One Last Time - L.A. Borgaard (top ten books to read TXT) 📗

Did hospitals all smell the same? The astringent odor of antiseptics and disinfectants overlaying the odor of sickness, death and decay? I hate this smell.

As I looked down at the woman surrounded by her weeping children, I knew that I would not be coming back here again. Death would come soon and with it, the wailing grief. It was time to leave this room and go to find another.

I walked the halls of the intensive care ward, passing room after room, not bothering to look into them. They did not hold the one I was searching for.

Here it is, and there you are, still lying in the same position. You haven’t moved for two weeks. But this isn’t intensive care, is it? No, you are in your own private room now. They have you hooked up to all the various machines, still keeping watch, but no longer in danger of death.

They’ve washed your hair, I can smell the scent of the shampoo, and given you a sponge bath. That was nice. I suppose they will just let the beard grow. Well, what’s a little stubble? It isn’t as though you will be going out to impress the ladies any time soon. You’ve lost more weight too. I suppose it is difficult to keep weight on when the only nutrient you get is through an I.V. needle.

I think I’ll sit here for a while if you don’t mind. There are so many things that I remember now and I would like to share my thoughts with you. Thoughts and memories, that is all I have left right now, though they all seem chaotic in my mind. Pieces of my life seem to be floating away.

Do you remember the day we met? You probably do but I wonder if you remember it as I do.

I was watching for you. He told me you looked like a lumbering jarhead. I guess in a way he was right, but that was only the outside and you didn’t really lumber, it was more of a charge. You knew what you wanted and moved straight forward to get it. Never with me though, you were always very careful with me.

Ah, the look on your face when I said your name for the first time. I thought for an instant you were going to turn tail and run. You took that extra couple seconds before shaking my hand and I could see the wheels turning.

“Have we met?”

Then the relief when I said no, that Larry told me about you. It was priceless, that look in your eyes. It still makes me smile.

I presented you with a problem I was having and I must say that you surprised me with the eagerness you displayed to fix it.

“Take me back to the computer and I’ll take care of it.”

I think you had me then, though I didn’t know it at the time. You were an enigma, so open and yet at the same time, reserved. How can you be both? You spent over an hour back in my office while I minded the store.

I saw you almost every day that first week. Each time I watched the way you moved, the way you reacted to those around you, and listened to the responses you gave when people spoke with you. Soon, I saw a difference in your eyes when you looked at me. You told me that you loved me a month later. That was different. I remember my response like it was yesterday.

“Oh, so we’ve come to that have we?”

“I know I have.”

So strange that it would be you telling me. I suppose it was good that we were on the phone rather than face to face. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to run or respond in the same manner. What did I feel then? To be honest, I don’t know. Love was just a word. Too much had happened in my life to be anything else. Too much pain and disappointment.

Then the flowers started to appear. Bouquets left at my office, single flowers in the handle of my car door, even resting on the door knob of my counselors office one day when I left. An unending supply of flowers drifting in all around me. We saw the movie Twins and I casually mentioned that it was a romantic gesture when Danny DeVito filled the apartment with flowers and the very next day; I walked into my office and it was filled with every flower that tiny little shop in town had. The florist told me later she’d never had such a short work day before.

You made me feel special. I was a queen, I was a goddess, I was the center of the world.

The heart monitor beats that steady metronome sound. Beep, beep, beep...on and on it beeps. It’s bright outside. The sun beckons me to go outside, to spend some time in it’s warmth. The green of the lawn looks welcoming. Lay down, face the sun, drink in the day. I turn from the window to look down at your face again. I want to see your eyes. I want to see the look I’d wanted to run from so long ago.

Ah, the first time I held your hand.

You were telling me a little bit about your past and I reached out to take your hand, more in friendship and comfort than anything else. I remember thinking, what is this, when your fingers curled tight in response to my touch. A vision of my hand being lifted to your lips passed through my mind, but you only held it tight in your own.

Always so careful with me, always so gentle, as though you thought I would turn tail and run if you made the slightest advance.

The nights you spent sleeping on my couch, waiting so patiently to be invited to my bed, and when you were, you sat on the edge like you were afraid to make a move.

I laugh when I think about what must have been going through your mind. You told me I was unreadable. You never knew what my reactions to your advances would be. I scared you but you were caught.

Is that music? No, I must be imagining it. Steady beep, beep, beep, of the monitor. They should throw in some drums to break up the monotony, maybe a steel guitar.

Show me your eyes love. I want to see your eyes.

Our first walk on the beach. It was sunset, not as warm as we would have liked but that didn’t matter; we were together and had the beach all to ourselves. I picked up sea shells to remind me of the day. I always picked up something from the places we walked.

“This is enough to remind you of the day? You don’t want me to buy you something?”

“Why would I want you to do that?”

“You’re so unusual,” and you took my hand as we walked.

We stayed in a hotel that overlooked the ocean. It was the first time I had ever fallen asleep to the sounds of the surf.

A field of wild flowers. That was the place you proposed to me. Funny, all I had to do was mention a thought and you would make it happen. I remember my heart fluttering along with your voice as you asked me to marry you.

Is this something I really want to try again? They say the third time is a charm. But then, I told my first husband that three strikes put him out. Hmm, odd choice of words, isn’t it?

I married you. I don’t regret it, though there are times that I wish we had done some things different. I don’t think anyone was surprised when we came back one weekend married. They had been watching and waiting, they knew the day would come.

The way you looked at me. You would stare at me while speaking with another. Such adoration in those eyes, I didn’t know how to respond. I had never been adored. I had been used and thrown to the side, never adored. What do you do with such a worshipful gaze? I would turn away from that gaze. I was not worth such a look.

But gazing down at you now I wish for that look. My heart cries out in despair for your eyes to open. Let me see your eyes, let me look into them one last time. Let me see that love that held me together before my life is dispersed into the air. Don’t leave me to wander without knowing that you will go on.

I hear the screaming coming from the woman’s room and I feel the call of the outside pulling me away. Please, open your eyes. Let me see that look of love one last time.

Ah, thank you my love. Now I know that you will survive, that you will be okay.

I love you with all my heart. Goodbye.