The Hero

The air was crisp as they made their way outside. Clear blue skies marred only by the mist caused by their breath. The hotel lobby led into a park, which, if you followed it round, led to the touristy bay front. They had decided tot walk around the park and if they felt up to it maybe into the bay front for some window shopping and people watching. Maybe a cafe where they could watch the ships come and go. Some days were better than others and often they wouldn’t know until they started how long they would last. That was to be expected when you passed eighty and were staring at ninety. She sat in a wheelchair. He could have used a cane or walker, but put off buying either. Pushing the wheelchair helped him keep his balance. Besides, where would he go without her?

The ramp outside the hotel was steeper than she liked. It made her nervous. He clinched his jaw and with great effort he kept control of the chair guiding it safely to the bottom. He kept them there for a moment as he gathered his strength again.

“My hero,” she said and reached back to rub his hand as it griped the handle of her wheelchair.

He started them on their round of the park. His pace measured and slow. He rolled her words over in his mind.

He didn’t feel like her hero. He felt old and frail. It made him angry. She had meant it when she said it, just as she always had. No sarcasm, just an appreciation of his ability to take care of her. She had told him so many times how safe she felt in his arms. But those same arms were frail and weak with extra skin that hung in wrinkles and could be torn like tissue paper. It was a struggle just to get her from a normal chair into the wheelchair, and she was smaller and lighter now than she had ever been. The time in her life when his strength could be serving her most, it was already gone. Used and spent through the years of hard work. His employers had paid him to use up his youth. The money used to raise a family. Kids had grown and moved out long, long ago.Now he had the woman of his dreams all to himself.  But now, when she needed his strength most of all, he had so little.

And she called him her hero.

It wasn’t fair.

He gripped the handles harder as he begrudged all those that had used up his strength leaving him with so little for her. The guilt welled up also. He had felt so strong in his youth. He had been sure that his strength would never fail. He had worked hard, sure that he had an endless supply. Then one day the work was over and and his youth and strength were gone.

He stumbled.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine, fine. Just wasn’t paying attention.”

He focused again on his walking, or shuffling. Whatever it was it wasn’t graceful. It was the best he could do and it was pretty sorry. He made himself concentrate because who knew what would happen if he fell.

Once on that course, his mind continued to dwell on it. What if when he fell he toppled the wheelchair? Even if they didn’t break anything he wouldn’t be able to get her back in her chair by himself. Maybe he would be able to get some help from that group of kids on skateboards. And then she wouldn’t call him her hero anymore. Heroes don’t need help picking up their lady. Heroes don’t let kids who can’t even shave do it for them.

They reached the far side of the park.

“Would you like to go look at some ships?”

“No,” she said. “I am not up to it today. Let’s go back and drink some hot tea. Maybe watch some boats sail by the hotel.”

“Okay.”

He suspected that she really was fine. That she had heard the quavering in his voice and decided to spare him. She was so good to him. She deserved all the strength he had left. She deserved a better hero than him. He knew that. However, he still had to do his best. He focused on the path and concentrated on his walking shuffle.

Doing his best, because that is what heroes do.