Clarence The Stubborn

It was cold. What was he doing in here anyway he couldn't recall? He must have been asleep. He was always the kind of person who could fall asleep anywhere, but this, this was ridiculous. He was reclining on a hard mahogany bench. The wood was highly polished and if he had wanted too he knew he could probably see his reflection in its sheen rather easily. Where were his shoes? He was all decked out in a dark blue suit, with a crisp white shirt and ox-blood red tie. But what he couldn't understand was why he was barefoot? He rose up slightly and looked about the small room, but he didn't see his shoes.
His whole body ached with the effort of his movement. His limbs felt strangely rigid and his joints resisted such physical efforts. The suit coat he was wearing fit him rather loosely. In fact it felt as if it was merely draped over his shoulders. He sat up and took a measured look at the room. If wasn't very spacious. There was a small table across from him that matched the bench he was on. It held a soft blue vase full of white roses. Just a couple of feet above the vase a small rectangular mirror hung on the soft wheat-colored wall. On the opposite wall just above his head was a painting of the ocean surf pounding some jagged rocks along what appeared to be some remote New England coast. Then he noticed two more such landscapes on the other walls. The one to his left held a scene right out of the eighteenth century. A blacksmith toiled over his anvil pounding a piece of metal he had just taken from the forge. The metal is fiery hot as it shines forth from the canvas. Meanwhile his two children, a boy and girl who look like clothed cherubs tease a family of ducks that swim in the pond, which moves on into the canvas beyond the children. There were several chestnut and oak trees in the scene full of autumn colors.
On the wall to his right was a painting of a mountain peak that was shrouded by snow. A forest stood before it and stretched up its face like an army intent on overcoming it. Harsh looking dark clouds hovered over it all with a promise of yet more snow.
There were also several chairs strategically placed about the room. He wondered if anyone who may have been in there prior to himself had been better able to discern their reason for occupying the room. There was nothing in the place that would give him any hint as to where he was.
He rubbed his head as if trying to power his memory banks. He hugged himself. He was very cold. His skin felt equally cold. He looked about again. He then managed to stand up despite his physical limitations. The soft blue carpet felt good on his feet. Where was he, what was he doing in here? He looked in the mirror but all he could see was some pale reflection, which he frankly didn't recognize as himself. He tried turning his back to it and look over his shoulder to determine why his clothes were so ill-fitting. But the mirror was to high up for him to see any of his back as well as the difficulty he had trying to turn his neck, which now seemed even stiffer than it did upon his coming to.
There was a door on the wall to his right. He was scared now however and was reluctant to go to it for fear of what he might discover beyond it. Something was very wrong here and he was concerned at what might await him behind that plain brown door.
Now he thought he heard the sound of music. It was coming from beyond the door. He edged up toward the door. He looked down at the shiny knob. He almost turned it, but decided not to still leery of what may be out there. He bent forward and put his left ear flush with the barrier. It was music alright, solemn organ music.
He turned around and looked about the room once more. Was he in a church? This looked like some ante-room one might find in a church. But the truth was he never was one to attend church.

Looking down he noticed he had a boutonniere pinned to his lapel. Was he at a wedding or perhaps a funeral? Maybe he was suffering the early effects of senility. He hated to admit it, but it seemed likely that might be the case.
Trying hard he remembered his father from many years ago. Well at least it seemed his long term memory was intact. And that was just the way his dad had been. It was amazing how he could remember the most intimate details of his life forty, fifty years in the past and in the next instant forget where in the hell he was. It seemed he had inherited more than he had bargained for from the old man.
What kind of music was that? He stuck his head to the door again. He couldn't hear much of it, but enough to know that this music was much to somber to be celebrating an eminent union--a funeral maybe? He'd had enough, he was going to go through the door and find out where the hell he was. He grabbed the knob and turned it, but it would not open.
It was locked for some reason. Why in the hell was it locked? Had he been calculating it all wrong? Was he somebody's prisoner? That too made no sense whatsoever. He could think of no one who would have a reason to hold him against his will. But then again he couldn't recall very much and therefore someone may have a reason he was quiet unaware of. He now took hold of the knob and twisted it with both hands and began to yank like crazy.
That proved to be useless also. Now he began to push--and then to press his shoulder against it. Nothing happened. "Open this door!" He demanded of his unseen captors. He tried the knob once more--then he began to kick at the base of it with his bare feet.

Beyond the door two men stood and whispered to each other in a very animated fashion. "Why won't he cooperate?" The older man asked. "I don't know, but will you listen to him--listen to that noise he's making? And he keeps wandering off--I don't understand it--I've never seen anything like it --how is it possible? In the future sir I would appreciate it if you folks took your business elsewhere!" The younger man said harshly. "Believe me Mr. Drayton we had no idea this would happen--I'm frankly at a loss. But you have to understand Clarence has always been a very obstinate man ." "I should say! Well what do I do? We can't proceed unless he cooperates." Drayton said and then pausing as if in deep thought. "Perhaps if you brought his wife back here she could reason with him?" He now proposed.
"No--no--no! She's very fragile right now Mr. Drayton--what do you think would happen if she saw him like that?" The older man asked.
"I don't know." Drayton acknowledged.
"Well I do, you'd have another customer on your hands is what!" "Then you must do something." Said Drayton. "Give me the darn key to the room then--I'm his brother, maybe I can talk some sense into him. Heck he's always been like this. You know what we used to call him when we were kids?" "No sir I can't imagine." Drayton said in a tone that showed that his impatience was mounting.
"Clarence the Stubborn." The older man said his face betraying a humorous albeit embarrassed smile. "That seems very appropriate in light of this, but sir we have to get this show on the road--I have three more clients to attend to before this day is over." Drayton told him. "Okay--okay Drayton just give me the freaking key and I'll talk to him!"
The younger man handed him the key to the room and walked away. The older man now went up to the door and inserted the key into the lock. Clarence was startled to hear someone manipulating the lock. He moved back anxiously, fearful at whom it might be. If he was someone's prisoner he vowed that he was going to fight it out with them despite his years and the awful way he felt. He might not succeed, but he was going to try anyway. If he didn't succeed he was going to at least turn up the heat for them.
He recognized the person right off, but their name did not register with him immediately. He relaxed somewhat when he saw a gentle reassuring smile on the man's face. "Hey Clarence." The man said as he pocketed the key to the door. "I know you--I know you, but--but for some reason it's just not coming through right now." He said to the man who seemed to be dressed in his finest attire. His suit was dark blue like the one he was wearing, but his coat seemed to fit him much better. He rolled his shoulders once more because it seemed his own coat was still riding down and refused to stay on him. It felt almost as if he was wearing a smock instead of a suit coat.
"Of course you know me Clarence--it's me your brother Sid remember?"
Clarence placed his hand onto his bald pate once again. He raced his palms across his scalp as if he was trying to generate some force inside his head as if trying to clear the cobwebs.
"Yeah--yeah--Sid--you're my brother--my baby brother Sid!" He said with some enthusiasm as the memory of his brother slowly took shape in his mind.
After a moment or two his whole life experience with his younger brother made itself known to him. His face turned sour now. "Look Sid--what in the hell am I doing here? And I would also like to know why that door is locked. I won't stand for this! I won't be locked into some room simply because I've lost my shoes!" He yelled.
"Clarence please, please hold it down or someone will hear you?" Sid pleaded with him. Clarence sat back on the bench then. "It's just that I don't understand this Sid." He now said. His brother frowned then and placed his hands over his face as if he was very frustrated as well as hiding something. "What--what is it Sid?" Clarence asked him upon seeing how upset he was.
Sid turned back around. "Clarence you didn't have shoes, they had to lock the door to keep you from wandering off." Sid said. "No shoes--wandering off--Sid what in the hell are you talking about? I wouldn't go anywhere dressed up like this without wearing any damn shoes on my feet! And I reiterate I will not be locked up!" Clarence declared once more.
Sid put out his hands as if trying to push his words back at him. "Please Clarence hold it down--we don't want anybody out there coming in here and finding you like this, especially not Edith!" Sid said with a hint of anxiousness.

That was a name Clarence recognized instantly. Edith was his wife of forty years. "Edith--Edith is here--good--good get her in here I want to know where in the hell I'm at!" Clarence demanded. "Please--please Clarence keep it down, this is way to embarrassing as it is." Sid bade him to soften his speech. "Well I am sure sorry little brother, but you sure don't expect me to stand for this do you?" Sid did not reply, instead he looked away in renewed frustration. "Well do you?" Clarence repeated the question. Sid turned back to him his face coursing with anger. "Why have yo always been such a pain in the ass and so damn stubborn Clarence? You know over the years I've tried to overlook your insolence, but today it simply won't do!" He growled. "And why not might I ask?" Clarence asked snidely. "You don't have on any shoes man--that damn coat is about to fall off your back!" Sid began. "Yeah--that's another thing that's irritating the hell out of me! Where in the hell did it come from?" Clarence asked as he reached around behind him seemingly trying to discover why it fit as badly as it did.
He didn't have to search long it soon became apparent that the coat was split down the middle of his back; that it felt like a smock because in essence that is exactly what it was. And soon he realized that the shirt was in the very same condition and felt like it fit him alright due to the fact that the coat held it on him to a greater degree. But the coat had nothing, which would make it fit him more comfortably. "What kind of suit and shirt is this--the damn things are torn?" Clarence said astonished by it all. Sid shook his head once more and had a seat on the chair closest to the door. He looked down as if he was trying to collect his thoughts. Momentarily he looked up at his brother. "Try and remember Clarence, try and remember?"
"What--remember what?" "Why a shirt and a coat would be made that way--do you hear me Clarence? They were made that way. Who would need to wear a coat and a shirt like that Clarence--and not have on any shoes?" Sid now asked him. Clarence rubbed his chin and looked up. "Well now the only reason I can think anyone would be wearing anything like this is if they aren't really going anywhere and if that is the case they ain't going to be doing any walking either and so wouldn't have any need for shoes. But the only people like that would have to be dead. But that's foolish because I'm not dead." He laughed with a hint of nervousness. He now looked at his brother inquisitively. "You're not telling me I'm dead are you Sid--I wouldn't like that, I wouldn't like that one bit!" Clarence told him.
Sid was shaking his head now, shaking it in a manner of recognition. "Tell me Clarence why do you think you have on those worthless clothes and no shoes at all--why do you think the door was locked?" "I have no idea!" Clarence quickly answered. "The door was locked because Mr. Drayton says you've been wandering off all morning. They had to put you in here before you managed to get up yet again and go outside and scare the bejesus out of someone!" Sid said with exasperation. "Scare somebody--why would I scare someone Sid?" Clarence asked condescendingly.
"Because you're dead damn it!" Sid almost screamed.

Outside the room Drayton was startled to the nth degree. What in the hell was going on in there--what in the hell was with these people? Sid frowned now. "What was it you hated to go to more than anything else in the world Clarence--remember. Clarence--funerals--funerals---funerals damn it! Remember how you hated funerals so much that you refused to go to any! Remember you wouldn't ever go to mamma and daddy's funeral--said they'd understand? And remember how you use to tell me you would never go to one no matter who it was that died?"
Clarence began to cry now, it was all coming back to him, the sickness, the doctors, the hospital and Edith, dear Edith's tears as he wasted away. And he remembered how he had just tried to ignore it all. He would never surrender to it. And he conducted himself as if nothing was wrong. And that was his frame of mind as he slipped into a coma, as his respiratory system and his organs failed him. He held his head high on the pillow always insisting that they keep his hospital bed cranked up to eye level of whoever might be there to visit him. And that was his frame of mind to the end. He was just not going! "Well you were wrong when you said that Clarence." Sid was saying. "Because you can't get around it, going to this one--because it's your's. You're dead Clarence, you're flat out dead--no two ways about it, dead as the proverbial door nail!" he continued as if scolding him.
Clarence was by now hiding his face in his hands. He was crying softly. Briefly he looked up at his brother. "What'll I do Sid?' He asked softly. Sid took a conciliatory approach now. "I want you to do me a favor. I want you to go in the back with me and get into that freaking coffin Mr. Drayton has prepared for you and I want you to stay in it--no more wandering off--we don't want dear Edith seeing you acting this way now do we?"
Clarence rubbed his face, there were not tears there for his body could no longer produce such moisture. Now he tried to compose himself. "Acting--what way Sid?" he asked.
"Like Clarence the Stubborn what else?" Sid said.

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