The Scent Of Memory

Scent of Memory 

Milo stared at the silver line of the sleek antique clock for over an hour. He loved this timepiece because seeing it made his heart race, bringing a jolt of excitement. 

Being stuck in a chair all day everyday was tiring. This retirement home living was for the birds. All he could do was ask someone to walk him around the same old park or watch TV. And most days the park was too cold, and the TV shows were too hard to follow for his ninety-year-old brain. But that clock, that clock made him feel special, energetic, and youthful. 

“Hi Dad” rang out as the front door shut.  “How are you today?”

“Uh, yes. I’m good. You are?”  He asked. 

“I’m Michelle. It’s good to see you.” She tried to smile through the tears. “How are you feeling today?”

He stared blankly at the TV. 

“Are you comfortable?” she asked, touching his shoulder. 

“No, I’m sitting here like some kind of recliner jockey! I have a race in 25 minutes, and I want to talk to my pit crew,” Milo yelled, sending Michelle back a step. He struggled to stand up. “Well, if you need to be here, do something and help me outta this darned chair.” 

Michelle grabbed his wheelchair and helped her father up. His trembling hands reached for the handles to support him as he stood. 

“Thank you.” Milo took a moment to look around. “What am I doing?” He asked.
“Maybe you wanted water, Dad. I’ll get it if you like. “
“Yes please, dear. Thank you,” He smiled. “What was your name again?” he asked.

“Michelle.” She helped him back into the recliner before getting a plastic cup of water.  Michelle filled the glass halfway, protecting him from the inevitable spill provided by his shaking hands. Then she stopped a moment. She leaned on the counter, trying to stop the tears. A few ran down her cheeks before she managed to regain her composure. 

“You know.” Milo yelled from the other room. “I’m so bored. Why am I here? And why is Little House on the Prairie on my TV.  Do you know? Is this your favorite show? I don’t like it.” 

“I know Dad, I have asked your nurse Jackie to stop, but she thinks it soothes you.” Michelle took a seat in a chair next to her dad’s forgetting the water in the kitchen.
“I don’t know no Jackie, and I don’t want to watch a bunch of girls fight with that mean blonde person. She’s a brat. How is that relaxing?”  he grumbled, sitting back in his chair. 

“Fair point. I brought some art supplies. I thought you may like to draw.” She pulled colored pencils and a sketch book out of her bag and placed them on the tray in front of him. 

“Harumph! I’m no artsy fartsy guy. I’m a man’s man. I don’t want to draw.” He growled. 

Michelle took the art supplies and stuffed them in her bag. She replaced them with a wedding photo of Milo and his late wife, Elva. Milo stared at the photo while Michelle cued up their wedding song, Only You and You Alone by The Platters.   A little glimmer sparked in his eyes. “You know, I met this woman once. She and I danced to that song. She was lovely. I knew I had to marry her the moment I saw her face. She was my wife for a long time.”

“I know, Dad.” She smiled as he swayed to the music. The song seemed to go by quickly. When it ended, his smile faded and the spark in his eyes extinguished.  She hurriedly restarted the song trying to reignite his memories. Instead, his hands trembled, and his face turned red.

“Where is she? Where is my wife? Get her now. Please bring her here.” He struggled rocking back and forth as his hands grasped the arms of the chair. His face got brighter red and tears welled in his eyes.

“It’s okay, Dad, it’s okay.” Michelle tried to calm him, but Milo just got louder screaming for his wife. 

Jackie came rushing to check on him. Suddenly, Milo seemed forgot about his wife and watched TV. “This old show, huh? I like that Laura girl, she has sass.”  He laughed pointing at the screen. Michelle sat in her chair next to him, sobbing.

Jackie, motioned for Michelle to follow her into the hallway.  

“I’m so sorry. I was just really hoping to talk to my dad today. To hear some of his stories. To tell him I love him and hear him say it back. He was always so warm and loving. I miss him so much,” she wept. “I thought remembering my mom would bring him joy, not panic.”

Jackie placed her hand on Michelle’s shoulder. “He has told me a few stories recently. I’m not sure what triggers it, but he loves to talk about his racing days.”

Michelle nodded and went back into her fathers’ room. She wiped the tears off her face, smearing her makeup. 

“Well hello, pretty lady.” Milo smiled. “What’s your name?” 

“Michelle.” She said patiently, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. She continued to hold his hand even after he began to stare at the mantel. Michelle tried to clean up the messy makeup with her other hand. Finally, she looked up at his face, and saw his eyes sparkling as he stared at the clock. 

“Dad, what are thinking about?” 

Milo didn’t respond, he just grinned and stared. 

“Milo?” she asked.

“Ah yes, that clock over there. It reminds me of something. I like it. It’s round and feels fast.”

Michelle leaned over and dug through her purse.  She grabbed a pair of his old, terrible smelling, driving gloves. She had grabbed them at the last-minute thinking maybe he’d like to see them. 

“I thought you may like to have your driving gloves from the year you won the SCCA Grand Prix Championship series. You won that in your favorite Porsche ever! Remember that gorgeous car?” 

Milo brightened looking into her eyes for the first time today. “Give me those.” Milo reached out snapping up the gloves and pushing them to his face. He inhaled the scent of their memory.  His eyes grew bigger and a deep chuckle escaped his mouth. He held the gloves tightly and turned to Michelle. 

“ I remember it like it was yesterday. The strong rumble that beat in your chest as the cars passed by. It was the founding year of SCCA Series, 1967 and I had my car Gracie. She was a beauty.”  He glowed.

Michelle listened happily to the retelling of her dad’s famous win of the series, being sprayed with champagne, and bringing home the rare trophy. His face filled with joy for about a half an hour, longer than she had seen in almost five years.  When he finished his story, he laid his other hand on hers. “Thank you, my dear. You do know I love you, right?” He winked, showing a moment of clarity. 

“I love you too Dad.” She squeezed her dads’s hand while her heart leapt with joy. She held his hand while he laid back in his chair swaying to the tick of his beloved clock until he fell fast asleep.