Noah
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I put the pages aside and remember sitting with Allie on our porch when she read this letter for the first time. It was late afternoon, with red streaks cutting the summer sky, and the last remnants of the day were fading. The sky was slowly ging color, and as I was watg the sun go down, I remember thinking about that brief, flickering moment when day suddenly turns into night.Dusk, I realized then, is just an illusion, because the sun is either above the horizon or below it. And<tt>９9ｌｉb?t> that means that day and night are linked in a way that few things are; there ot be ohout the other, yet they ot exist at the same time.
How would it feel, I remember w, to be always together, yet forever apart?
Looking back, I find it ironic that she chose to read the letter at the exaent that question popped into my head. It is ironic, of course, because I know the answer now. I know what its like to be day and night now; always together, forever apart.
There is beauty where we sit this afternoon, Allie and I. This is the pinnay life. They are here at the creek: the birds, the geese, my friends. Their bodies float on the cool water, which reflects bits and pieces of their colors and make them seem larger than they really are. Allie too is taken in by their wonder, and little by little we get to know each ain.
"Its good to talk to you. I find that I miss it, eve hashat long."
I am sincere and she knows this, but she is still wary. I am a stranger.
"Is this something we do often?" <cite>?9９ｌib.</cite>she asks. "Do we sit here and watch the birds a lot? I mean, do we know each other well?"
"Yes and no. I think everyone has secrets, but we have been acquainted for years."
She looks to her hands, then mine. She thinks about this for a moment, her face at su ahat she looks young again. We do not wear s. Again, there is a reason for this. She asks: "Were you ever married?"
I nod "Yes."
"What was she like?"
I tell the truth.
"She was my dream. She made me who I am, and holding her in my arms was more natural to me than my owbeat. I think about her all the time. Even now, when Im sitting here, I think about her. There could never have been another.
She takes this in. I dont know how she feels about this. Finally she speaks softly, her voigelic, sensual. I wonder if she knows I think these things.
"Is she dead?"
What is death? I wonder, but I do not say this. Instead I answer, "My wife is alive in my heart. And she always will be."
"You still love her, dont you?"
"Of course. But I love many things. I love to sit here with you. I love to share the beauty of this place with someone I care about. I love to watch the osprey swoop toward the creek and find its dinner."
She is quiet for a moment. She looks away so I t see her face. It has been her habit for years.
"Why are you doing this?"
No fear, just curiosity. This is good. I know what she means, but I ask anyway. "What?"
"Why are you spending the day with me?"
I smile. "Im here because this is where Im supposed to be. Its not plicated. Both you and I are enjoying ourselves. Dont dismiss my time with you - its not wasted. Its what I want. I sit here aalk and I think to myself, what could be better than what I am doing now?"
She looks me in the eyes, and for a moment, just a moment, her eyes twinkle. A slight smile forms on her lips.
"I like being with you, but if gettirigued is what youre after, youve succeeded. I admit I enjoy your pany, but I know nothing about you. I dont expect you to tell me your life story, but why are you so mysterious?"
"I read ohat women love mysterious strangers."
"See, you havent really answered the question. You havent answered most of my questions. You didnt even tell me how the story ehis m."
I shrug. We sit quietly for a while. Finally I ask: "Is it true?"
"Is what true?"
"That women love mysterious strangers?”
She thinks about this and laughs. Then she answers as I would: "I think some women do."
"Do you?"
"Now dont go putting me on the spot. I dont know you well enough for that."
She is teasing me, and I enjoy it. We sit silently and watch the world around us. This has taken us a lifetime to learn.
It seems only the old are able to sit o one another and not say anything and still feel tent. The young, brash and impatient, must always break the silence.
It is a waste, for silence is pure. Silence is holy. It draws people together because only those who are fortable with each other sit without speaking. This is the great paradox.
Time passes, and gradually our breathing begins to cide just as it did this m.
Deep breaths, relaxed breaths, and there is a moment when she dozes off, like those fortable with one another often do. I wonder if the young are capable of enjoying this. Finally, when she wakes, a miracle.
"Do you see that bird?" She points to it, and I strain my eyes. It is a wonder I see it, but I because the sun is bright. I point, too.
"Caspian stern," I say softly, and we devote our attention to it and stare as it glides over Brices Creek. And, like an old habit rediscovered, when I lower my arm, I put my hand on her knee and she doesnt make me move it.
She is right about my evasiveness. On days like these, when only her memory is gone, I am vague in my answers because Ive hurt my wife uionally with careless slips of my tongue many times these past few years, and I am determined not to let it happen again. So I limit myself and answer only what is asked, sometimes not too well, and I volunteer nothing.
This is a split decision, both good and bad, but necessary, for with knowledge es pain. To limit the pain I limit my answers. There are days she never learns of her children or that we are married. I am sorry for this, but I will not ge.
Does this make me disho? Perhaps, but I have seen her crushed by the waterfall of information that is her life. Could I look myself in the mirror without red eyes and quivering jaw and know I have fotten all that was important to me? I could not aher she, for when this odyssey began, this is how I began. Her life, her marriage, her children. Her friends and her work. Questions and answers in the game show format of This Is Your Life.
The days were hard on both of us. I was an encyclopedia, an object without feeling, of the whos, whats and wheres in her life, when iy it is the whys, the things I did not know and could not ahat make it all worthwhile. She would stare at pictures of fotten offspring, hold paintbrushes that inspired nothing, and read love letters that brought bao joy. She would weakehe hrowing paler, being bitter, and ending the day worse tha began. Our days were lost, and so was she. And selfishly, so was I.
So I ged. I became Magellan or bus, an explorer in the mysteries of the mind, and I learned, bumbling and slow, but learning heless what had to be done. And I learned what is obvious to a child. That life is simply a colle of little lives, each lived one day at a time. That each day should be spent findiy in flowers and poetry and talking to animals. That a day spent with dreaming and sus and refreshing breezes ot be bettered. But most of all, I learhat life is about sitting on benches o a creeks with my hand on her knee and sometimes, on good days, for falling in love.
"What are you thinking?" she asks.
It is now dusk. We have left our bend are shuffling along lighted paths that wind their way around this plex. She is holding my arm, and I am her escort. It is her idea to do this. Perhaps she is charmed by me. Perhaps she wants to keep me from falliher way, I am smiling to myself.
"Im thinking about you."
She makes no respoo this except to squeeze my arm, and I tell she likes what I said. Our life together has enabled me to see the clues, even if she does not know them herself.
I go on: "I know you t remember who you are, but I , and I find that when I look at you, it makes me feel good."
She taps my arm and smiles. "Youre a kind man with a lovi. I hope I enjoyed you as much before as I do now."
We walk some more. Finally she says, "I have to tell you something."
"Go ahead."
"I think I have an admirer."
"An admirer?"
"I see."
"You dont believe me?"
"I believe you."
"You should."
"Why?"
"Because I think it is you."
I think about this as we walk in silence, holding each other, past the rooms, past the courtyard. We e to the garden, mainly wildflowers, and I stop her. I pick a bundle, red, pink, yellow, violet. I give them to her, and she brings them to her nose. She smells them with eyes closed and she whispers, "Theyre beautiful."
We resume our walk, me in one hand, the flowers in another. People watch us, for we are a walking miracle, or so I am told. It is true in a way, though most times I do not feel lucky.
"You think its me?" I finally ask.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I have found what you have hidden."
"What?"
"This," she says, handing a small slip of paper to me. "I found it under my pillow."
I read it, and it says:
The body slows with mortal ache,
Yet my promise remains true at the closing of our days,
A teouch that ends with a kiss
Will awaken love in joyous ways.
"Are there more?" I ask.
"I found this in the pocket of my coat."
Our souls were one,
If you must know and never shall they be apart;
With splendid dawn, your face aglow
I reach for you and find my heart.
"I see," and that is all I say.
We walk as the sun sinks lower in the sky. In time, silver twilight is the only remainder of the day, and still we talk of the poetry. She is enthralled by the romance.
By the time we reach the doorway, I am tired. She knows this, so she stops me with her hand and makes me face her. I do and I realize how hunched over I have bee.
She and I are now level. Sometimes I am glad she doesnt know how much I have ged.
She turns to me and stares for a long time.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"I dont want tet you or this day, and Im trying to keep your memory alive."
Will it work this time? I wohen know it will not. It t. I do not tell her my thoughts, though. I smile instead because her words are sweet.
"Thank you," I say.
"I mean it. I dont want tet you again. Youre very special to me. I dont know what I would have dohout you today."
My throat closes a little. There is emotion behind her words, the emotions I feel whenever I think of her. I know this is why I live, and I love her dearly at this moment. How I wish I were strong enough to carry her in my arms to paradise.
"Dont try to say anything," she tells me. "Lets just feel the moment."
And I do, and I feel heaven.
Her disease is worse now than it was in the beginning, though Allie is different from most. There are three others with the disease here, and these three are the sum of my practical experieh it. They, unlike Allie, are in the most advaages of Alzheimers and are almost pletely lost. They wake up halluating and fused. They repeat themselves over and over. Two of the three t feed themselves and will die soon. The third has a tendency to wander a lost. She was found on a strangers car a quarter mile away. Sihen she has been strapped to the bed. All be very bitter at times, and at other times they be like lost children, sad and alone. Seldom do they reize the staff or people who love them. It is a trying disease, and this is why it is hard for their children and mio visit.
Allie, of course, has her own problems, too, problems that will probably grow worse over time. She is terribly afraid in the ms and cries insolably. She sees tiny people, like gnomes, I think, watg her, and she screams at them to get away.
She bathes willingly but will regularly. She is thin now, much too thin, in my opinion, and on good days I do my best to fatten her up.
But this is where the similarity ends. This is why Allie is sidered a miracle, because sometimes, just sometimes, after I read to her, her dition isnt so bad.
There is no explanation for this. "Its impossible," the doctors say. "She must not have Alzheimers." But she does. On most days and every m there be no doubt. On this there is agreement.
But why, then, is her dition different? Why does she sometimes ge after I read? I tell the doctors the reason - I know it in my heart, but I am not believed.
Ihey look to sce. Four times specialists have traveled from Chapel Hill to find the answer. Four times they have left without uanding.
I tell them, "You t possibly uand it if you use only your training and your books," but they shake their heads and answer: "Alzheimers does not work like this. With her dition, its just not possible to have a versation or improve as the day goes on. Ever."
But she does. Not every day, not most of the time, and definitely less than she used to. But sometimes. And all that is gone on these days is her memory, as if she has amnesia. But her emotions are normal, her thoughts are normal. And these are the days that I know I am doing right.
Dinner is waiting in her room wheurn. It has been arranged for us to eat here, as it always is on days like these, and once again I could ask for no more.
The people here take care of everything. They are good to me, and I am thankful.
The lights are dimmed, the room is lit by two dles oable where we will sit, and music is playing softly in the background. The cups and plates are plastid the carafe (glass bottle) is filled with apple juice, but rules are rules and she doeso care. She inhales slightly at the sight. Her eyes are wide.
"Did you do this?"
I nod and she walks in the room.
"It looks beautiful."
I offer my arm in escort and lead her to the window. She doesnt release it whe there.
Her touch is nice, aand close together on this crystal springtime evening. The window is open slightly, and I feel a breeze as it fans my cheek. The moon has risen, ach for a long time as the evening sky unfolds.
"Ive never seen anything so beautiful, Im sure of it," she says, and I agree with her.
"I haveher," I say, but I am looking at her. She knows what I mean, and I see her smile. A moment later she whispers:
"I think I know who Allie went with at the end of the story," she says.
"You do?"
"Who?"
"She went with Noah."
"Youre sure?"
"Absolutely."
I smile and nod. "Yes, she did," I say softly, and she smiles back. Her face is radiant.
I pull out her chair with some effort. She sits and I sit opposite her. She offers her hand across the table, and I take it in mine, and I feel her thumb begin to move as it did so many years ago. Without speaking, I stare at her for a long time, living and reliving the moments of my life, remembering it all and making it real. I feel my throat begin to tighten, and once again I realize how much I love her. My voice is shaky when I finally speak.
"Youre so beautiful," I say. I see in her eyes that she knows how I feet about her and what I really mean by my words.
She does not respond. Instead she lowers her eyes and I wonder what shes thinking.
She gives me no clues, and I gently squeeze her hand. I wait. With all my dreams, I know her heart, and I know Im almost there.
And then, a miracle that proves me right.
As Glenn Miller plays softly in a dlelit room, I watch as she gradually gives in to the feelings inside her. I see a warm smile begin to form on her lips, the kind that makes it all worthwhile, and I watch as she raises her hazy eyes to mine.
She pulls my hand toward her.
"Youre wonderful...," she says softly, trailing off, and at that moment she falls in love with me, too; this I know, for I have seen the signs a thousand times.
She says nothing else right away, she doesnt have to, and she gives me a look from another lifetime that makes me whole again. I smile back, with as much passion as I muster, aare at each other with the feelings inside us rolling like o waves. I look around the room, then up to the ceiling, then back at Allie, and the way shes looking at me makes me warm. And suddenly I feel young again. Im no longer cold or ag, or hunched over or deformed, or almost blind with cataractal eyes.
Im strong and proud, and the luckiest man alive, and I keep on feeling that way for a long time across the table.
By the time the dles have burned down a third, I am ready to break the silence.
I say, "I love you deeply, and I hope you know that."
"Of course I do," she says breathlessly. "Ive always loved you, Noah."
Noah, I hear again. Noah. The word echoes in my head. Noah... Noah. She knows, I think to myself, she knows who I am ...
She knows ...
Such a tiny thing, this knowledge, but for me it is a gift from God, and I feel our lifetime together, holding her, loving her, and being with her through the best years of my life.
She murmurs, "Noah... my sweet Noah..." And I, who could not accept the doctors words, have triumphed again, at least for a moment. I give up the pretense of mystery, and I kiss her hand and bring it to my cheek and whisper in her ear. I say:
"You are the greatest thing that has ever happeo me."
"Oh . . . Noah," she says with tears in her eyes, "I love you, too."
If only it would end like this, I would be a happy man.
But it wont. Of this Im sure, for as time slips by, I begin to see the signs of in her face.
"Whats wrong?" I ask, and her answer es softly.
"Im so afraid. Im afraid of fetting you again. It isnt fair... I just t bear to give this up."
Her voice breaks as she finishes, but I dont know what to say. I know the evening is ing to an end, and there is nothing I do to stop the iable. In this I am a failure. I finally tell her:
"Ill never leave you. What we have is forever."
She knows this is all I do, for her of us way promises. But I tell by the way she is looking at me that once again she wishes there were more.
The crickets serenade us, and we begin to pick at our dinner. her one of us is hungry, but I lead by example and she follows me. She takes small bites and chews a long time, but I am glad to see her eat. She has lost too much weight in the past three months.
After dinner, I bee afraid despite myself. I know I should be joyous, for this reunion is the proof that love still be ours, but I know the bell has tolled this evening. The sun has long si and the thief is about to e, and there is nothing I do to stop it. So I stare at her and wait and live a lifetime in these last remaining moments.
Nothing.
The clock ticks. Nothing.
I take her in my arms and we hold each other. Nothing.
I feel her tremble and I whisper in her ear. Nothing.
I tell her for the last time this evening that I love her.
And the thief es.
It always amazes me how quickly it happens. Even now, after all this time. For as she holds me, she begins to blink rapidly and shake her head. Then, turning toward the er of the room, she stares for a long time, etched on her face.
No! My mind screams. Not yet! Not now... not when were so close! Not tonight! Any night but tonight... Please!
The words are inside me.
I t take it again! It isnt fair.., it isnt fair... But once again, it is to no avail.
"Those people," she finally says, pointing, "are staring at me. Please make them stop." The gnomes.
A pit rises in my stomach, hard and full. My breathing stops for a moment, then starts again, this time shallower. My mouth goes dry, and I feel my heart pounding. It is over, I know, and I am right. The sundowning has e. This, the evening fusion associated with Alzheimers disease that affects my wife, is the hardest part of all. For when it es, she is gone, and sometimes I wonder whether she and I will ever love again.
"Theres no ohere, Allie," I say, trying to fend off the iable. She doesnt believe me. "Theyre staring at me."
"No," I whisper while shaking my head.
"You t see them?"
"No," I say, and she thinks for a moment.
"Well, theyre right there," she says, pushing me away, "and theyre staring at me."
With that, she begins to talk to herself, and moments later, when I try to fort her, she flinches with wide eyes.
"Who are you?" she cries with pani her voice, her face being whiter. "What are you doing here?"
There is fear growing inside her, and I hurt, for there is nothing I do. She moves farther from me, bag away, her hands in a defensive position, and then she says the most heartbreaking words of all.
"Go away! Stay away from me!" she screams. She is pushing the gnomes away from her, terrified, now oblivious of my presence.
I stand and cross the room to her bed. I am weak now, my legs ache, and there is a strange pain in my side. I dont know where it es from. It is a struggle to press the button to call the nurses, for my fingers are throbbing and seem frozen together, but I finally succeed. They will be here soon now, I know, and I wait for them. While I wait, I stare at my wife.
Twenty... Thirty seds pass, and I tio stare, my eyes missing nothing, remembering the moments we just shared together. But in all that time she does not look back, and I am haunted by the visions of her struggling with unseen enemies.
I sit by the bedside with an ag bad start to cry as I pick up the notebook.
Allie does not notice. I uand, for her mind is gone.
A couple of pages fall to the floor, and I bend over to pick them up. I am tired now, so I sit, alone and apart from my wife.
And when the nurses e in they see two people they must fort. A woman shaking in fear from demons in her mind, and the old man who loves her more deeply than life itself, g softly in the er, his fa his hands.
I spend the rest of the evening alone in my room. My door is partially open and I see people walk by, some strangers, some friends, and if I trate, I hear them talking about families, jobs, and visits to parks. Ordinary versations, nothing more, but I find that I envy them and the ease of their unication. Another deadly sin, I know, but sometimes I t help it.
Dr. Barnwell is here, too, speaking with one of the nurses, and I wonder who is ill enough to warrant such a visit at this hour. He works too much, I tell him. Spend the time with your family, I say, they wont be around forever. But he doesnt listen to me.
He cares for his patients, he says, and must e here when called. He says he has no choice, but this makes him a man torn by tradi. He wants to be a doctor pletely devoted to his patients and a man pletely devoted to his family. He ot be both, for there arent enough hours, but he has yet to learn this. I wonder, as his voice fades into the background, which he will choose or whether, sadly, the choice will be made for him.
I sit by the window in an easy chair and I think about today. It was happy and sad, wonderful a-wreng. My flig emotions keep me silent for many hours.
I did not read to ahis evening; I could not, for poetitrospe would brio tears. In time, the hallways bee quiet except for the footfalls of evening soldiers. At eleven oclock I hear the familiar sounds that for some reason I expected. The footsteps I know so well.
Dr. Barnwell peeks in.
"I noticed yht was on. Do you mind if I e in?"
"No," I say, shaking my head.
He es in and looks around the room before taking a seat a few feet from me.
"I hear," he says, "you had a good day with Allie." He smiles. He is intrigued by us and the relationship we have. I do not know if his i is entirely professional.
"I suppose so."
He cocks his head at my answer and looks at me. "You okay, Noah? You look a little down."
"Im fine. Just a little tired."
"How was Allie today?"
"She was okay. We talked for almost four hours."
"Four hours? Noah, thats… incredible."
I only nod. He goes on, shaking his head. "Ive never seen anything like it, or even heard about it. I guess thats what love is all about. You two were meant for each other. She must love you very much. You know that, dont you?"
"I know," I say, but I t say anything more.
"Whats really b you, Noah? Did Allie say or do something that hurt your feelings?
"No. She was wonderful, actually. Its just that right now I feel.., alone."
"Alone? Nobodys alone."
"Im alone," I say as I look at my watd think of his family sleeping in a quiet house, the place he should be, "and so are you."
The feassed without significe. Allie was unize me at any time, and I admit my attention waned now and then, for most of my thoughts were of the day we had just spent. Though the end always es too soon, there was nothing lost that day, only gained, and I was happy to have received this blessing once again.
By the following week, my life had pretty much returo normal. Or at least as normal as my life be. Reading to Allie, reading to others, wandering the halls.
Lying awake at night and sitting by my <u></u>heater in the m. I find a strange fort in the predictability of my life.
On a cool, foggy m eight days after she and I had spent our day together, I woke early, as is my , and puttered around my desk, alternately looking at photographs and readiers written many years before. At least I tried to. I couldnt trate too well because I had a headache, so I put them aside ao sit in my chair by the window to watch the sun e up. Allie would be awake in a couple of hours, I knew, and I wao be refreshed, for reading all day would only make my head hurt more.
I closed my eyes for a few minutes while my head alternately pounded and subsided.
Then, opening them, I watched my old friend, the creek, roll by my window. Unlike Allie, I had been given a room where I could see it, and it has never failed to inspire me. It is a tradi - this creek - a huhousand years old but renewed with each rainfall. I talked to it that m, whispered so it could hear, "You are blessed, my friend, and I am blessed, and together we meet the ing days."
The ripples and waves circled and twisted in agreement, the pale glow of m light refleg the world we share. The creek and I. Flowing, ebbing, reg.
It is life, I think, to watch the water. A man learn so many things.
It happened as I sat in the chair, just as the sun first peeked over the horizon.
My hand, I noticed, started to tingle, something it had never done before. I started to lift it, but I was forced to stop when my head pounded again, this time hard, almost as if I had been hit in the head with a hammer. I closed my eyes, then squeezed my lids tight. My hand stopped tingling and began to go numb, quickly, as if my nerves were suddenly severed somewhere on my lower arm. My wrist locked as a shooting pain rocked my head and seemed to flow down my ned into every cell of my body, like a tidal wave, crushing and wasting everything in its path.
I lost my sight, and I heard what sounded like a train r inches from my head, and I khat I was having a stroke. The pain coursed through my body like a lightning bolt, and in my last remaining moments of sciousness, I pictured Allie, lying in her bed, waiting for the story I would never read, lost and fused, pletely and totally uo help herself. Just like me.
And as my eyes closed for the final time, I thought to myself, Oh God, what have I done?
I was unscious on and off for days, and in those moments when I was awake, I found myself hooked to maes, tubes up my nose and down my throat and two bags of fluid hangihe bed. I could hear the faint hum of maes, droning on and off, sometimes making sounds I could nnize. One mae, beeping with my heart rate, was strangely soothing, and I found myself lulled to never-land time and time again.
The doctors were worried. I could see the in their faces through squinted eyes as they sed the charts and adjusted the maes. They whispered their thoughts, thinking I couldnt hear. "Strokes could be serious," theyd say, "especially for someone his age, and the sequences could be severe." Grim faces would prelude their predis - "loss of speech, loss of movement, paralysis." Another chart notation, another beep of a strange mae, and theyd leave, never knowing I heard every word. I tried not to think of these things afterward but instead trated on Allie, bringing a picture of her to my mind whenever I could. I did my best t her life into mio make us one again. I tried to feel her touch, hear her voice, see her face, and when I did tears would fill my eyes because I didnt know if I would be able to hold her again, to whisper to her, to spend the day with her talking and reading and walking.
This was not how Id imagined, or hoped, it would end. Id always assumed I would go last. This wasnt how it was supposed to be.
I drifted in and out of sciousness for days until angy m when my promise to Allie spurred my body once again. I opened my eyes and saw a room full of flowers, and their st motivated me further. I looked for the buzzer, struggled to press it, and a nurse arrived thirty seds later, followed closely by Dr. Barnwell, who smiled almost immediately.
"Im thirsty," I said with a raspy voice, and Dr. Barnwell smiled broadly.
"Wele back," he said, "I knew youd make it."
Two weeks later I am able to leave the hospital, though I am only half a man now.
If I were a Cadillac, I would drive in circles, one wheel turning, for the right side of my body is weaker than the left. This, they tell me, is good news, for the paralysis could have been total. Sometimes, it seems, I am surrounded by optimists.
The bad news is that my hands prevent me from usiher e or wheelchair, so I must now mary own unique ce to keep upright. Not left-right-left as was on in my youth, or even the shuffle-shuffle of late, but rather slow-shuffle, slide-the-right, slow-shuffle.
I am an epic adventure now when I travel the halls. It is slow going even for me, this ing from a man who could barely outpace a turtle two weeks ago.
It is late when I return, and when I reach my room, I know I will not sleep. I breathe deeply and smell the springtime fragrahat filter through my room. The window has bee open, and there is a slight chill in the air. I find that I am invigorated by the ge in temperature. Evelyn, one of the many nurses here who is ohird my age, helps me to the chair that sits by the window and begins to close it. I stop her, and though her eyebrows rise, she accepts my decision. I hear a drawer open, and a moment later a sweater is draped over my shoulders. She adjusts it as if I were a child, and when she is finished, she puts her hand on my shoulder and pats it gently. She says nothing as she does this, and by her silence I know that she is staring out the window. She does not move for a long time, and I wonder what she is thinking, but I do not ask. Eventually I hear her sigh. She turns to leave, and as she does, she stops, leans forward, and then kisses me on the cheek, tenderly, the way my granddaughter does. I am surprised by this, and she says quietly, "Its good to have you back. Allies missed you and so have the rest of us. We were all praying for you because its just not the same around here when yone." She smiles at me and touches my face before she leaves.
I say nothing. Later I hear her walk by again, pushing a cart, talking to another heir voices hushed.
The stars are out tonight, and the world is glowing an eerie blue. The crickets are singing, and their sound drowns out everything else. As I sit, I wonder if aside see me, this prisoner of flesh. I search the trees, the courtyard, the benches he geese, looking fns of life, but there is nothing. Even the creek is still. In the darkness i<s></s>t looks like empty space, and I find that Im drawn to its mystery. I watch for hours, and as I do, I see the refle of clouds as they begin to bounce off the water. A storm is ing, and in time the sky will turn silver, like dusk again.
Lightning cuts the wild sky, and I feel my mind drift back. Who are we, Allie and I? Are we a ivy on a cypress tree, tendrils and branches iwined so closely that we would both die if we were forced apart? I dont know. Another bolt and the table beside me is lit enough to see a picture of Allie, the best one I have. I had it framed years ago in the hope that the glass would make it last forever. I reach for it and hold it inches from my face. I stare at it for a long time, I t help it. She was forty-one when it was taken, and she had never been more beautiful. There are so many things I want to ask her, but I know the picture wont answer, so I put it aside.
Tonight, with Allie down the hall, I am alone. I will always be alohis I thought as I lay in the hospital. This Im sure of as I look out the window and watch the storm clouds appear. Despite myself I am saddened by our plight, for I realize that the last day we were together I never kissed her lips. Perhaps I never will again.
It is impossible to tell with this disease. Why do I think such things?
I finally stand and walk to my desk and turn on the lamp. This takes more effort than I think it will, and I am strained, so I do not return to the window seat. I sit down and spend a few minutes looking at the pictures that sit on my desk. Family pictures, pictures of children and vacations. Pictures of Allie and me. I think back to the times we shared together, alone or with family, and once again I realize how a I am.
I open a drawer and find the flowers Id once given her long ago, old and faded and tied together with ribbon. They, like me, are dry and brittle and difficult to hahout breaking. But she saved them. "I dont uand what you want with them," I would say, but she would just ignore me. And sometimes in the evenings I would see her holding them, almost reverently, as if they offered the secret of life itself.
Women.
Sihis seems to be a night of memories, I look for and find my wedding ring.
It is iop d<bdi>..</bdi>rawer, ed in tissue. I ot wear it anymore because my knuckles are swollen and my fingers lack for blood. I un the tissue and find it unged. It is powerful, a symbol, a circle, and I know, I know, there could never have been another. I k then, and I know it now. And in that moment I whisper aloud, "I am still yours, Allie, my queen, my timeless beauty. You are, and always have been, the best thing in my life."
I wonder if she hears me when I say this, and I wait for a sign. But there is nothing.
It is eleven-thirty and I look for the letter she wrote me, the one I read when the mood strikes me. I find it where I last left it. I turn it over a couple of times before I open it, and when I do my hands begin to tremble. Finally I read:
Dear Noah, I write this letter by dlelight as you lie sleeping in the bedroom we have shared sihe day we were married. And though I t hear the soft sounds of your slumber, I know you are there, and soon I will be lyio you again as I always have.
And I will feel your warmth and your fort, and your breaths will slowly guide me to the place where I dream of you and the wonderful man you are.
I see the flame beside me and it reminds me of another fire from decades ago, with me in your soft clothes and you in your jeans. I khen we would always be together, even though I wavered the following day. My heart had been captured, roped by a souther, and I knew ihat it had always been yours. Who was I to question a love that rode on shooting stars and roared like crashing waves? For that is what it was between us then and that is what it is today.
I remember ing back to you the day, the day my mother visited. I was so scared, more scared than I had ever been because I was sure you would never five me for leaving you. I was shaking as I got out of the car, but you took it all away with your smile and the way you held your hand out to me. "How bout some coffee," was all you said. And you never brought it up again. In all our years together.
Nor did you question me when I would leave and walk alohe few days. And when I came in with tears in my eyes, you always knew whether I needed you to hold me or to just let me be. I dont know how you knew, but you did, and you made it easier for me. Later when we went to the small chapel and traded s and made our vows, I looked in your eyes and knew I had made the right decision. But more than that, I knew I was foolish for ever sidering someone else. I have never wavered since.
We had a wonderful life together, and I think about it a lot now. I y eyes sometimes and see you with speckles of gray in your hair, sitting on the pord playing yuitar while little ones play and clap to the music you create. Your clothes are stained from hours of work and you are tired, and though I offer you time to relax, you smile and say, "That what I am doing now." I find your love for our children very sensual aing. "Youre a better father than you know," I tell you later, after the children are sleeping. Soon after, we peel off our clothes and kiss each other and almost lose ourselves before we are able to slip between the flannel sheets. I love you for many things, especially your passions, for they have always been those things which are most beautiful in life. Love and poetry and fatherhood and friendship ay and nature. And I am glad you have taught the childrehings, for I know their lives are better for it. They tell me how special you are to them, and every time they do, it makes me feel like the luckiest woman alive. You have taught me as well, and inspired me, and supported me in my painting, and you will never know how much it has meant to me. My works hang in museums and private colles now, and though there have been times when I was frazzled and distracted because of shows and critics, you were always there with kind words, encing me. You uood my need for my own studio, my own space, and saw beyond the paint on my clothes and in my hair and sometimes on the furniture. I know it was not easy.
It takes a man to do that, Noah, to live with something like that. And you have.
For forty-five years now. Wonderful years.
You are my best friend as well as my lover, and I do not know which side of you I enjoy the most. I treasure each side, just as I have treasured our life together.
You have something inside you, Noah, somethiiful and strong. Kindness, thats what I see when I look at you now, thats what everyone sees. Kindness. You are the most fiving and peaceful man I know. God is with you, He must be, for you are the closest thing to an ahat Ive ever met.
I know you thought me crazy for making us write our story before we finally leave our home, but I have my reasons and I thank you for your patience. And though you asked, I old you why, but now I think it is time you knew.
We have lived a lifetime most couples never know, a, when I look at you, I am frightened by the knowledge that all this will be ending soon. For we both know my prognosis and what it will mean to us. I see your tears and I worry more about you than I do about me, because I fear the pain I know you will gh. There are no words to express my sorrow for this, and I am at a loss for words.
So I love you so deeply, so incredibly much, that I will find a way to e back to you despite my disease, I promise you that. And this is where the story es in. When I am lost and lonely, read this story - just as you told it to the children - and know that in some way, I will realize it about us. And perhaps, just perhaps, we will find a way to be together again.
Please dont be angry with me on days I do not remember you, ah know they will e. Know that I love you, that I always will, and that no matter what happens, know I have led the greatest life possible. My life with you. And if you save this letter to read again, then believe what I am writing for you now. Noah, wherever you are and whehis is, I love you. I love you now as I write this, and I love you now as you read this. And I am so sorry if I am not able to tell you. I love you deeply, my husband. You are, and always have been, my dream. Allie
When I am finished with the letter, I put it aside. I rise from my desk and find my slippers. They are near my bed, and I must sit to put them on. Then, standing, I cross the room and open my door. I peek down the hall and see Janice seated at the main desk. At least I think it is Janice. I must pass this desk to get to Allies room, but at this hour I am not supposed to leave my room, and Janice has never beeo bend the rules. Her husband is a lawyer.
I wait to see if she will leave, but she does not seem to be moving, and I grow impatient.
I finally exit my room anyway, slow-shuffle, slide-the-right, slow-shuffle. It takes aeons to close the distance, but for some reason she does not see me approag.
I am a silent panther creeping through the jungle, I am as invisible as baby pigeons.
In the end I am discovered, but I am not surprised. I stand before her.
"Noah," she says, "what are you doing?"
"Im taking a walk," I say. "I t sleep."
"You know youre not supposed to do this."
"I know."
I dont move, though. I am determined.
"Youre not really going for a walk, are you? Yoing to see Allie."
"Yes," I answer.
"Noah, you know what happehe last time you saw her at night."
"I remember."
"Then you know you shouldnt be doing this."
I dont answer directly. Instead I say, "I miss her."
"I know you do, but I t let you see her."
"Its our anniversary," I say. This is true. It is one year befold. Forty-nine years today.
"I see."
"Then I go?"
She looks away for a moment, and her voice ges. Her voice is softer now, and I am surprised. She has ruck me as the seal type.
"Noah, Ive worked here for five years and I worked at another home before that. Ive seen hundreds of couples struggle with grief and sadness, but Ive never seen anyone ha like you do. No one around here, not the doctors, not the nurses, has ever seen anything like it."
She pauses for just a moment, and strangely, her eyes begin to fill with tears. She wipes them with her finger and goes on:
"I try to think what its like for you, how you keep going day after day, but I t even imagi. I dont know how you do it. You eve her disease sometimes. Even though the doctors dont uand it, we nurses do. Its love, its as simple as that. Its the most incredible thing Ive ever seen."
A lump has risen in my throat, and I am speechless.
"But Noah, youre not supposed to do this, and I t let you. So go back to your room." Then, smiling softly and sniffling and shuffling some papers on the desk, she says: "Me, Im going downstairs for some coffee. I wont be back to che you for a while, so dont do anything foolish."
She rises quickly, touches my arm, and walks toward the stairs. She doesnt look back, and suddenly I am alone. I dont know what to think. I look at where she had been sitting and see her coffee, a full cup, still steaming, and once again I learn that there are good people in the world.
I am warm for the first time in years as I begin my trek to Allies room. I take steps the size of Pixie straws, and even at that pace it is dangerous, for my legs have grown tired already. I find I must touch the wall to keep from falling down.
Lights buzz overhead, their fluorest glow making my eyes ache, and I squint a little. I walk by a dozen darkened rooms, rooms where I have read before, and I realize I miss the people ihey are my friends, whose faces I know so well, and I will see them all tomorrow. But not tonight, for there is no time to stop on this journey. I press on, and the movement forces blood through banished arteries. I feel myself being stronger with every step. I hear a door open behind me, but I dont hear footsteps, and I keep going. I am a stranger now. I ot be stopped. A phs in the ation, and I push forward so I will not be caught. I am a midnight bandit, masked and fleeing on horseback from sleepy desert towns, charging into yellow moons with gold dust in my saddlebags. I am young and strong with passion in my heart, and I will break down the door and lift her in my arms and carry her to paradise.
Who am I kidding?
I lead a simple life now. I am foolish, an old man in love, a dreamer who dreams of nothing but reading to Allie and holding her whenever I . I am a sinner with many faults and a man who believes in magic, but I am too old to ge and too old to care.
When I finally reach her room my body is weak. My legs wobble, my eyes are blurred, and my heart is beating funny inside my chest. I struggle with the knob, and in the end it takes two hands and three truckloads of effort. The door opens and light from the hallills in, illuminating the bed where she sleeps. I think, as I see her, I am nothing but a passerby on a busy city street, fotten forever.
Her room is quiet, and she is lying with the covers half. After a moment I see her roll to one side, and her noises bring back memories of happier times. She looks small in her bed, and as I watch her I know it is over between us. The air is stale and I shiver. This place has bee our tomb.
I do not move, on this our anniversary, for almost a minute, and I long to tell her how I feel, but I stay quiet so I wont wake her. Besides, it is written on the slip of paper that I will slide under her pillow. It says:
Love, in these last and tender hours is sensitive and very pure
light with soft-lit powers to awaken love thats ever sure.
I think I hear someone ing, so I enter her room and close the door behind me.
Blaess desds and I cross her floor from memory and reach the window. I open the curtains, and the moon stares back, large and full, the guardian of the evening.
I turn to Allie and dream a thousand dreams, and though I know I should not, I sit on her bed while I slip the note beh her pillow. Then I reach across aly touch her face, soft like powder. I stroke her hair, and my breath is taken away.
I feel wonder, I feel awe, like a poser first disc the works of Mozart.
She stirs and opens her eyes, squinting softly, and I suddenly regret my foolishness, for I know she will begin to cry and scream, for this is what she always does. I am impulsive and weak, this I know, but I feel an urge to attempt the impossible and I lean toward her, our faces drawing closer.
And when her lips meet mine, I feel a straingling I have never felt before, in all our years together, but I do not pull back. And suddenly, a miracle, for I feel her mouth open and I discover a fotten paradise, unged all this time, ageless like the stars. I feel the warmth of her body, and as our tongues meet, I allow myself to slip away, as I had so many years ago. I y eyes and bee a mighty ship in ing waters, strong and fearless, and she is my sails. I gently trace the outline of her cheek, then take her hand in mine. I kiss her lips, her cheeks, and listen as she takes a breath. She murmurs softly, "Oh, Noah... Ive missed you."
Another miracle - the greatest of all! - and theres no way I stop the tears as we begin to slip toward heaven itself. For at that moment, the world is full of wonder as I feel her fingers reach for the buttons on my shirt and slowly, ever so slowly, she begins to undo them one by one.
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