I Love Him to Death

This is the only finished piece of fiction that I've ever liked of mine. Please tear it to shreds.

The last time I danced like this I dislocated my hip and fractured my entire existence. Damn it felt good. James took lead like always, as we somewhat-almost-not-really-all-that-gracefully swirled around the room like a ceiling fan attached only by its wires. At seventy-nine, I had trouble keeping up with the rhythm of the show tune blanketing the room. James, six years younger than me, still had some function in his body. As he dipped me, I swore I could feel the cancerous masses shift around and my arthritis cry for joy as I cried in pain. But then he cradled my back with a wrinkled hand, pulled me into his chest, and pressed his lips to mine in the softest kiss until my body complied with his wishes. Suddenly the masses and joints didn't matter again and we were twenty-something, spinning around and around to the new song overhead.

The illusion collapsed when my nurse from the treatment center entered, recalling us to our old bodies. "Hey Clark, James," she said, nodding her head slightly towards each of us. "It's nice to see you fellas in such fine spirits. You guys eating in the cafeteria today? It's about to close." We shared a look that had developed fantastic accuracy over our forty-nine years as a pair, and I turned and gave a quiet yes for both of us. James twirled me a few more times, and we hobbled into the hallway. As we walked, I curled my fingers between his in their familiar sheaths. I gave his hand a firm squeeze as I remembered the plan for the next few days. We were off to New York again, this time to be married on the same Broadway stage where we had met.

It was in 1964 in a production of Fiddler on the Roof. I was Motel Kamzoil and he was cast in the glamorous role of…chorus boy. He hated when I called it that and I enjoyed prodding him too much to care. Truth be told, I was always the singer in our relationship. He was just there because he was pretty and could dance circles around anyone that came on that stage. I was ok with that. Why wouldn't I be? He was always a looker. Sure, I could keep up with the step ball change and soutenues. You had to to make it onto Broadway in those years. Not like in this generation where you can scrape by as a lead role by smiling pretty, twirling a few times, and skirting the edge of the stage. No, in our heyday it was either dance or get the hell off the stage. But James...he was something else. He must have been lead dancer in twenty-five productions that I can remember, which is hard at my age, let me tell you. If he could have carried any tune at all he'd have been the lead in everything. But, lucky for me (and for him, 'cause he got me), he could not. His singing voice was low and scratchy like Tom Waits except awful, and no one liked to listen to it except for me. It worked out well though, because I sang for him and he danced for me and we loved each other for it.

We moved rather quickly after we first met. Well, after I finally got him to agree to go out for a night with me.  I can still remember the first time I tried. The leads were sitting out at a rehearsal while the chorus practiced choreography for the Bottle Dance. I fell in love with the way he took up the whole stage under those lights, chasse-ing across the floor without ever touching the ground. I approached him pompously after rehearsal and said "Hey, nice moves up there kid. Wanna step out and dance somewhere a little more fun?" He turned and looked at me with this offended gaze, as though he was royalty and I had just spat on his shoes, laughed a little, and said "No." Not a "No, thanks." Just a laugh-in-your-face no. I wanted him. Bad.

I tried again after the next rehearsal with a little less arrogance and a whole lot more charm, hands in my pockets to be as adorable as possible. "Hey... I know we had rehearsal today, so last night wasn't such a grand time for a party but tomorrow we're off... so I figure maybe you'd like to come out and cut loose with me tonight, instead. Whaddya say, handsome?" I even gave him my most unbelievably dashing smile, down to the dimples and my brushed-after-every-meal whites. The same smile that melted the pants off every man I'd ever been with. And you know what he did? That b*****d laughed at me again. To my face! I never let him off the hook for that. I gave up after that display and turned to leave when he caught my shoulder, spun me around, and kissed me. What a kiss it was. I'm talking a VJ-Day sailor-just-got-home-and-kissed-his-lover-in-Times-Square kiss. That kind of lip-to-lip smack that changes lives. And let me tell you something else. It. Was. On. And I never looked back.

We decided on the plan to go out to New York about a month earlier. We had just gotten the news that I had cancer for the second time. Stage-four pancreatic cancer, prognosis- three to six months, and we finally got the jolt to do what we had been putting off. We called our travel agent and set up the dates, hotels and show tickets included. I planned everything about the wedding once James left after visits, mostly because James hated surprises and I loved nothing more than surprising him romantically. I made calls to all our old theatre friends, gathering anyone I could from the cast of Fiddler and getting their recommendations for younger people to help me out. This is how I saw it: We would walk in together to the stage under the pretense of just seeing it one last time. Once we got in, I would tell him to wait at the top of the aisle while I turned on the lights, which would allow me to get up to the stage and in position on stage with the rest of the cast. Once I was there, the lights would kick on to show me standing with our Bielke, who was nine when we met, ready to marry us and the rest of the cast singing Matchmaker, Matchmaker on stage.

It was going to be incredible- the perfect sunset to a happy life. We spent most of that day going through old theatres we used to rule, remembering stories and friends that came and went like our escapades in Man of LaMancha in '65, or Annie in '77. I saved the most important for last, of course. We walked into the Imperial Theatre at five p.m., exactly on schedule. As we did two of our oldest theatre friends, Susanne and Michael greeted us dressed as ushers. James looked at me almost immediately and said “Clark, what have you done?”

“Don’t worry about it, handsome,” I said. “Just do whatever they tell you. Trust me.” He nodded reluctantly and went with Susanne to change into a tux I picked out for him while I changed into my own.

We met back in the lobby and James looked even more confused than before. “What is going on, Clark?”

“We’re going to see a show, you inquisitve b*****d. Just go with it, ok? For me?” He gave me another grouchy look and turned towards Michael, who led us into the darkened theatre.

“Oh, something’s wrong with the lights. Hey Clark, would you mind going back stage and seeing what’s going on?”

“Sure, Mike. I’ll be right back, love.” It was a cheesy set up, but so was our whole life. Cheesy Broadway dialogue. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. “Go ahead and have a seat and we’ll get this show going.” I stopped and pulled his lips to mine by his hand, then began to walk up towards the stage. For the first time in about fifty-five years, I got stage fright.

I reached the top of the stairs a bit out of breath but continued on towards the light switch, mentally preparing myself for the dancing and singing ahead. I took one last deep breath, and then flipped the switch to reveal an entire chorus of friends and new blood dressed to play any number of parts in Fiddler on the Roof. I straightened my back and headed out onto the curtain of the stage to look at James in the seats. His face was priceless. “My dearest James,” I said, projecting out into the rear seats with my stage diction out of habit, “welcome to the show. Relax for the moment, but we ask that you please listen to your ushers if they are giving you instructions. You’ll be expected to participate in the show in just a bit. For now, we begin!” As I shouted the last part of my intro, the band in the orchestra pit struck up the beginning of To Life, and the chorus danced into action. It was marvelous. Generations of actors from all types of shows working together to honor James and I. I danced my part, some simple jazz steps, and watched James cry in the seats. As the song finished and I yelled the final “To life!” Michael approached James and ushered him up towards the stage. As he stood, the band began playing Matchmaker, Matchmaker right on cue.

When he reached the stage, James immediately headed towards me and squeezed me. I kissed him quickly and then pushed him towards the middle of the circle of dancers that I joined, whirling around and around in a flash of colors and voices. At least, that’s what I saw. They tell me that as I started circling, I spun out of control and landed on the stage, passed out before I had even gone down. James hurried to my side and an ambulance was called to rush me to the nearest ER. I woke up here, bandages on my head. The doctors say that I likely passed out from lack of eating. The tumors push up against my stomach and I don’t get hungry very often, and even then I only eat a few bites. I was just so excited to finally marry James that I didn’t pay attention. My diagnosis has been pushed up too, which scares me. They’re afraid I’ve got days, maybe not even plural, and he and I still aren’t married. I talked to him about it last night and that beautiful man has arranged something for us tomorrow. He won’t tell me what, but he said to be prepared for something amazing. I love that b*****d to death.

Author's Note

I'm looking for whatever help you wanna give, even if it's just a passing comment about something you felt worked. Thanks for reading!

Reviews

[Neville]

This was certainly a pleasure to read and held my attention throughout.
My only on the negative side comment is regarding the layout rather than
anything to do with the content.

This might be an English/British thing or possibly just me being a bit whimsical
but a double line space between paragraphs would have make it easier for me to read.

All Good Things,

Neville

[Shawn M]

Thank you! I'll take a look at that. It does look a little odd single-spaced on here. Thanks for the suggestion, and thanks so much for reading. :D