Friday Outing

"Are you coming tonight?"

Her voice is friendly and cheerful, and her warm brown eyes sparkle with hope. Hope that I might agree with what she has been asking for years. Every Friday evening - she asks the same thing. She pulls on her boots, puts on her raincoat, opens the door, and stops. Then, turning around and bending her head a little to the side, she asks, "Are you coming tonight?"

And every Friday night, I give her a hug and say, "Not this time, honey." And her smile droops for a second, like a daisy wilting. But then she picks it up with the same enthusiasm and excitement that she has been sharing with me for the past six years. "Of course," she says every time, her voice full of empathy, "I understand."

I don't understand how she can keep on going like this: I'd give up in the first few days. But she's been going for over 320 Fridays, just because she loves me.

I never knew I was capable of love: it just wasn't something that struck me. It's not like you just wake up and think, I'm going to go and look for the love of my life today.

I guess all the good in my life started from something bad.

It had been a cold, harsh day. The bitter wind blew all around us, but it couldn't touch me, who was already at death's door. I had been in a car accident, and when I came out of it, I didn't have any legs and my shoulder rib was broken. I had a permanent seat in my wheelchair. There was absolutely nothing I could do without my feet, and I couldn't move my left arm. When Mother died two years after my accident of cancer, I was suicidal. Who would take care of me now?

And then she came along.

I had been sitting on the train track, closing my eyes and waiting for the split second of pain as the freight train sped towards me - and then she walked up. Her soft hands wrapped themselves around my broken shoulder and pushed me aside. My wheelchair stumbled over to the empty track and my eyes widened as the train came so near to her - "NO!" I yelled. At that, she jumped away, and when the train had passed, she walked over to me and smiled.

"I would have liked to share the pain," she said. "I love you, Harry."

And then the words came pouring out of her, like chocolate syrup.

She was a teacher in the high school and had harbored a crush on me for as long as she could remember. She had followed me around and when she heard of my accident, she had been the one sitting outside the emergency room. She gave me a hug and pushed me out of the tracks and over the hill to her house, a quaint white cottage with a black roof. "I love you," she told me as she heated hot soup. "I love you," she said, handing me new clothes. "I love you," she said every day before going to bed. Her features enchanted me, and her smile made my day. "I love you to the moon and back," I would reply. We got married in the nearby church on September 2nd.

It had been six years since the day met, and since then, she had coaxed me out of my shell bit by bit. She'd take me walks around the cottage, brought puppies and kittens from the shelter to our house, and let me play with them. Then she landed a job in New York, and we left our cottage for a flat in the city. I hadn't stepped out of it once, though she kept asking me. Her voice was smooth as always, and she never once got angry at me.

As she closed the door, I felt a sudden need in me. It was want to roll down the streets of the Big Apple with my wonderful wife and create more memories. Beautiful memories. I waited to hear the lock click. It didn't. I almost called out for her when my voice caught. Of course. She would be ashamed to be with me. She was pretty, young, and perfect where I was ugly, troubled, and misshapen. She would lose her job, her friends, her reputation - the whole life she had created for herself. All because of me.

"Harry, dear."

I opened my eyes to see my wife look back at me with that charming smile of hers. 'It's almost six pm," she said. "You went to sleep, honey. I'll get you some lunch." She walked into the kitchen.

"What day is it?" I asked.

"Friday," she said, handing me a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Why?" she asked, her eyebrows raising.

"You're so young and beautiful and smart. You could have married a handsome, rich guy but you're stuck with serving someone like me. Your life is ruined because of me. You can't do anything fun, like go to the movies or a dance. I know how much you wanted children. Your dreams - everything - it's just over, all because of me."

"Oh, Harry." She took my hand into hers. "I never thought of it that way. I didn't love you for your beauty or wealth. I loved you because I loved you, Harry. I love your jokes, I love your laugh, I love the way you speak, I love the look you give me, I love the joy that spreads to your eyes - I love you."

"You don't have to pretend," I said. "I know you detest having to do all this work for me. I hate it too. Anyways, it's six and a Friday. Don't be late because of me."

"Didn't God say that service is the best worship?" she asked teasingly. "And besides, I'm this happy because of you. I'm an orphan, Harry. I thought I had nothing to live for until I saw you. If I'm living today, it's because of you." She pulled up her boots, put on her raincoat and, smiled at me. "Are you coming tonight?" And the answer comes out from a part of me I didn't know existed before.

"Yes."

IVY SAGE PENGET