For the wife of Augustus Reynolds
Even when the light fades, the love remains.
Even when the light fades, the love remains.
He looked down at her, and she smiled when she saw him. He had not seen her in months. These moments of lucidity came less frequently, and he feared they had disappeared.
Her eyes clear, she smiled: “I know you.”
He nodded, “I know you too.”
“You’re still here.”
“I will never leave you.”
Before he could finish, she had slipped away again, and he sighed.
Walking over to the player, he queued up Brahms Symphony #4, and pressed play.
He walked back and sat down next to her bed. Grabbing her hand, he decided to tell their story one more time.
As she stared vacantly at the ceiling, he told her they met over 55 years ago when they were kids. She had walked up to him at the bus stop and said, “Hey, I know you.”
She didn’t, but he played along just the same. He told her how he was immediately smitten with her.
He then told her about how they had dated as teenagers. He squeezed her hand a little tighter as he told her about how she broke up with him because she thought he was too jealous. He admitted that she was right, as usual.
“You were right. You were always right.”
He reminded her about his meandering through his life, taking lover after lover while she settled down and got married. Twice. As it always did when he got to this part, his voice broke when he said he had never stopped loving her.
The nurse, Barbara, popped her head into the room: “Everything alright in here?”
“Yea. Just going over it all again.”
“I bet she likes that.”
He thought about that, and by the time he replied, “I hope so,” Barbara had left.
He reminded her how often they would talk over the years. Infrequently, and always as friends …but it was just frequently enough to keep his feelings for her alive.
He let go of her hand as he got up to get some ice chips to wet her dry lips. Walking to the ice bucket, he told her that it was Brahms, who ultimately built the bridge that brought them together.
While their timing was never right, that night at Symphony Space on the Upper West Side seeing Brahms’s Symphony #4 was just as much coincidence as it was luck. He told her again how he knew this was his last opportunity.
Walking back to her side, he noticed that she was looking at him. He stopped as he noticed and that looked like she was struggling …for something. While he wanted to believe it was her struggling to recognize him, the doctors told him that it meant nothing.
So, he carried on and re-told the story about that drunken night after the concert when he finally told her that he still loved her, and how she had called “bullshit” on him.
It would take that night in her hotel room to convince her.
He sat, and picked an ice cube up and lightly began rubbing her lips. He reminded her playfully how that night they used ice to rub elsewhere.
As he rubbed her lips, one lonely teardrop appeared out of the corner of her eye and slid down her cheek. All he could say was the same thing he always said: “I love you so much.”
He sat, looking at her as she stared at the ceiling. He looked at her wet lips wanting desperately to kiss them one more time. He knew these were the last lips he would ever desire, and the last lips he would ever touch.
She turned towards his voice as he reminded her of the rough start they had. And how it had lasted only a short time. It was just two grown people sorting it out.
He told her of the life they eventually built, of the trips, of the dogs, of the art. She continued looking at him with that single teardrop being his only sign of recognition …for which it wasn’t.
He told her how she had once left him. He told her that whether she came back or not, he was fortunate to have had her at all. But when she returned, he reminded her that he never asked …and that she never told.
They both had their secrets. Every love affair does.
He told her that she made him want to be a better man. That what he wanted more than anything in life was to earn her love, be worthy of it, and to hold on to it.
She looked back to the ceiling when he told her how she inspired and drove him. He reminded her that whatever success he had was only because of her. He told her he needed her more than anything …or anyone.
He squeezed her hand so tight he thought it might break, as he pleaded with her not to leave. To come back to him. To stay. He told her how he wasn’t done yet. They couldn’t be done yet.
He sat a few minutes longer before releasing her hand, and getting up to leave.
She came back and turned to smile at him.
Her eyes clear, she smiled: “I know you.”
He nodded, “I know you too.”
“You’re still here.”
“I will never leave you.”