Mr. Flanagan and Donny laughed hysterically. A bond developed between them over the following days.

The day before Billy came off restriction, Donny rung Mr. Flanagan’s doorbell. He was going to ask if he could bring Billy to meet Mr. Flanagan’s and hear his stories.

Marcy answered the door. Her eyes red as if she had been crying, “Mr. Flanagan is not here. He is gone.”

Donny turned to walk away, “I will come back later when he is home.”

“Donny. Mr. Flanagan will not be back. He is in the hospital but not expected to return home.”

“Wait here a moment.” Marcy stepped back inside. A minute later, she returned with something in her hand.

“He told me to give this to you. He said that you were his best friend in the end. You made him feel more alive in these last few days than he had felt in years.” Marcy then handed Donny Mr. Flanagan’s Medal of Honor.