He started bringing me things. Not expensive things. He brought me a sneaking contraband cheeseburger wrapped in napkins. He brought me a crossword puzzle book because he saw me staring at the ceiling.
Yesterday, the nurse came in while Marcus was helping me figure out that cursed tablet my son sent.
“Is this your grandson?” she asked, smiling.
I looked at Marcus. He’s young, Black, and cool. I’m old, white, and grumpy. We look nothing alike.
Marcus didn’t hesitate. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m his guy.”
After she left, I had to ask.
“Marcus, why are you doing this? You don’t know me. You could be out with your friends. Why sit with a grumpy old man?”
He looked down at his sneakers.
“My Nana passed last year,” he said quietly. “She was in a place like this. She used to tell me, ‘Marcus, loneliness is the only disease that kills you slow. If you see someone fighting it, you sit down. You stay.’”
He looked up at me. “So I’m staying.”
