The Ghost of Love

Paul sat in his rocking chair looking outside through the window. It gave him great comfort seeing that the rose garden was thriving in spite of the harsh winter wind. Thinking of seasons made him miss spring and its beautiful array of colors. At least then, he could walk down Crescent Park and sit on his favorite bench watching the sunset. It was a long standing tradition that he had with Marianne.

The thought of her made him smile and took him back to the day they first kissed, on that very bench in the park. A young and fearless love so reckless but had inevitably straightened his life out. The memory of it so strongly imprinted on his mind, it felt like it had happened yesterday.

He picked up the walking stick next to his chair and stood up. It was becoming more and more difficult to walk. The arthritis and the years of hard labor were taking a toll on his body. He hobbled to the table in the corner of the room and put in a CD of his favorite song. As the music filled the room, it was 1991 again. The walking stick was gone and there was no stiffness in his joints as he swayed to When a man loves a woman. The giddy feeling that came with knowing Marianne was watching as he poured his soul to the Michael Bolton song still fresh in his stomach. It had done the trick. Later on, he had walked down that stage straight into her open arms. Nothing had been the same after that.

Marianne, his muse, with her huge brown eyes that always sparkled with a mixture of mischief and untold pain. Staring into them was like looking into another world, a reality that only she knew. It was a silly thing but he was always jealous of the way she was wrapped up in the mysteries of life. There were times he yearned to be the object of her fascination, like Neptune yearning for the sun but whenever she flashed her brilliant smile, he forgot it all. It was that smile that had brought him to his knees.

There were so many memories of her swirling in his mind awakening strong dormant emotions. He found memories as a very strange thing, always lurk in the background waiting for a familiar sound, face or scent to spring to the surface.

It had been right next to this fireplace 34 years ago, watching her with her head bent as she laughed, her rich voice filling up the room and the little snort she always made when she found something really funny, he'd known. It was so clear. There was no other woman he wanted to know.

She was the one.

It was something he couldn’t have escaped. Frankly, he had fallen freely, without reigns or reservations. So he had asked her to marry him right there and then. With a smile, she had said yes and inside his heart, he vowed to never make her cry.

He chuckled to himself. The older him knew now that such words should never be uttered. Marriage was so far from the fantasy that he thought it would be. It was paradise and hell, a lot like the glimpse of a breath taking sunset after a long day. He walked from the table and sat on the edge of the bed in the middle of the room, the bed where they had shared their first night together. He still remembered the color of the sheets, a brilliant red. She’d called it the color of burning passion but mesmerized by the image of her barred to his eye, he hadn’t seen anything else. He wondered why the color came to his mind when it hadn’t held meaning for him that night.

The same bed had seen them through the dark days when they had lain with their backs to each other, pulling blankets away from each other. It had been funny talking about it when they made up but thinking about it now, he regretted those nights. Now they were just hours that they could have loved more, chosen to snuggle together until sunrise and explore the depths of their minds. Instead, they had allowed pride to win the time they would never recover. As if sensitive to his change in his mood, the music changed to suit his melancholic heart. He shrugged and stood again, eager to leave this sanctuary of memories.

The wooden floor creaked as he stepped on them and he sighed. As if dancing in his mind wasn’t big enough for her, her presence was all over the house. The markings that she made of their children’s height over the years were still there on the wall. As he moved towards the kitchen, he saw her, floral dress and black pumps rushing to the kitchen. He smiled as he caught glimpse of her hand before she disappeared from his sight. She was wearing the watch he had brought her for their anniversary!

Marianne had never been interested in gifts, she didn’t see it as a measure of love. What she never understood was that when someone meant the world, it was only natural to desire to give them everything. If possible, he could have brought the whole universe to her, crown her with the galaxies. She deserved so much for the wife, friend and lover she had been. So he had poured himself into her, maybe not perfectly but he had given all that he was and more to her.

The wild love he had in the beginning had sobered and developed into something fiercely deeper over the years, a steady love, understanding, loyalty and intense adoration. It had carried them through and if he died today, he had no regrets for his heart knew the taste of true love. How he wished for their daughter to find the joy he had found in their mother’s arms.

Thinking of the past evoked emotions that seemed to raise a storm of longing in the pits of his stomach. If Marianne was in the kitchen, he had to be there. There was something special about the back hugs he gave her when she was cooking. It was another tradition they had and today, he was overly eager to hold her…to remind her once more just how much she meant to him. It was imperative that he made sure that she knew how precious she was. Life was too short and time owed him nothing, he knew that now. So why hold back?

The smell of roasted turkey made his stomach growl and he chuckled. Whoever taught her how to cook truly understood the way to a man’s heart. He leaned on the door post and watched her as she tried to grab a bowl from the top shelf. Women, there was no understanding how that complicated mind of theirs worked. She had been adamant about installing a shelf that she couldn’t reach. If she saw him grinning at her struggle, she’d throw a fit so he decided to sit at the dining table. The hug could wait; he could tell from the hunch of her shoulders that she was irritated.

It was the funny thing about being married for a long time. You end up knowing the other person even better than you know yourself. Years of trial and error, mostly errors had taught him how to avoid unnecessary fights. It was thanksgiving day, he wanted it to be perfect. So he said quietly at the dinner table next to the chair were she always sat. A few minutes later, he heard footsteps. He felt tears spring to his eyes and his chest clench in pain as he inhaled her scent. ‘Marianne?’

‘No, dad, it’s me.’ came the flat reply.

Paul shut his eyes and took a deep breath. It didn’t help relieve the pain. Images of Marianne in the hospital flashed in his mind followed by the casket and a tombstone with her name engraved on it. He was relieving the horror of it all over again. Marianne was gone.

Forever.

They had buried his heart along with her body. He knew that now. He looked at his daughter but saw through her. It was unfair to her but one day, she would understand. There are certain people that we can’t live without, life after them is simply surviving sun rise to sun set. He watched her as she put the turkey on the table. She had grown up so much these past months and he hadn’t even noticed. What use was a father trapped in a world of grief? He didn’t even know what to say to her so he simply picked up his fork and started to eat.

Unknown to him, his daughter was having similar thoughts. The man picking at his food was nothing like the one she had known growing up. That fateful day, three months ago, she hadn’t just lost her mother but death, greedy as always had stolen both parents. Ghosts are not the only thing that haunts people. Memories do and a heart that once loved deeply never forgets. It was a matter of time before the ghost of the love they had shared claimed his life.

 Surely enough, two weeks later, Paul died in his sleep. The doctors said it was a heart attack but Alisha knew, it was grief. Without Marianne, her father would never see the beauty in sun rise. She would always remember that last meal they had shared. The way he had hugged her afterwards and wept, profusely apologizing for not being a good father. I promise to do better and be there for you...

He had made another promise again that he hadn’t kept but this time, he wouldn’t be around to see the tears. Now, at just 20, she was the one with the choice to defeat the ghost of love or wallow in grief forever. The punishment of unsaid words is that they haunt us even in our dreams. I love you too dad she whispered as they lowered the casket, the words she knew she should have said as they were breaking bread.

THE END