No Title

Can't think of a title for this one.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When I woke up and looked around it took me a few seconds to orient myself, then I realized I was in the spare bedroom. I chuckled to myself. "Guess I came in for a nap and the wife just let me sleep through." I got up and peeked in our bedroom door; she was still fast asleep in our bed so I thought I'd surprise her with breakfast.

Maybe it was the coffee brewing, perhaps the toast, or the frying bacon, but shortly after I'd started breakfast I heard her stirring, and a few minutes later she came downstairs then peered around the corner.

"Good morning, beautiful," I said. "Looks like my nap in the spare bedroom went a little longer than planned." I smiled at her, and she smiled back but behind the eyes I saw...something else. Sadness?

"Something wrong?" I asked her.

"No," she said, "well, maybe. Yes, yes there is."

I poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her. She took a sip as I prompted her. "Well, come on. Out with it."

She sighed, then muttered almost under her breath, "this just gets harder and harder."

"Sorry?" I said, "What do you mean?"

"Oh honey," she said, bursting into tears. "You've got Alzheimer's. You've had it for years."

"I do?" I said. "Alzheimer's? You'd think I'd remember something like that."

She laughed, but it wasn't a happy laugh. "You always say that," she said.

I smiled at her. "So you're saying I forgot I have Alzheimer's?"

She nodded her head. "What's today's date?" she asked me.

"Ahh, a test," I replied. "Let's see now. Christmas was a couple of weeks ago so...I'm guessing...January 7th." I winked at her. "1995."

"It's August 12th," she said sadly. "August 12th, 2007."

I looked at her. She was serious. She pointed to the calendar hanging on the wall. It was on August, and the first 11 days had been crossed out. It was a calendar...for 2007. I was glad I'd been leaning nonchalantly against the counter because I needed it now to stop me from collapsing to the floor. I really did have Alzheimer's.

"How...how long..." I couldn't finish the question.

She answered anyway. "Twelve and a half years, since 1997. January 1st, 1997. We'd seen the signs the previous year. We knew it was coming, then you woke up on New Year's Day and...that was it."

"How bad is it?" I asked her.

She shook her head.

"That bad?"

"You don't remember anything."

"But...look at me! I...I remember it now. I'm good. Am I...cured?"

"No," she said, "you have days like this, every now and then...every year or two. One day, every couple of years, you're okay. And...I know you're okay on that day because...you make me breakfast." Tears were running down her cheeks now.

"The other days?" I asked her. "What am I like...on the other days?"

"You don't know me," she said. "You get up and fix yourself a bowl of cereal, and you're surprised when I come downstairs. That's why...you sleep in the spare bedroom. You don't know me. You don't remember me. You don't even know we're married."

"So the other days, it's like we're dating, right?" I grasped for something to hold on to. Something to let me know that when I wasn't here, that I was at least sort of still there for her.

She shook her head, she couldn't give me that. "I fix you lunch and I make you dinner, and you thank me, then ignore me. And in the evening I go to our bedroom, and you go to your room. And that's our day. Except for those few good days, that's been our life for the past twelve years. I take care of you every day, hoping you'll get better, waiting for days like today, because they make it all worthwhile."

I took her in my arms and we held each other for the longest time. Our coffee grew cold, but we couldn't let each other go. It didn't feel like it to me, but for her, we'd been apart for so long that today, she needed to be close to me.

It was like we were dating all over again. We went out for lunch, enjoying an unusually mild summer day. Not too hot. Just nice. We watched a movie. We went for a walk in the park. We had dinner at the restaurant where I'd proposed to her all those years ago. Hard to believe it was still open.

"So...tomorrow?" I said to her, as we walked in our front door.

"You won't remember any of this," she said. "You'll forget it all, and I'll go back to taking care of a husband who doesn't even know me. Maybe you'll be back in a year or two...but it's been getting longer," she said. "March 30 was the last day we spent together. March 30th, 2005. Almost two and a half years ago."

I stared at the woman who'd promised to love and cherish me, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. And she was sticking to that promise, even though I was no longer the man she'd married...except for one day every few years. Like today.

Until death do us part.

She was still a beautiful woman. She still had so much to live for. She didn't deserve to spend the rest of her days like this. She needed to live. Not waste away taking care of a man who barely acknowledged her existence.

Until death do us part.

"I'm going to shower before bed," I said to her. "Do I...still do that?"

"Only if I remind you," she told me.

Wow. When I wasn't me, I was a pig. An ungrateful, inconsiderate pig. I took everything from her and gave nothing back. Nothing but one day every year or so...and she'd said those days were getting further and further apart.

"You don't need to remind me tonight," I told her, smiling. Then I kissed her. "I love you," I told her. "I've always loved you, even if I don't remember. Thank you, for everything."

Upstairs, as I got ready for my shower, I slipped the phone into the pocket of my robe. In the bathroom I found the hair scissors. Still razor sharp, as if they were brand new. Which they practically were, or at least never used. I remember I'd got the set for Christmas, 1996. My last Christmas, or at least the last one I could remember.

Did we...celebrate Christmas? It didn't sound like we did. No Christmas. No birthday. No anniversary. I just lived here while my devoted wife spent her life looking after me.

The water was hot now, and steaming up the bathroom mirror. On a whim I grabbed the bar of soap and wrote on the mirror "I love you".

Then I took the phone out of my pocket and dialed 9-1-1.

I was on hold for a minute or so, and my heart began beating faster as I contemplated the next few minutes.

"Nine-one-one. Please state the nature of the emergency."

I gently tapped the receiver on the counter, three times. I knew the internal microphone would pick up the taps and relay them loud & clear to the operator.

"Please confirm. If you need emergency assistance, please...knock three times again."

I leaned close to the phone and whispered "help..." Then I gently knocked three times again before dropping the phone the one inch to the counter top. It gave a quiet rattle that I knew the operator would have heard in her headset.

I heard her saying, "Sir, please hold on. Help is on the way!"

Then I took the scissors and stepped into the shower.

The hot water was relaxing. It had been a beautiful day. It really seemed a shame to end it like this, but I felt like I owed it to my wife. She'd stood by me all these years, even though I no longer knew her. Many years ago she'd made a promise, and only one person could release her from that. Tomorrow, that person would no longer exist, but today...he was here today.

Before I could change my mind I drove the needle point of the scissors deep into my wrist, then sliced the razor-like blade up my arm. The pain was incredible, but...what pain had my wife been enduring all these years? This was nothing but a few minutes of discomfort. The blood poured from my arm as I flexed my fingers. I could still use that hand, for the moment, but I only needed a moment more.

The blood running down my ruined wrist mixed with the water and it was hard to hold the scissors in that hand. I was already feeling light headed. Both hands were tingling, not just the hand on the end of the ruined arm. I couldn't feel the scissors, but I could see them in that hand, the blade protruding from my fist. I slammed my other arm down onto the wicked blade then dragged it up my forearm as best as I could.

Then I sat down. In a pool of swirling crimson water. So much red. Gushing from each arm.

I could hear sirens. Getting louder. 9-1-1 had responded pretty quickly. Hopefully not quickly enough.

I tried to flex my hands, to keep the blood flowing.

Did they move? I stared at them. Were...these my hands?

They seemed so far away.

My wrists had stopped hurting now but the edges of my vision had gone black.

My hands...I squinted. I could hardly see them. So blurry.

I forced myself to focus. Pointless. Vision. Fading.

Everything went dark.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Word says this is about 1,600 words. Funny. In my senior year of High School we had a year long essay project. We had to write several 500-word essays, and one 1,500+ word essay. It seemed so hard back then, and now, just like that, I've cranked one out without batting an eye lid.