In the Dead of Night

by

20140624

‘iss me.

What? (rolling over & kissing her neck)

I love you so much .

I love you too, dear.

I’m having so many memory lapses, it scares me.

You have a terrible disease.

I miss you so much.

I miss you too.

I’m afraid I’m going to die soon. That fear comes and goes. I don’t want to leave you alone.

You’ll be going to a better place, with our teacher. We were both there before we came here. I’ll join you there soon.

I hope so. I wish I was still pretty.

You are, dear. You’re beautiful. Remember the story of the Little Prince?

Yes.

Of all the flowers in the whole wide world, there was only one that was his, and his alone. And of all the flowers in the whole, wide world, you are the only one for me. The scent of the old rose is incomparable. It grows only on the older vines that have lived through the winter, not the new vines of spring.

Do you remember the picnics we used to have?

At night, naked, in bed?

I could still eat the food we used to put on the platters…

Well most of it, anyway.  The taste of the raisiny port, Blue Stilton , the cheeses, crackers, tiny meats, chocolates.  Some of it you’d take from my mouth into yours, like a baby bird. Especially the chocolates.

And the music.

Our menage-a-trois with Beethoven, or at least his visions of Heaven.

I can’t be close to you, like we used to.

We’ll have to work towards it. Save for a couch that unfolds into a bed. Then we can roll about, wrestle, like we did.

We have had such a hard life.

Yes, especially, emotionally. But we’ve also had more blessings than many. I’ve been granted the ability to make enough money for us to be together, in our own place, safe, shielded from the weather, hire people to help you with your writing.

I know.  I give thanks every day.

So do I.

I’m afreaid I’ll forget who you are.  I won’t know you.

That may happen. But it will always come back.

Are you sure?

That’s how the disease progresses. It comes and goes, your memory and awareness. I remember a story of a couple. He had the disease.  He was sleeping more than 20 hours a day. He hadn’t spoken for months or shown any sign of recognizing her. She was with him as he died.  At the very end, she told him that she loved him. He squeezed her hand as he used to. He was still there, knew her, loved her. Then he died. I will be there when you die. You don’t have to worry or make any effort. I will know that you are there, that you love me and that I love you. Then we will be together again after a little while.

(She squeezes his hand. He places her forearms on his and interlaces their fingers, squeezing back.)

I have to try to get another hour of sleep before I have to get up to go to work.

(She starts to snore, softly.)

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