Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2192168-They-Dote-On-Me
by Paul
Rated: ASR · Short Story · Contest Entry · #2192168
He becomes a hero.
I’m older than sex, but not quite as old as dirt. My wife of 45 years died and I’ve been alone for 6 years. I don’t want to cook for just me so I eat out for every meal. Mostly I frequent a neighborhood place that’s close and everyone knows me.

I tip well so they fight over who gets to serve me. I’m treated like their favorite grampa. They ‘Dote’ on me to the point of embarrassment. I walk in a local park afterwards, usually sitting and watching people. That day an attractive 55, maybe 60, year old woman was sitting at a table across the path from me with a bottle of liquid and a spoon. I’m old, not dead and I still appreciate women.

She picked the bottle up with hands shaking hard enough to rattle it on the table as it lifted and prevent her from grasping the cap hard enough to twist it open. A minute of agonizing, face contorting frustration later it rattled again when she tried to put it back down, tears forming in her eyes as her head drooped.

She gave a sideways glance at me, her lips moved and I know she mouthed, “Please.”

My leap up startled her, 2 sapphire blue eyes widened and she pulled back slightly.

“Please, let me help.”

She nodded and I had the spoon full in seconds, gently cupping her chin, feeding her the liquid. She swallowed several times and, “Two,” was almost inaudible. After the second she put her still shaking head on her arms whispering, “Thank you, you saved my life. Phone an ambulance please, I have a Medical Alert.”

Now I’m the hero-grampa and more dote on me. Several women stop to talk to me now.

Life's getting more interesting.
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