"Moments"

 "The light that day was different: almost new; light from a dying star, seen as new. Light that had never, would never, touch or feel or live. But in that sense, light was precious; it was something that we treasured; a finite source of warmth and inspiration. Something new. Something grand.”

“Where’d you get that?” Dave picked at a scab on his arm. I thought it was gross that anyone could do that. Didn't it hurt?

“Mr. Zimmerman has a whole bunch of these kinds of books. He had to buy them for his philosophy class when he was in college.” I held my place with my thumb and looked at him directly.

“Oh, that’s right; you have Mr. Zimmerman for history, huh?”

“Yep. Who do you have?” A piece of paper slipped out of the book and fluttered to the ground and I had to bend down to reach it.

“I have Mrs. Warren.”

“Oh, what’s she like?” The paper had a bunch of scribbling on it, most notably the words "Plato's Allegory: The Cave".

“Oh, you know; a teacher is only as good as... I forgot the rest.” Dave laughed a little.

“So many ways to prove that wrong.”

“Anyways, you just decided to read them?” Dave was looking around for some reason. I always had him pegged as the nervous type.

"Why're you being so fidgety, man? Somethin' up?"

Dave shrugged. "I'm always keeping an eye out. There's nothing, really."

I nodded. I remembered that he'd asked me about my decision to read the books.

“Pretty much; saw 'em on his bookshelf and asked if I could borrow them. He's been pretty spacey since Mrs. Zimmerman got pregnant, so, he didn't really mind." That's how it is in a small town like Ridgewood; y' can't hide much.

“Don’t you think those’re a little boring?”

“Mm, not really. I think they’re really interesting.”

“Oh please. No one likes philosophy.” Dave did that thing where he blew air out of his mouth up into his bangs. Annoying.

“Well, I do, so there.”

A low chiming echoed throughout the campus.

“Oh, the bell just rang. Talk to you later, okay?” Dave turned to leave.

“Alright, see you later, man.”

At that moment, the doors to the school crashed open, and out ran a man, running full-pelt for the parking lot. He crashed into David, knocked him over and scattered his books.

“Sorry!”

He didn’t stop as he jumped into a nearby truck and sped away, almost hitting the crossing guard as he stepped down off of the curb to guide some students across.

“Oh man, are you alright Dave?”

“I’m fine. Was that Mr. Zimmerman?”

“Yeah, yeah I think it was.”

*     *     *     *     *

“Doctor.”

“Mr. Zimmerman.”

“Tell me.”

He won't look me in the eye. Why won’t he look me in the eye?

“Come into my office.”

I followed him through the crowd, dodging nurses laden with trays and patients being wheeled into other rooms, and no face was the face I wanted to see. The face I longed for.

“My wife, sir.”

He held a door open.

“In here.” I strode past him, expecting a room but finding another hallway. We moved a ways down until he stopped by a second door.

We had arrived at his office, and he was holding the door to it, motioning me to go inside. He still wouldn't look me in the eye, wouldn't meet my gaze. And at that moment, something broke inside of me. Something old and something vital. Something alive.

“No.”

“Sir? Please, I must speak with you, but in private.”

“No!”

“Sir, please.”

I stood there, knowing. Knowing that if I walked through that door, I would find out why he wouldn't look me in the eye. Why the nurses looked the way they did. Why the hospital smelled so much like my wife. Why I could smell the perfume she wore that day, that day so long ago I could only just remember, only just taste the edges; something so fragile and so pure that talking about it, remembering it out loud, would cause it to…

To…

“Sir. Tell me about my wife.”

“I…”

“Tell me, now!”

He still wasn't looking at me. He was looking into his office, searching for something. Maybe the same thing I was. Reassurance, perhaps. He closed the door, softly, and laid his head against it.

“I… I don’t understand. I don’t understand how such a healthy woman…”

“What are you talking about?”

His shoulders tensed. He was trembling. And so was I.

“Your wife… She didn't…”

“What are you saying?”

“And your chil-… Children…”

“Children? We were only expecting one chi-.”

And right then, I remembered. I remembered the day I missed the ultra-sound meeting. The day my wife was so… furious with me. So furious that she wouldn't tell me something. Something life changing, she had told me. And no matter how much I begged and pleaded, cajoled and warranted she would not, could not, tell me her secret. But, I played along. I played along as any good husband would, though it drove me to my very limits during the first few days. I had forgotten in the rush of the final weeks of pregnancy, the final days… The last time I had seen her… She looked so…

“There are more?”

I thought back once more. The day we had finally finished the baby’s room.

It’s no Martha Stuart showcase, but it’ll do.

Then she kissed me.

I remembered the day she told me that we would have to actually re-do the baby’s room.

I think it’s fine, Karen.

Oh, come on, Fred, you cheapo. Live a little!

I said it’s fine; why do you want to re-do it when you yourself said it was fine?

Don’t get the pregnant lady angry, Frederick!

And that had been that. She had bought some new things for the room, but hadn't let on as to what they had been. She had gone to the extent of hiding the packages at her parents’ house.

“Where are they? Where’s my wife? Where are my chil-… dren.”

“Fred. Please. Put the chair down.”

“What?”

He looked at me, and then over my head. I had picked up a chair and lifted it over my head in… I don’t even know what emotion.

I noticed now that I had him cowering against the door to his office. His glasses were askew. There was spittle in the corners of his mouth.

“Please, Fred.”

Slowly, I unfroze. Slowly, my muscles themselves came loose, and I collapsed, putting the chair down and falling into it. The doctor pushed me closer to the wall, out of the middle of the hallway, and away from the wide eyes of the hotel... Hospital... Hotel staff? Hospital staff.

“Fred, look at me.”

I could only see the faces. The faces of the children. The children in the next room. The children down the hall. The children. Their children. Anyone’s children. My children.

“My children? Where are they? Where’s my wife?”

The word. Children. It sounded so strange. So vague. Something someone else would say. Something written about. Something I had never had or thought I would. All the while, through the pregnancy, I had known I would become a father at the end of it all, but I hadn't known I would become… a father.

“Please… My wife… My children…”

“Fred. Please. Please calm down, and look at me.”

I held my breath, and looked at him. I could smell his breath; coffee. Coffee-stained teeth. Cigarettes. Yellowed teeth. Something else. Something horrible.

“Wait.”

His eyebrows creased; I had caught him off-guard. In his eyes, I had known what he was about to say. But if he was going to tell me, I wanted it to be because I had made him say it. Not because he had to tell me. Or because he pitied me.

“Did she go peacefully?”

Something in his eyes. Something about them. They were brown, but not dark; they were filled with a light I had not seen in a long time. Not since Afghanistan. Not since the war. In them I could see my face; the unshaven, grizzled, worn visage that I had become so used to, so inherently indifferent to.

Again, my wife was calling to me. From before.

Freddy, your eye patch makes you look so…

Good looking? Masculine?

That’s not was I was going for, but alright, I suppose that works.

My eye patch. The reason I had been sent home. The reason I couldn’t hold a decent job. The reason I thought I couldn’t support a child, let alone a wife and several children. The price I paid to come home. To come home alive.

In his eyes, I looked like a dead man. And my own… What did my eyes look like?

“She… Yes. She died knowing… Knowing you would live on, to live with her memory; the memory of her life, not her death. To raise your children.”

I ignored the first half; if I acknowledged her death, it would only mean that today was real. That today was actually happening.

“My children. Where are they?”

“They’re right over here in the next room. I can take you there if you’d like. And then after we mu-”

“Take me there.”

“Of course.”

Again, we dodged our way through the maelstrom, weaving our way through the mass of human life. In a room nearby I heard singing, and a moment later a guitar. And then laughter.

You could never play the guitar well, Fred.

I can still learn, can’t I? I mean, it isn’t too late. I’ve got plenty of good years left in me.

Of course you do, of course you do.

“Mr. Zimmerman, in here.”

A light in the door; a dim one, but a light.

I walked towards the door, but before I entered, he grabbed my arm. I looked at his arm, questioning its presence there, already on the edge of insanity and in no need for a spark to set me off. I looked at him.

“There’s something you should know. Your children are-“

“Let me go, damn you.”

He stopped, and for a second looked like he was going to risk telling me anyway. But then he let go, and I was glad; I didn’t want to kill him.

I walked into the room. It was dim, but it held a certain light; a light present because I knew. I knew my children were in here. The room was filled with low stands, like glass display cases, each with their own life inside; their own bundle of new life. New joy. New wonder. I looked around, checking the boards at the end of each one.

James… Thomas… Mary Ellis… Joseph…

“Fred.”

“What?”

“You won’t be able to find them without my help. Or a nurse.”

“You don’t think I’ll know what my own children look like?”

“Fred.”

He looked at me, and I didn’t see any light in his eyes anymore. Only the darkness of the room.

“Fine. Take me to them.”

He turned, and led me to the end of the row, where there was a larger “display case” with a child inside.

“How many?”

“Technically, there are two.”

“Technically? What do you mean tech-.”

And then I saw them. My children. My babies. They were…

“Conjoined. At the head.”

I froze. My heart was one muscle, one bone. One massive, shrinking thing, growing ever smaller and smaller.

“Fred?”

I said nothing.

“Fred?”

Again, I said nothing.

He looked at me, and then at the… children.

“I’ll step outside, to leave you alone with them. Let me know when you’re-.”

“Get out.”

He left without another word.

I stood there, not knowing what to do.

I could see their hands from where I was, their arms. They were wrapped around each other, hugging each other. They looked so… lovely. So small and helpless.

“I can’t help but love you.”

They moved when I spoke; not much, but they flexed their little arms and legs and seemed to turn to my voice. As well as they could, at least; they were joined at the forehead, after all.

I moved towards them, closer and closer until finally I was there, with them, by their side.

I put my hands on either side of them, holding them through the glass, with my eyes, my heart.

“I’m here for you, babies. I’m here for you.”

I could see their chests rising and falling. I could see their little nostrils flaring, and they hugged each other tightly.

And then a monitor started beeping, loudly.

“Doctor?”

The beeping grew increasingly more present.

“Doctor!”

My babies were thrashing.

“DOCTOR!”

He came in, finally, with a nurse on his heels.

“Oh my God. Get them out of here. Get them to the OR!”

“What’s wrong with them?”

“I don’t know!" There was crying and screaming in the room now; the other babies. Did they know something? Or was it my scream that had frightened them?

"Move out of the way; we have to get them to the operating room!”

I practically dove out of their way as they rolled the little display case out of the room, into the hallway, into the fray. And I froze, for a minute, maybe two. Maybe ten. But I froze.

Surely it’s more dangerous for them out there; they could get hurt.

I was still frozen. If it was possible to stutter mentally, I did then.

They need me.

“Wait!”

I ran after them, actually running into a man in a wheelchair and knocking him over, sending him into a nurse who was carrying some medical instruments. I didn't stop. I didn't care. I needed to find the emergency room.

I grabbed a tired-looking young man by the shoulders and shook him.

“Where’s the operating room?!”

“At the end of the hall! But you can’t go in there!”

I didn’t care. I couldn’t hear him. I was in my own world. A world where I needed to see my children. I needed to save them.

“Wait! Stop!”

I kept running, and crashed through the doors.

I remember the blood. I remember the faces of the doctor and the nurses.

And then I saw them. My children. My babies. On the table. Looking small.

So small…

The doctor threw a scalpel against the wall, cursing to high heaven. 

“Damn it!” He fell against the wall.

Or Hell.

I didn’t understand what was happening.

“What’s wrong?”

He froze, he stood up, and just as I thought he was about to say something, he fainted.

A few nurses ran over to revive him.

I grabbed one of them and turned her to me.

“What’s wrong with my children?!”

She wouldn’t look at me; she was crying. It was disgusting.

“Tell me!”

“They’re… They’re dead. A blood clot… The circulation… He couldn't... They died…”

I remember letting go of her. I remember walking over to the table, and looking down at them. My children. My babies. I remembering naming them. Elizabeth. And Roger.

Remember, honey; Elizabeth if it’s a girl, and Roger if it’s a boy.

She would laugh whenever I said that; after the last ultrasound. Now I knew why.

Here they were; the manifestation of the love of my wife and I. Incarnate. Flesh and blood, gristle and bone; my children.

They were still hugging each other. Tightly in death as ever in life. Maybe even more so.

And then I ran. I ran until I got to the fire escape, breaking free of anyone who tried to stop me, in one instance kicking a few teeth out of the male nurse I had grabbed earlier when he tackled me to the ground.

“You son of a-!”

I kicked him in the face and teeth flew, as well as blood and what appeared to be a retainer.

I made it to the stairway. I broke the glass by the door and took the fire axe inside the case. I used it to brace the door behind me. And then I ran up the steps, taking four at a time because for the first time that day I knew what was going to happen. I knew what I was going to do. I knew what was in store for me.

I crashed through the door at the top; the end of the line before the end of the line. I was blinded for a moment by a terrific light, and all I saw for perhaps half a minute was the reflection of the Sun on many surfaces. And then my vision cleared; around me, there were ventilation ducts and air conditioners. But I wasn’t looking for them. I was looking for something else.

The edge. The edge of the roof.

My last obstacle. I stood at the edge; my crossroads. My boundary. Below I saw a medley of faces; all colors. But those colors, from this height, were blended, and everyone looked alike. Everyone was so small. So fragile. My own bones were yearning for release.

Down below, a voice:

“Hey, you! Stop!”

I ran and jumped, letting what light there was touch me and, if it chose to, catch me.

And before my eyes was my life, and this bitter end was the show before the show; an anti-climax.

*     *     *     *     *

“You said this kid is your oldest, ma’am?”

“Yes sir; little Freddie. Well, big Freddie now.”

“Mom, please.”

“Well son, I’d like you to give some thought to your future.”

“My future? I already know what I want to do. That’s why you’re here, right? To enlist me?”

He was startled at my directness. Most people were.

“He certainly is direct, isn’t he?”

“That’s Freddie.”

He cleared his throat.

“Well, Mr. Zimmerman, as you know the Army has multiple outlets and benefits for its enlistees. Perhaps you would-“

“I’ll do it.”

He looked surprised.

“Maybe you want some time to discuss it with your mo-.”

“We’ve discussed it already. We've got it down.”

He puffed out his cheeks and blew air.

“Jesus, kid. You sure do know yourself.”

No, not really, I thought.

“Anyways, here are some pamphlets. And… I suppose we’ll see you at the recruitment office?”

“Of course. We’ll see each other again soon, Master Sergeant Harris.”

“Alright, well, good day to the both of you.”

He tipped his hat and got up to leave. At the door, he stopped and turned.

“Say, you wouldn’t happen to be Frederick Zimmerman, would you? You know my daughter, Karen Harris? I think she said she’s in your… What was it? Your-“

“History class.”

“Yes, yes, that’s the one… Well, it brings me comfort knowing that my daughter associated herself with such a respectable young man.”

“Thank you. Have a good day, Sergeant Harris.”

“ ‘Master’ Sergeant Harris, son.”

“Yes, sir.”

*     *     *     *     *

“Hey, Zimmerman, you want a drag?”

Private Jackson held up a lit cigarette, smoke curling off the end.

I glanced over at him, and went back to my reading.

“You know those things give you cancer, right?”

He laughed and took a long pull on the cancer stick.

“Yeah, well, at least I’ll die smiling.”

“Yeah, with black lungs and a hole in your d-.”

“You watch your mouth, private; there could be kids!”

I rolled my eyes and tried to concentrate on reading. Jackson reached over and snatched the book from my hands.

“Hey! Give it back!”

“Oh, hush, I’m only looking.”

He scanned the pages and read aloud:

"And in that cave he knew; knew that all he knew were the shadows of the cave and the light by which they were produced. That everything he knew was only defined by what he was allowed to know; by what others knew. But because he was the only one, the only man, the only thing in the cave, he defined his existence. He thought, and therefore, he existed. And so he lived in fear, night and day, that one day, he would imagine a nonexistence; a place of complete dark. Or complete light. A place where men didn’t exist."

He looked up at me.

“What is this?”

I sighed.

“My own interpretation of Plato’s allegory The Cave.”

“Jesus Christ, kid; just because the military offers free college, it doesn’t mean you have to actually take the damn offer.”

“Well, I’m not going to be doing this my entire life.”

“What d' you want to do when you get back state-side?”

I averted my eyes.

“What? Is it embarrassing?”

“No.”

“You don’t want to be a god damn stripper, do you?”

We both laughed at that.

“Come on, tell me.”

“Well, alright.”

I sat up on the cot, swinging my legs over the side of it.

“I really want to be a… teacher.”

“Oh really? What kind?”

“A history teacher. Preferably world history.”

“And why that subject?”

“Because… Well…”

“Oh come on, you can’t back out now.”

I looked at him and saw genuine curiosity. I guess that’s why I told him.

“Because that’s the class I met the love of my life in.”

He whistled; a long, low one.

“Well, lover boy, don’t you go and start pining for your girl every damn second we’re deployed; ‘cause those’re the guys that get killed first.”

“The guys who constantly talk about their girl back home?”

“Hahaha, hell yeah.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry; we aren’t together or anything. I’m hoping when I get back, I can ask her out on a date or something.”

“Get out of here. You went off to war without asking her?”

I looked at him.

“The way I figure, if she says yes after so long of a wait, then it’s real. Y' know?”

He nodded knowingly.

“I see. Here’s your book.”

He handed it back to me. I held my page with my finger, and just as I was about to lay back down and continue reading, he laid his hand on my shoulder.

“You know, despite my obviously rugged looks,” he chuckled, “I’m actually a really well-read sort of guy. I’ve actually read that book, The Cave, and that’s not what I think it’s about.”

I was amused; I had never really been challenged in my ideas.

“Okay, I’m curious; what do you think it means?”

He shrugged.

“Well, the man was chained to a wall all his life, with nothing but the cave walls around him. To him, his existence was the darkness. It was the light. It was mediation. And that was all he knew; from his birth to the point he was released from his bondage. And then he realized that the shadows he had known all his life were caused by others; other people. Other people in an adjoining chamber… Their fire had been causing the flickering; the shadows.”

“What are you getting at?”

He shrugged once more.

“What I’m trying to say is that there’s no hidden meaning; you were right when you said existence is defined by the collective. But the allegory is saying that there are multiple realities; your own reality and other peoples are just… layers. You know what I mean?”

“I actually do. Thank you. I like your idea much better.”

He laughed.

“Don’t go changing your philosophy on account of me; an individual easily swayed is no model for society, am I right?”

I laughed this time.

“I suppose you’re right.”

He laughed lowly.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. See you around; we’ve got patrol in thirty mikes.”

“Alright.”

He left, and I thought for a little while about what he had said, what I had said. I had never really opened up to someone in that way before.

After a while I stopped and continued reading from where I had left off.

*     *     *     *     *

“Hi, Karen.”

“Oh my God Freddie; your eye! What happened?”

“Oh, you know, just… Got shot.”

“You say it in such an off-hand way. Gosh.”

“Anyways, I did say hello, Karen.”

She laughed, shaking her head.

“Hello, Freddie.”

“Is… Is the sergeant home?”

“The sergeant? Oh, you mean Dad? Yeah, he’s in the kitchen. Would you like to come in?”

“Of course.”

She led the way to the kitchen. On the walls I saw an assortment of military memorabilia; medals and plaques, flags and photos.

We walked through the low-hanging doorway and there he was; my first taste of actual military life.

“Hello, Corporal.”

“Sir.” I saluted him.

“Oh please, none of that; I’m retired, now. Sit down.”

I sat opposite him. Karen was leaning against the door frame, with her head tilted.

“May I ask about your eye?”

“I suppose so; it seems everybody can.”

He laughed at that.

“There’s the honesty I remember.”

“Well, it happened on patrol. Some Afghan teenager took a pot shot at us from one of the roofs. Lucky shot, I suppose.”

“For him, yes. You don’t seem resentful about it.”

I shrugged. “It got me home.”

“Yes… It did.” He was looking at me strangely.

I cleared my throat.

“Sir, I would like to ask you something.”

“And that would be?”

I swallowed.

“I… I would like the opportunity to take your daughter out on a date.”

He blinked.

And then he started laughing so hard he was slapping the table and the chair he was sitting in and even his own thigh.

I couldn’t see myself but I was pretty sure I was beet red.

But then he reached out and clapped me on the shoulder.

“Son, it would be an honor to have a young man such as yourself associated with my daughter.”

I blanched.

“Th-thanks. I mean, thank you, sir.”

“Ah, quit it with the ‘sir’ crap. I’m retired. I shouldn't have to say it twice." He laughed.

He looked back and forth between the two of us; Karen and I.

“Well, I’ve gotta go take a leak; getting old. Prostate ain’t holding up for anything.”

We all laughed at that, and he left the room.

I got up and made my way over to Karen, my hands in my pockets and with what I’m sure was a sheepish look on my face.

“Well…”

“When you said you were going to ask my father for his permission, I didn’t know it was going to be so hilarious.”

“Oh, don’t you start with me.”

We walked to the door, and out into the early evening. It was quiet. Quiet and lovely.

“Frederick, your eye patch makes you look so…”

“Good looking? Masculine?" I wiggled my eyebrows.

“That’s not was I was going for, but alright, I suppose that works.”

We laughed, and for a moment, we were alone; even more alone than we were already.

The night continued, perhaps only due to our willingness to be a part of it.

“What do you want to do?”

“Anything.”

I grabbed her hand. It was a little hard; depth perception problems.

“Let’s get to it, then.”

*     *     *     *     *

“Hey, guys.”

“Is that our annoying older brother we hear?”

“Oh, shut up or I’ll take out one of your own eyes.”

“Ooh, big scary soldier-type dude.”

“Ah, c’m’ere.”

And with that my two brothers laughed and tackled me against the wall, and we started wrestling like we used to.

We were laughing when our mother came in, and she laughed as she saw us rolling around on the thread-bare carpet. We stopped, because we remembered the scolding’s we used to get from her; the stiff ears and the soreness. On the inside, we smiled at the memories, and all the while we didn't know that the other two were thinking the same exact thing.

“Welcome home, honey.”

I smiled.

“Glad to be home, mom.”

*     *     *     *     *

“Why do I have to keep this thing on, again?”

“Oh hush, Freddie; just be patient.”

“Oh fine. But I've already got an eye patch a-"

"I said hush." She slapped me on my shoulder and we both laughed.

I had been walking blindfolded through the Zimmerman family home for a minute or two before I heard a hush in front of me.

“Where’re you-“

“SURPRISE!”

“Oh Lord.”

“Happy birthday, Freddie!”

All I knew was I was laughing and crying at the same time and I had my fiancée's arms around me, and I buried my face in her hair.

I looked up and saw both of our families gathered; with no real definitive edge between our two families, it was just one happy… Mass. One group. One family. Which made what I had to say next even easier because, really, we were all already family.

“Ladies and gentleman, Zimmerman’s and Harrison’s, and those people who just came for the booze!”

Everyone laughed at that. My brothers were giving me wolf whistles behind my back and I flipped them off. Karen's dad saw and he started laughing even harder.

“My wonderful girlfriend Karen and I would like to take this opportunity to announce our engagement!”

The roar that followed… It made me laugh and cry again. There really is nothing like it in the world; being loved.

*     *     *     *     * 

 

“Karen, I don’t understand why everything has to be so perfect.”

A picture flew past; I’m pretty sure it was one from my birthday party.

“Karen! Please!”

Another one flew, and this time it hit me in the eye patch. Good thing there was no eye there; I might have lost it. It still hurt a lot, though, and that made me angry.

“That’s it! I’m leaving!”

I grabbed my backpack and left, and as I closed the door behind me I heard her screaming something incoherent. I heard a crash. That would be the vase on our coffee table. I shrugged it off and started walking.

*     *     *     *     *

When I got back later that day the windows were dark. It was quiet; no more screaming.

I walked up to the door and took my key out, but it opened before I could put the key in.

There she was.

And then we were hugging and she was crying into my chest and I was crying into her hair.

"I'll always come back, Kare-Bear."

She cried even harder.

*     *     *     *     *

“Hey you, stop!”

“Oh God, is he jumping?”

“Don’t do it!”

My God, I thought. He’s going t-

The guy fell. From the ground, it didn’t look like a jump so much as a slump; a sort of surrender to the inevitable.

It may be justifiable to add the fact that suicidal individuals rarely choose the circumstances of their deaths, or the causes leading up to their deaths. Their behaviors are determined by others, and even their actions are determined by still more, and on it goes. Forever and ever, their lives echoing as if they were tinder, snapping in a forgotten fire, by a forgotten people, and on the edge of its reality, a forgotten man, his own reality fragile and at the mercy of his fellow men.

The Cave is really just a cave; it’s the men inside the cave that determine the cave itself.

*     *     *     *     *

“Here’s your room, sir.”

“Thank you. Here’s a twenty. For getting the bags.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll leave you to it.”

And with a sly wink, he was gone.

I turned to her; my wife. Mrs. Zimmerman.

“So, shall I carry you in?”

I scooped her up, her laughing and clinging to my neck as I carefully carried her over the threshold, into our hotel room. The first room we shared as a couple, but certainly not the last.

Laughing, I carried her over to the bed and dumped her onto it, rose petals flying everywhere. We sat there, laughing, like two old friends, old comrades, tossing flower petals into the air. Which we were; old friends, I mean. Old friends now married.

Then suddenly she stopped.

And so did I.

I turned to look at her, and I saw she was staring straight up at the ceiling.

I leaned up on my elbow, and turned to look at her.

“Karen?”

She didn’t respond. She was so quiet; unblinkingly quiet. And still. So still.

“Karen?”

Again, no response, and I decided to lie back as well. After a few moments, I understood what Karen was doing; she was memorizing this moment. The sounds. The tastes. The smells. The look of it all.

For a while we just lay there. The window to our hotel room was still wide open; from the hall I could hear a mother scolding her children. And from the terrace outside, I could hear cooing; a pigeon. Or a dove. I wouldn’t know until I had seen it. I like to think it was a dove. And then the breeze came in; and it ruffled her dress, and my coat, and the petals we had loosened seemed to dance around us in a whirlwind of red and magenta, and I knew in that moment that this was how I wanted to die; by her side, in a bed, listening to the sounds of our lives.

“Freddie?”

“Yes, Mrs. Zimmerman?”

“Ooh, why do I love the sound of that?”

We laughed.

“How many children do you want?”

I looked over at her, and I saw the sincerity in her eyes. She still wasn’t looking at me.

“I know we’ve discussed this before, but now that we’re married, I want to know your true answer.”

I frowned, puzzled.

“I didn’t lie to you before...”

She laughed.

“I know, Fred, but I’m sure your opinion has changed? Hasn’t it?”

I laughed.

“I suppose you’re right.” I turned on my side, leaning my head close to her.

“What was the number I gave you? Two?”

“I think it was three.”

“Ah, okay.”

She turned to me, looking over my shoulder.

“Do you think that we can support a child with your salary? I mean, I’ll be the stay-at-home mother and you’ll have your teaching and I’m sure we can…”

She drifted off into silence, still not looking at me.

“I’m sure we can.”

There was a pause. It wasn’t long, but it felt like it was.

“Karen.”

“Yes?”

“Why won’t you look at me?”

She sighed.

“Because I only want to see your face after I’m done taking in… Everything. I want it to be the last thing I remember. Of this place.”

I was so sincerely touched. There were no words.

“Karie…”

She finally looked at me, and in her eyes were reflected the light of the new day.

“Yes, Freddie?”

I didn’t know what to say, so I kissed her. Through the kiss she said something; something along the lines of “you should probably close the door”.

I gladly obliged.

I got up, left her on the bed, and went to the door. I reached out into the hall and put my hand on the doorknob. I thought it was strange that the doors to the rooms opened outwards. Maybe a mistake when they were being put in. Or maybe not.

I looked both ways. I didn’t hear anything. Not a thing. Only silence.

“Freddie, you’re needed in bed.”

I laughed. I pulled on the knob, turning it as I did so, and closed it quietly.

Author's Note

Supposed to jump around.

Reviews

[Mars]

Every piece you write is so mesmerizing and absolutely amazing. Just like you. I love you