FINAL CONNECTION

FINAL CONNECTION

It was Matt’s first venture out after so many weeks in Manhattan General, followed by enforced convalescence at home in his apartment. Although he had been walking the block or so to his rehab sessions each day, this would be his first real excursion and he planned to stroll the six blocks to Broadway, slowly browse Rizzoli’s for his usual Christmas gift of a book for his brother, James, a tradition that he had continued since childhood, then walk back home. The time in Rizzoli’s would allow his body to recuperate before the homeward journey. That was the plan at least. It was the week before the holidays and he knew only too well that shoppers of every ilk would be Christmas shopping and that he needed to avoid, as much as possible, any physical jolts from passers-by as they bustled back and forth but, he figured, if he stepped out either mid- morning or mid-afternoon, when most people would be at work and, most definitely, steered clear of the busy lunch hour, it was a good plan. In any case, he was going to give it a go. Hell, he could always turn back or hail a cab if he had to.

As he acknowledged the enthusiastic greeting from Joe, his doorman, “Good to see you out and about again, Mr. Holmes. You sure gave us one hell of a scare”, he thought to himself that Joe was probably only pleased because it was one more Christmas tip that looked secure after so many weeks of uncertainty; or was he being unfair to the man? As well as his anger at the world following his heart attack, he had developed a strong sense of sarcasm during his recovery. Was this really what life was all about? You work hard your entire life only for your body to break down just as you should be enjoying the fruits of one’s labours? Surely there was more to the meaning of life.

Taking the plunge and wrapped in his beautiful Harris Tweed overcoat, light tan with a dark tan herringbone pattern -an expensive and needless purchase from Saks two years previously that he had never had reason to wear until now-always grabbing cabs from one meeting to the next - he headed off in the direction of Broadway, his steps faster than intended so as to prove to Joe, who would surely be watching him warily, that he was as spry as ever. Once far enough away, and slightly out of breath, he, thankfully, slowed his pace and despite the cold air, felt a thrill to be back among the living fusion of human existence in this crazy, crazy city. This was a good plan.

As Matt crossed Washington Square, he noticed a woman approaching him, her eyes met his and he felt a shudder run through his entire body. He knew her though he could not recall how or from where. They walked towards each other and her eyes never once left his. He knew, without being able to understand why, that she, too, felt this...this connection. They passed each other, each staring intently into the other’s eyes. Once she had passed and the connection had been broken momentarily, Matt stood still before turning around to glance after her only to find that, she too, had paused and was staring back at him. Once again, he felt an electrical charge course through him and he shuddered before a stupid kid, busy texting on his cell and not looking where he was going, bumped Matt slightly, causing him to avert his gaze and, when he looked up, once more, she was gone.

Rizzoli’s forgotten, Matt turned and walked back the way he had come; the direction that she had taken but, though he glanced in every doorway, scrutinised the face of every female, there was no trace of her. As he entered his apartment, the phone was ringing and he struggled out of his heavy overcoat before answering, the warmth of the building a direct contrast to the cold Manhattan air.

“How’d it go? You obviously got back okay but any problems?” It was his brother, James.

“Something happened. I didn’t make it to the book shop. I saw someone; a woman. It was surreal. We just stared at each other and...”

‘Don’t tell me-it was love at first sight, you old bugger”.

“No, no, James, this was different. It’s hard to explain but I...I felt as though we knew each other.

There was this weird connection...”

“What’d she look like?”

“Well, she...”. He paused, suddenly realising that he was unable to describe a single feature of this woman who’d had such a disturbing impact upon him. “Oh, never mind. Forget about it. Anyway, I almost got to Rizzoli’s but I’ll have to try again tomorrow and, before you ask, I feel perfectly fine. No pains at all.”

The following day, Matt kept his final appointment with his specialist before the Christmas break and, after, his examination, they were seated in the surgeon’s office as he filled out his medical report.

“Well, I have to say that you’re looking great, Matt, really great. Everything checks out and I have high hopes that you’ll make a full recovery”.

“Well let’s hope you’re right, otherwise I’ll be spreading the word that you’re a lousy heart surgeon”.

They laugh but the surgeon’s face is serious as he continues.

“Look, Matt, don’t go thinking you’re out of the woods just yet. You’ve been through a pretty traumatic experience and there’s a way to go before you can even think about leading any sort of normal life. Christ, you almost died twice on the operating table”.

“I know and, believe me, I’m extremely grateful for everything you’ve done for me and, hey, I’m taking all your advice. I’ve even cancelled my trip to Vail with James and his family. I’ll be spending the holiday alone right here in the city watching James Stewart in It’s a Wonderful Life for the umpteenth time. But, listen Stu, I need to ask you something. When a guy has, you know, an attack like I’ve had, is it normal for him to have...shit, I don’t even know how to say this, but is it usual or unusual to experience a sort of mental episode?”

“Matt, with any trauma, there’s a degree of mental damage to be expected. Doubts, fears, even an exaggerated concern that every ache or pain is a warning of another attack but...”

“I get all that but this...this was different. I saw a woman yesterday and I just knew that I had seen her some place else but I can’t for the life of me remember where or when. I could feel that she knew me, too”.

“Did you speak?”

“No, it all happened so fast but...the intensity of our connection...”

“What did she look like?”

“That’s what James asked and, though I can picture her vividly in my mind, I cannot tell you a thing about how she looked. It’s like a mental block sort of thing. I couldn’t sleep last night for thinking about it. It’s driving me nuts”.

“Well, was she clothed?”

This question angered Matt.

“Of course, she was clothed, Stu. We were in the middle of Broadway, for Christ’s sake”.

“I’m going to have to prescribe something for that temper of yours, I see. You need to stay calm at all times. No stress, remember? Well, if you can’t describe her, can you, at least, describe what she was wearing?”

Matt tried desperately to describe what the woman had been wearing but it was no good.

“It was this sort of long...longish coat. Black, I think, or maybe, grey...Jesus!”

Stu took out a card from his desk drawer and slid it across to Matt.

“After the holiday, call this guy. Tell him I recommended you and he’ll squeeze you in quickly. He’s the best man I know for treating trauma patients”.

“You think I need a shrink, now?”

“I don’t know what to think but my expertise is the physical. You could have met this woman years ago before you and Ali divorced. She could be one of her friends. Or she could have been one of your old flames that you just can’t remember. There are a million probabilities, Matt. The fact that you can’t describe how she looks or what she was wearing doesn’t exactly help with understanding but, like I say, call the number on that card. I’m sure he’ll be able to assist you”.

After Matt left the surgeon’s office, he decided to make the trek to Rizzoli’s and, to his delight, made the journey uneventfully, though, several times, he thought he had seen the strange woman approaching only to be disappointed when it was not her. Rizzoli’s was, as usual, very busy. Matt made his way down to the basement level where the non-fiction books were displayed. He was searching for a book on wine for his brother who was currently proclaiming to be an expert on the subject.

It was then that he saw her. There was no question that it was she for she was staring straight at him from across the room, their eyes connecting and, yet again, a jolt of electricity ran through Matt’s body. This time, he was determined to speak to her, explain about his operation, apologise for his loss of memory -but, try as he might, he couldn’t squeeze his way through the crowd of browsers quickly enough. By the time he reached the spot where she had been standing, she was gone. Turning in frustration, Matt glimpsed her ascending the stairs to the ground floor. She turned mid-stair and met Matt’s eyes once more. He could see that she was with another person, an elderly woman, and she was assisting her to climb the stairs. Once again, Matt braved the gauntlet of book lovers in an attempt to reach the stairs but, yet again, by the time he reached the ground floor, there was no sign of her or the elderly woman. Nevertheless, Matt exited out onto the street and looked in every direction before re-entering the store and approaching the main counter.

“Excuse me, there was a woman and a much older woman. They may have paid for their books just now. Can you...”

“Mister, d’you know how many people fitting that description we serve all day? Give me a break, huh?”

“Look, they only just came up here, surely...”

“What’d they look like?”

“Well the older woman was... had grey hair and a sort of woollen coat, a kind of neutral colour...”

The sales assistant looked at her fellow worker as if to say, can you believe this guy? But the other assistant, seeing the sincere look of desperation on Matt’s face, was more apt to help.

“Most older women tend to have grey hair and a nondescript coat, sir. What about the other woman? Can you describe her?’

Matt, grateful that one of the two, at least, was willing to help him, moved along to face this shop assistant.

‘“Thank you. Yes, she uh, she was...”

Try as he might, Matt could not conjure a single description of the strange woman though, in his mind, he could clearly see every detail of her. With impatient customers starting to voice their displeasure at Matt blocking the counter, he left the store, once again not having achieved the purpose of his visit. He walked home almost in a daze, thinking, thinking, who the hell was this woman?

The holiday break was the strangest that Matt had ever spent. He had never been alone on Christmas Day for starters. Even after he and Ali had split, he’d always decorated the apartment festively, with a tree the main focus. It was just what one did but, this year, he couldn’t muster any enthusiasm even to display the cards that had been arriving by mail each day. Was this what life would be like from hereon?

Christmas morning, he lay in bed with the TV on, It’s a Wonderful Life being screened in black and white at a ridiculously early hour. Once more, his sleep had been interrupted by thoughts of the woman he had seen on Broadway and in Rizzoli’s. He just couldn’t get her out of his mind. Suddenly, he had a thought: if the woman was an old acquaintance of Ali’s she should show up in one of the hundreds of photos of their married life that Ali had meticulously collated; some in albums and some not. Clambering out of bed excitedly, he proceeded to the hallway and reached up to the loft storage vent above his head. As he pulled down the access ladder, he felt a sharp pain in his chest but ignored it in his eagerness to rummage through the remains of his former, married life. Once in the loft space, he grimaced as he was reminded of the boxes and boxes that he had personally hauled up here after Ali had returned to Ohio; the detritus of a toxic marriage. He had no idea why he had even felt the need to hang on to this shit and there was no way that he could now even contemplate carrying it back up here after he’d finished his snooping today. He began to drag boxes to the vent and drop them down onto the hall floor below.

Several hours later, back in bed, he finished scanning the very last of the images that had walked him back through his years with Ali. Magnifying glass still in hand, he sank back onto the pillows, exhausted. He felt physically and mentally drained by this trawl down memory lane. Incidents, occasions, moments of pure happiness -fleeting but, nevertheless, memorable and, somehow, he had pushed them to the back of his mind. Why? So that he would never have to admit how much he actually loved his wife? How devastated he’d been when she had finally given up on him; his frantic work life, his womanising, his drinking? He’d been too proud to show vulnerability and look at him now, alone on Christmas Day, a shadow of the dynamic man he had once been, his chest pain persistent despite the meds he’d downed. He’d viciously told Ali that she’d regret her decision but it was he that was filled with regret right now. And, to further add to his misery, despite his fervent examination of every single photo, he had failed to find a single image of that damned woman.

Matt took a shower and felt marginally better for it. Looking out, he was surprised to see that it was getting dark already and, was even more astonished at the sight of snowflakes falling past his window and settling on the street below. A white Christmas, who’d have believed it? He wanted to feel the snow on his skin so, dressing warmly, he made his way down to the lobby.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Holmes and many, many thanks for your generous Christmas box”.

“You’re welcome, Joe. How’d you make out this year?”

“Best yet, Mr. Holmes. You want I should call you a cab?”

“No thanks. Just want to get a feel of the snow. Been a while since we had a white Christmas. I won’t be long”.

Matt was amazed at just how much snow had settled and it really was coming down heavily as he set off. There weren’t many people out and about but he was caught unawares by those he did pass as they greeted him warmly:

“Merry Christmas”.

This was what Christmas was really about; people in New York, where nobody ever acknowledged anybody else, dropping their protective barriers and being truly warm and friendly. After a while, he found himself being the one calling out festive greetings and was elated at how good it made him feel. If it wasn’t for this nagging ache in his chest, he could honestly say that it felt great to be at one with the human race again. The painful reminder of his married life had been cathartic and he was ready to move forward with optimism once again. Straight after the holiday, he’d call the shrink that Stu had recommended. No more negative thoughts. Onwards and upwards.

Realising that he was opposite Central Park, he couldn’t believe that he’d walked three miles through the snow already. Way to go! He crossed over and entered the park, already a picture of seasonal beauty with the trees and grass blanketed in white. Suddenly, he felt a sharp stab to his chest, a tingling in his left arm. He needed to sit and, ignoring the dusting of snow, sat on the first bench within the park gates. Shit! He’d overdone it. He’d wait until the pain subsided, then hail a cab back.

That’s when he saw her, approaching through the snow, walking towards him from within the park. He hadn’t even thought about her during this walk but, as her eyes locked on his and he felt that familiar shock of electricity course through his body, he suddenly remembered where he knew her from. She had appeared to him on his operating table. Though he’d been unconscious, he’d clearly seen her as she’d bent over him and whispered in his ear:

“It’s alright. It’s not your time”.

Now, as she neared and held out her hand, smiling, he felt a surge of joy, a feeling of relief as his pain subsided and he, too, reached out to connect with her. She, dressed all in white, her hair golden as the sun, comforting and angelic.

“Come Matt. Now it’s time”.