Hello David

Marjorie leaned over the cool metal bedrail and tugged the sheet up and over his gaunt shoulders. Her mind felt less foggy in the early morning hours than at twilight. The evening nurse called it Sundowners Syndrome, and it was the time of day she feared most. It was the dark time between reality and haze. Twilight meant David was disappearing into a vast oblivion she could no longer control. Theirs was a marriage meant to last a lifetime.

Developing cataracts only made things worse. It was as though she were viewing life through a clouded camera lens, making it difficult to discern the rugged outline of David's once square jaw and distinguished chin. As her trembling hands stroked his hair, she smoothed one side and then the other. Its once jet-black luster, dulled with age.

“How would you like to model, young man?” A svelte blonde representative from Life magazine asked him in 1937. He was seventeen, and it was the hottest day in Brooklyn. David had taken her to Coney Island, one of her favorite places. His shirt was partially unbuttoned, as he leaned on a railing at Steeplechase Park, when she spotted him.

Recalling his response, Marjorie chuckled.

“Me? Model?” He snorted, then spit on the hot pavement. “I ain’t modeling material, honey, no thanks.” He winked and, taking Marjorie’s hand, led her toward the hot dog stand.

“I think you’ll need a haircut soon, dear.” She murmured, tracing her weathered finger alongside the deep furrows of his cheek. Her chin raised upward, “What?” her eyebrows raised. “Oh, yes dear, I will shave you later. No nicks this time, I promise.” Smoothing the pillow, she watched as several wiry strands of hair floated downward, delicately settling on the sheet beneath her. The stark white blending, unable to distinguish either.

A half-open window close by the bed allowed for a warm breeze to float within the tiny room. The sudden roar of a bulldozer on the lawn shattered the silence of morning. A new wing finally had begun. More rooms, more illness, more grief. Despite the disruption, Marjorie sensed only a soft gust of air and the sweet smell of roses and daphne mingled into one. No noise, no disturbance in her world.

“Do you feel the breeze, dear?” She prods the metal frame with her good hip. “Remind you of something, hmm? oh yes, that’s what I was thinking.” Her eyes lit up with a thought of a time long ago.

Marjorie teetered, then grasped the smooth cherry wood arm of her Victorian chair nearest the window for support. Sinking into the worn velvet seat, a familiar creak of the aged springs let out a groan. Her favorite armchair was that was left of her home.

Closing her crepe eyelids, she began her day as always. Mind and memories colliding in a summer recollection of a summer long ago. Friends from the neighborhood were laughing on the front lawn. Each day they played hide and go seek and there was David, in oversized knickers, faded from the sun, grinning from ear to ear. Frayed red suspenders was the only thing holding his pants in place; a hand-me-down from his brother George, who died of typhoid fever when David was only eight.

Marjorie’s frail mouth turned up at the corners, recalling the antics of the neighborhood gang.

They were thrilled as they waited for David to tie a handkerchief around his head. Then he counted in his loudest voice, as they scrambled, “One, two, three..” And as ants to honey the players scurried to find the perfect hiding spot, on the lawn.

Marjorie’s’ hiding place, was their secret as she ran with the others, then with a sudden whirl darted around the old well, slid beneath their favorite tree and waited. She crouched low, trying not to giggle, her bright eyes peeking out through the leaves, waiting.

“Gotcha!” David laughed sneaking in from behind her, sweat pouring from his face as he dived next to her. Their favorite place, beneath the daphne tree, special only to them. The two forgot the game for a few minutes.

“Where will you be in twenty years Marj?” he asked playfully, freeing a blond curl from the corner of her mouth.

“Well, that I can’t really say Mr. Bloomsdale, why do you ask?” She propped one elbow up resting her head in her hand.

“Because I bet that in twenty years’ time Marjorie Clayton, you will be my bride.” His boastful arrogance, both intrigued and charmed her. Just as she began to reply, the wind around them twirled and twisted, lifting the clusters of fragrant pink daphne blossoms upward. In a sudden whoosh, dozens fell upon their shoulders and hair, their sweet scent filling their senses in what could be described as spiritual.

Suddenly yelling could be heard, "David, heyy David, where are you?”

Twenty minutes had passed.

He lept to his feet and yelled “Olly Olly oxen free!” The wind stopped as quick as it began, and a new game started.

“Time for lunch, Marjorie!” Mother called from the modest bungalow nearby. Paint lay peeling on the door frame and the curtains hung lifeless and grey. Still, it was home to Marjorie and her four siblings.

“Aw, mom, c’mon, just one more..please?” Marjorie always cried out, but it never worked. Mother told you what to do and you did it.

The next game was going to start when she spotted David in the yard. He turned as he counted “One, two, three.” fixing his blue eyes on hers, he stopped for a moment. “See you tomorrow, pretty girl! four, five.”

Her cheeks flaming red, Marjorie ran home, beaming from ear to ear.

“Marjorie?” A gentle tap on her shoulder, her eyelids fluttered open.

“David?” she whimpered. “She scanned the room, looking left to right. “Where are the others?” Cringing as a caged cat would, she stared upward into the brown eyes of Naomi, her nurse of fifteen years. “Who are you?” her voice cracking. “Get me out of here, David?? David?”

“Let’s stand together, Marjorie, shall we?” Naomi’s’ tender voice, soothing and kind, was calming her “It’s going to be okay.”

Taking Marjorie by one arm and the other around her waist, Naomi gently lifted her from the chair and guided her toward the waiting wheelchair.

“No, no, my mother called me in for lunch. I need to go, please, please.” She tugged at Naomi’s white uniform.

“We go to the lunchroom every day, remember?” As she rubbed Marjorie’s back, familiar with her loss of memory and fervent wish to regain the days she so desperately wanted back. Every day it was the same scenario and every time she said te same thing back, “Honey, once you eat, I’'ll take you back to your chair by the window, okay?”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she stared at Naomi, before moving, “Oh.. oh.. okay, I need my sweater. Let me get my sweater.” She whimpered.

“Ok, dear.” Let me help you.

With shuffling steps, they moved to the bed, where Marjorie lifted her sweater and, turning to Naomi, whispered, “Have you met my husband, David?” her thin arm outstretched toward the empty bed.

With sadness in her eyes, Naomi quietly answered.

“Hello David.”