Halo

His heartbeat is steady as his eyes wash over vibrant hues painting the sky, a profusion of purple, orange, red—all so elegant in their form. He can hear the waves crash as the tide rises before his position on the shore, relaxed against the sand. The sunset is always beautiful, the way the stellar phenomenon in the clouds drops below the horizon until the sky bleeds into a profound onyx, the stars looking like twinkling Christmas lights—almost begging for one to reach out and touch. 

“It’s magical, isn’t it?” asks Gemma from beside him. He would’ve startled, not knowing she would be there—but the intuition he had developed over the years would always tell him that she’d be there every night, at the same time, no matter what. 

Silas only nods his head in response, feeling the cool oceanic breeze sweep over him calmly. 

Gemma closes her eyes and leans her head back, relishing in the familiar sensation of the ocean in the evening. The placid glide of the ocean water on the shore was a lullaby all in itself, melting away the stress of the day. She still finds peace in it, after all these years. 

Around her neck is a locket. It was weathered after so long, bent, and scored in various places. But it still stood as the protector of all memories, it still was the symbol of all their years together. 

A reminder of every day that passed by as the light in her eyes began to dull.

In the morning he arose and planted a kiss on her forehead as he’d done ritually for who knows how long, and then pulled the comforter up further to ensure her utmost comfort. Silas then got out of bed and got ready for the day, an old button-down and some blue jeans. Breakfast was ready in half an hour and he ate his portion, leaving her plate out. He spent the day like he’d been doing so since retirement—finding something to do and someone to help. And after a long day of helping out a young mother in the neighborhood tame her children enough to let her plant the peonies she’d bought, smoking with some of the old men seated outside the tire shop, Silas was feeling worn. But he would always make time for the beach, for Gemma—for their moment. It was theirs to keep, to remember, not anybody else’s. 

The house was quiet—always was. Long since had the children moved out and their grandchildren live in the city. Ever so placidly he shuffled around the house to make sure things were kept as neat and orderly as they’d always been. He had to make sure her picture was straight on the nightstand, never letting her turn away. Silas made sure the faucet wasn’t leaking because it does that at least twice every week. 

When he exited the bathroom after making sure the curtains were tied back, Silas’s eyes caught the beauty he has seen for the past fifty years. Her hair may no longer be the soft chestnut it was back then, but her smile remained the same. It was bright, trembling in the slightest, but she still looked so beautiful. Her crow’s feet were obvious, more prominent with age. Nothing, not even time, could wither away her beauty, her glow, her grace. 

“Hello,” she’d say, so casually that his heart clenched. “Is everything all right?” 

That was new, he thought. Normally she’d ask him where he’d been or what time it was—as though she’d missed the time on the grandfather clock they purchased at an antique shop thirty years ago. But Gemma, his love, had never seemed so distant in such a familiar moment. Gemma was oblivious, didn’t know anything about what was happening. Meanwhile, Silas was internally distraught at the notion of her forgetting. He’d known this was coming, had seen it for nearly a decade. But what Silas had never thought to acknowledge was the pure, unadulterated pain and misery that came with the memories slipping away whilst his only grew stronger. 

Putting on a smile, not wanting to alarm her in her already fragile, delicate state, Silas stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Just fine, honey. How are you feeling?”

“Like a million bucks," she’d reply if this was twenty years ago. 

Except it wasn’t. 

Silently, she rested her head against his shoulder. Gemma’s fingers, still gentle though frail, grasped his sleeves gingerly. It’s her answer to his question. It’s not words, it’s not a smile, it’s not a put-down-everything-and-come-here kiss, but it’s silent. It’s painful. But it’s her touch, her expression. Things were getting even more arduous every night and every morning. For her more so than him, but sometimes, it feels like the opposite. Silas can only take a deep breath and be strong, can only revel in the moment while it lasts. 

Soon, she pulled away and threw him an unsure look. “Are you hungry?” 

Silas nodded, and she began to offer to cook, but he only shoke his head. “Sit down, my love. I’ll handle it.”

And she can no longer oppose, not knowing how to respond. Mornings used to be like this, but she’d always put up a fight before he could finally settle her down in time for the kids to come tumbling in with giddy smiles on their faces. Back then she’d completely cave when their son jumped into her lap and she had no choice but to hold him. Back then, Silas would smile and laugh softly to himself, continuing to cook for his family. Gemma, despite how tenacious and gallant she was, would always give in if it involved her children. Now, she had nothing to give into except her own weakening soul. 

Dinner was silent, but the aura enveloping the couple was rather comfortable. Silas made her favorite; simple, old macaroni and cheese, as he’d been doing every day for the past decade. Something else was new too—“When did you start making my favorite meal for dinner?”—and it hurt even worse. But Silas had no one to blame but nature itself because it was, to her, like he hadn’t been making them her favorite meal for dinner for the past ten years. Despite that, Silas only grinned softly and told her that it was a special day, her day. It wasn’t her birthday, but every day began to feel like her day because everything he did was in the pursuit of her happiness. 

Gemma yawned as he did the dishes even though she’d most likely woken up only a few hours ago. Silas told her to go on to bed without him, but she refused and said she had to wait until he was done. At least some things hadn’t changed, and one was the fact that they couldn’t fall asleep without one another. 

The dishes lasted a good ten minutes longer but when he finished, she was waiting as patiently as always. They laid together that night, just holding each other. But Silas could never sleep when the thoughts he had were like abject pins and needles in his brain. The beach was tranquil, soft. The water has risen with the tide as midnight inches closer. It’s nothing new; the beach, or the sunset, or the loneliness of the beach, because this is part of his prosaic schedule. But he believes, knows, it’s not the end. 

Finally, after many seconds spent looking out into the sky as the colors fade away, Silas looks over, expecting to find her with her eyes closed, inhaling the fresh and salty air. Wanting to see her there with a blissful smile on her face, her locket enclosed in her wrinkled hand. Longing to know she loved the beach and wanted nothing more in her late years than to sit here and rejoice in it. He desired to move closer to her one last time, tell her he loved her one last time, to thank her. But all his eyes saw was the sand where she’d be sitting as serenely as ever, the ocean past her spot as the sun exuded its last rays out onto the water, which reflected the ethereal picture humans admired because of its utter splendor. 

He’d forgotten—seemed to have failed to realize she wasn’t there. But the idea was not alarming, did not frighten him. For he would see her, he would be with her in a place so incredible, so magical, that one couldn’t even imagine it. He would hold her one more time, tell her he loved her one more time. That place would be Heaven. 

Silas would be with her soon. Maybe not soon enough, but when the time comes. He would see her smile and cherish it. 

Silas doesn’t scowl, doesn’t sigh, doesn’t hang his head and sob. All he does is plant his hand in the spot where hers would be waiting, ready to weave their fingers together. And he breathes in, looking up towards the darkened sky.

“It’s magical, love. Just magical.”