Dear

                His dear. His one and only, his first and last love... was dying.

                 He had just gotten off the phone with Dr. Goodwin. Funny that. A Doctor making a house call, even by telephone was unheard of in this day and age, I should have known it would be bad news... It was so much worse than that though.

It was the worst. Possible. News.

He could have been punched out, tied down, and lit on fire without any hope of escape and he would not have felt any more hopeless. I would give anything for it to be me, but not her. I don’t eat right, I don’t exercise, and I don’t give a good hot damn about me. I don’t. To Hell with me!

Why? Why, Bethany. How was he going to tell her? How could he? He agonized.

 He looked at his watch, the short hand was on five and the long hand was set on the twelve, five o’clock, it had only been fifteen minutes. Who wears a watch these days anyways? He thought in that self-loathing tone he used to punish himself. It was a fucking anachronism in this day, a relic of the past—like the two of them. He laughed, or wanted to, but everything tasted like ash.

He bit into his fist, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to hurt. Good. The pain felt right, perfect. He wanted to punch something, or someone—but it was far better to hurt himself than someone else.  “It’s all my fault.” He said, but how could it be.

“Damn it.” He said, fighting back tears. He blinked until they lessened, but he doubted that they would ever wholly be gone. No damn it. I must be strong.

For her, but it felt as if a man-sized vice was compressing his chest.

“How am I going to tell you...” He wondered reproachfully, looking down at his watch. The long hand was now on the two. “Time passes so quickly, I blink, and a year goes by...” Why the FUCK did I answer the phone? Why did I even get out of bed today?

His whole world was slipping through his fingers, and he hadn’t even had a cup of coffee yet. Bethany was still in bed—hopefully still sleeping peacefully. He had no doubt, she would sleep through the end of the world... he always made that old joke...

His thoughts turned morose, and God willing she will—even if it is just the end of his world.

They had met late in life; too late truth be told.

He had always wanted a big family, but when he was young everything had been more important to him than that. There will be time, he had consoled himself.

Numb, and mindless—a zombie of his normal self. He let his bare feet carry him into their bedroom. The blinds were drawn, with just the barest slivers of light casting their light upon his angel. His snoring, drooling, hair mussed angel. She’s a mess. He smiled. Does it make me a creep to watch her sleep? He asked, dismissing the question immediately. Does it matter anyways if it does?

He couldn’t breathe. All the air was sucked out of his lungs as if he was a deflated balloon. It took most of his energy just to lift one foot in front of the other. He almost dropped his coffee cup as he set it down next to their bed; the same bed that they had shared for years and years. Too many years they had wasted doing fun, but ultimately selfish things. They had traveled, enjoyed countless meals in five-star restaurants, Michelin starred restaurants. Going to far off and exotic countries, not for the experience, as magical as wonderful as they had been, but for the bragging rights.

 Jones. Ironic isn’t it.

One day it had occurred to him that most people spend their lives getting the newest television, or the biggest. The newest phone, computer, car, the brightest most expensive jewelry and metals. Hell. We even have a money guy. Her parents had been teachers without a pot to piss in before they died. His folks had owned a small store that never amounted to anything, and by God he had worn hand-me-downs and had his hair cut by the young gals at barber school until he had moved out at sixteen years old. And yet we have a money guy. How do you keep up with the Joneses, when you are the Joneses? An uncharacteristically philosophical question for a guy that didn’t read and had hated school. School hated me right back, he had always half-joked.

He looked at her, his Mrs. Bethany Jones. She looked peaceful, and still cute as a button despite her middle age. Cute as a button? He laughed at himself, silently, and rested a hand on her side. She made a small moan of contentment at his touch, even while asleep she loved his touch.

What am I going to do without her? I-I-I can’t. It was impossible. He could not conceive of a single moment without her. Let alone the rest of his life. I must be strong. I have to be.

He stroked her hair, and watched the slow, rise and fall of her slumbering chest. The amber necklace that her mom had gifted her revealed through the sheer nightgown that she favored. He stared without thought, numb, at the mosquito caught in the amber pendant. He studied every detail, from the tiny wings frozen in time, to the ant-eater nose of the small insect. Pest, really. He mused, without rancor. They are pests though. There was a reason that malaria had killed more people than all the wars of history combined. Probably. Maybe—and if not, at least it sounded good, or sounded possible.

He stared hoping that by staring he would forget the world ending, soul crushing news.

He sipped at his coffee. It was too hot, but he didn’t care. A large part of him relished the heat, and the pain that seared his mouth. Deliberately, masochistically he tipped the cup back. The hot liquid dribbled down his face, and into the caverns of his mouth. Everywhere the hot beverage touched it burned him, but the real pain, did not lessen the pain of his soul. Bethany gasped.

“Jim! Are you alright? Oh dear, get up. Let’s get you some ice.”

Bethany practically dragged him into the kitchen, and barehanded grabbed a handful of ice from the freezer. She used his hand, to then apply the ice to the burns on his face. Heedless of how cold the ice was she grabbed two more handfuls and placed them in a bag, all the while chiding him for his carelessness. “You’re supposed to blow on it before you chug it. It’s not beer and you’re not a frat boy you know.” She said with a smile that was very familiar to him, it was one that spoke of love mixed with a healthy dose of exasperation. It was one of her many smiles. She had one for when she was happy, one for when she was sad, and even one for when she was angry. Women were enigmatic creatures to Jim, he barely understood their moods and their emotional states were mysterious rollercoasters to him, but not Bethany... her he understood. He always had. She just made sense to him.

They had met in the store of all places—you know the one... it’s the one that has everything piled sky-high with food and other goods all placed neatly on metal pallets. He had taken one look at her and fallen for her, she was not Helen of Troy, but she was cute. He wanted nothing more than to talk to her, just once, just to test the waters. Was she interested in someone like him? Let’s face it Jim, you’ve always been a geek. He had told himself. Smart, and with looks that sometimes attracted, but he was not movie star beautiful. He was no Adonis, and the girls that he was interested in rarely if ever shared that interest. In short, she was way out of his league.

He figured he had a 50/50 shot at best, and so... he flipped a coin and went for it. He went up to her check stand and asked her out. She had a boyfriend, she said, but she still smiled and placed her hand on his just to let him down gently—or so he had thought. He had tried to walk out of the store with his head held high, but truthfully, he had been devastated. It had been a month before he had the courage to go back, and even then, he had avoided her, not out of fear of ridicule but because he could not stop thinking about her. The way she stood, and laughed, and gave an impression of being disheveled while at the same time having her hair and makeup look just the way she intended.

He didn’t know anything about her, but the way she stood, and laughed, and sweated beneath the bright illumination. The way she flipped her hair and spoke courteously but familiarly with each of her customers. Her finesse and comfort of self were apparent at first glance to him.

So it was, he chose the lane that was furthest away from where he had seen her last. I’m not ready yet... he self-justified his behavior with that untruth, but wouldn’t you know he made it all the way through the line, and he stood at the check stand when she walked over. He thought that she was there to relieve the cashier, but she bee-lined straight to him. “I don’t have a boyfriend anymore...” She said, a curious bruise peaked out beneath her makeup, high on her cheek, but still visible. Despite that she offered a tremulous smile handed him a piece of paper, and she walked away.

 Don’t let her go, say something. A persistent inner voice urged him.

“What time are you off tonight?” He asked her, his voice sounding rough to his own ears.

She turned without slowing her pace, “Nine O’clock.” She smiled confidently. “Read the note.”

He had. When he opened the crumpled-up note he discovered it simply said, Bethany Anne Milcroft, and her phone number. And in a tiny, hurried hand, were the words call me.

He called her at ten O’clock that night, they spoke well into the early hours of the morning, and the rest as they say was history. They had been inseparable ever since.

He still sometimes pictured her with that bruise, and despite it her youthful surety had been more alluring than a thousand pieces of lingerie. He had been drawn to her inner strength, kindness, and vulnerability. It were those characteristics that drew everyone to her, but of course she could not see it. Why is it that the most wonderful people, cannot see what it is that draws people to them? He had told her that over and over during the years before and after their marriage.

There had never been anyone that could compare to her ever since.

And there never would be...

He looked up and noticed her watching him. A coquettish smile brightened her still sleepy looking face. “Are you feeling alright, you silly man?” She teased him.

He pulled the bag of ice away from his face and forced a smile. “Of course, darling, come here.” He pulled her to him, and buried his face in her hair, breathing her in. He grasped her to him, afraid that he held her too tight when she pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, her tone full of concern.

“It’s not your Aunt Linda, is it?”

He shook his head. Of course she knows. She always knew when something was bothering him.

“Just my sports... my team lost...” He lied.

She smiled again, which evaporated some of the sleep from her face.

“God you are beautiful.” He said, in reverence. She was, just now as when they had first me. Hers was a classical, elegant beauty, one that did not seem to diminish.  

She truly was lovely. Even as age began to take its toll, he never missed seeing the essence of her. She had aged, they both had, but it didn’t matter.

“I don’t want to lose you...” He said lamely, his voice muffled in her shoulder.

“What!?!? Don’t be a silly goose. Unless you know something that I don’t I’m not going anywhere.” She smirked and stuck her tongue out at him.

He turned away, unwilling or too much a coward to look her in the eye. “Well... that’s good to know.” He offered, not sure of what else to say.

Fucking coward. He raged inwardly.

Why worry her? He decided.

“Something is the matter, isn’t it? What happened, I thought that I heard the phone, or did I dream that?”

He nodded, intent on lying. “You dreamt it... no one ever calls us silly woman.” He forced a laugh, hoping that it would not sound too wooden, but even to his ears it sounded off.  

She surprised him by grabbing his hand and looking him in the eye. Here it comes. She began caressing his arthritic fingers. “I love you, you old fool.” She said, and he did not doubt the sincerity in her voice.

“I love you too...” He said, his voice sounding choked up.

“I am blessed for that. I never thought that I would end up with someone as wonderful as you, or as much of a pain in my ass.” She smiled, her tone softening the blow.

He decided to tell the truth. “I-I don’t want to say.”

                 “Just rip it off, like a band aid. Get it out in the open so it doesn’t crush you.”

                 “Y-y-y-you.” He stammered; every word was like a kidney stone being pulled out of his body. “Y-y-y-you’re sick...” He said. Hot, heavy, torrential tears blurred his vision.

“The Doctor called.”

“Doctor Goodwin? Why would he call you... you haven’t been to see the Doctor in years.”

“I know,” he tripped over the words, not knowing an elegant way to tell his beloved wife that she was dying. “He told me, off the record, that there was news that you needed to hear and to call him right away—and well I bullied him into giving me the news, and damnit I wish that I had never heard it.”

“Whatever it is, we’ll get through it—together.” She held his hand tightly between both of her wrinkled but still elegant hands.

“Tell me.” She pleaded, the sleep in her face long since having vanished.

He looked down nervously, at his watch. Fuck. Me. It’s only five-forty-five PM. It’s not even six O’clock yet.

He told her what Dr. Goodwin had told him. Alzheimer’s. The same terrible disease that had whittled away at her father’s sanity and taken his poor sweet mother. They held one another and cried. She was his strength, the reason that he got out of bed. He hardly slept for the first six months wanting to spend every minute possible with her, but slowly—and surely, she slipped away.

At the last, he took care of her. He wiped her down and kept her clean. She spat at him, called him utterly horrible things. She even left a dirty golf ball sized bruise on his cheek once, not so different from the one that her boyfriend—the jackass before him had given her.

In the end she didn’t recognize him.

In the weeks before she finally died, she reverted to being a small child—someone that could not even recall her own name. Her strength, her vitality were diminished.

He begged God to take her. Please take her home. He had sobbed, railed, punched the wall when God had finally listened.

He thought that he could not feel anything anymore, that watching her deteriorate into something less, so much less than what she had been, would be the most pain he would ever endure. He had been wrong, so very wrong.

His heart could have been plucked from his chest, while he was still breathing, and sliced into thousands of pieces and he wouldn’t have experienced as much pain.

At least she didn’t feel anything at the end, he consoled himself. Although it was a lie. Her mind had assailed her, her body had betrayed her, but some days she saw through it. They were increasingly rare, and so very precious for those moments of clarity. He had lived for them, practically with bated breath...until at the end when he knew her time was close; he had longed for one of those lucid moments and dreaded it all the same. He had wanted their gazes to meet, to look her in her blue eyes, and thank her for loving him. He had wanted to tell her while she could heed his words how much he loved her.

In the end, at her end, he had only been able to lock lips with her, but it had been a single sided affair. There had not been any passion, and she had not returned his kiss.

It was an ending, an ending to the most wonderful time of his life, and an ending to her unrealized pain, but it was bittersweet. It tasted of failure, and the legacy that he would carry was of that last terrible kiss.

Why were all the good moments, the best moments wasted on their beginning? Why could she not have died with her dignity? Jim did not know, and after her passing he no longer cared.

He strove instead to remember her on that first day, and of her mysterious smile when she had given him a simple note.