Remember the first time I met you? We were only kids then, but I remember it perfectly. You had come into my family’s store wearing a wrinkled summer dress; it was purple with white periwinkles. I think I might have been staring at you, but you didn’t notice because you were too caught up looking at our miniscule book collection; mostly trashy romance and fantasy novels for people passing through. ‘We just moved here,’ your mum had said. It stuck in my head because my heart gave an unexpected leap; something that, at the time, I did not understand. ‘I heard the school here is fantastic,’ she continued. It wasn’t really the truth, but I am glad that she believed it all the same.
It took me two years to speak to you. We had a lot of the same classes, do you remember? I sat in front of you, in a vain attempt to get you to notice me, but also because I wouldn’t have been able to focus otherwise. I was always aware of you though. I felt like a fool most of the time, telling myself I would get over it; girls as pretty as you didn’t date guys like me. This internal battle kept up until you joined the Readers Society. There were only five of us, sitting around reading quietly and discussing our favorite books in whispers, for fear of the old librarian’s reprisals.
I had been particularly engrossed in The Hunchback of Notre Dame. I didn’t realise you were standing behind me, peering over my shoulder until you asked, ‘what are you reading?’ and I jumped, turning to face you. Our noses almost touched; it was then that I first saw your leaves. Your eyes, which I had always admired from a distance for being a rich hazel, revealed their secrets to me. In each eye you had a distinct pattern, your maple leaves.
You just smiled at me, face framed perfectly by your auburn hair. I must admit I was a bit dazed and I think you realised. ‘S-sorry’ you had stammered slightly, stepping away from me. I somehow managed to pull myself together enough to tell you it was fine and we started talking. We talked for two hours at least, first about the book, then about the club. In the end I was bringing up anything I could, just to make that moment last longer. I memorised everything about you that day, every strand of hair, every curve of your face. It was a good day.
Even lying here now, I can trace the origin of every line on your face. I can remember every laugh that makes your eyes crinkle like that when you smile. It is because of these memories that I can say to you, honestly my love, with every ounce of my heart, that you are more beautiful to me now than any day before. Everything about you captivates me. Thank you for sitting with me, but then again, I guess by now you must be used to it.
Ever since that day back in school you have sat by me. It started out just reading together after school. But then you were sitting by me in classes, and on the bus. By the time we reached University we were practically inseparable, but still I was too afraid to say anything about my feelings for you. Oh yes my love, by then I had admitted to myself that I was helplessly in love with you.
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Remember the first time we kissed? It was my twenty-second birthday. We had had a few drinks, but we weren’t drunk. You just leaned over and pressed you lips to mine. It was only three seconds, but that instant has occupied my mind for years. You smelt like vanilla and your breath was sweet with the wine we had been sharing. The tip of your nose was cold against my flushed cheeks, but I am sure mine felt the same. Neither of us said anything, but for the first time I held you as a lover. It wasn’t until hours later, as the sun lightened the dawn sky, that I realised you were asleep, beautiful in my arms. I am not sure if I slept, but I have never felt so rested.
Two weeks later we were dating and my life was perfection. Every day was glittered with hope of seeing you, stealing a kiss or seeing you smile. When we made love for the first time, it was awkward; neither of us knew what we were doing. Yet I couldn’t imagine it any better way. In less than a year I knew every inch of your body. We were in harmony and the sex was passion incarnate.
Don’t blush my love. It may have been a while, but the memories keep me warm in this steel framed coffin.
When I get better I am going to take you to the gardens. We will take off our shoes and walk under the very arch where we said our vows. Remember your mother’s face when she read the invitation? ‘No shoes allowed?!’ Ha-ha. The grass was so soft underfoot, fresh with spring growth. I don’t think she minded by the end of it. Not that I noticed much. Every memory of that day is of you. I remember who was there, but only because you spoke to them. I remember the music that played, only because you hummed it happily all night. I remember the embroidery on the pillows, only because it encircled your halo of hair.
Every day since I met you, I have fallen for you more. I have found more beauty to behold and things to wander at. My imagination could not conjure any muse close to you. Luckily I haven’t had to. You are in my mind to stay, you are in everything I ever create and you will be around longer than I dare dream.
It’s been 68 years since I met you my love. We’ve had our ups and downs since then, but I remember every moment with clarity and fondness. I would not trade a second with you for an hour with any other.
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I miss you.
I love you.
Thank you for coming.
I am not sure how you have.
I remember your funeral. Even through my tears I could see your angelic face. You were breathtaking ‘til the end.
Wait!
Where are you going?
Please don’t go!
I love you! …
I love you.
Please remember me
Like I remember you …
Goodbye.
In a hospital bed, an old man speaks softly to himself. He is barely audible above the steady beat of his heart monitor. For hours he talks, every day. Sometimes the nurses stop to listen, filling their heart with warmth from his tired voice. It is hard to not envy the woman to which he speaks. They often talk amongst themselves, debating his reality.
‘Did she exist?’ asks one.
‘Does she exist?’ replies the next.
The third nurse’s face always drops as she says, ‘I’ve read his charts; if she does exist he probably won’t be seeing her again’.
The doctor in charge of these women feels the weight of this man’s love in his heart as well. The third is right of course; it is not long until he will have to fulfill his duty. Send this man to his grave.
The old man’s voice gets louder, screaming to his phantom wife, ‘I love you! Remember me!’ The rest gets cut off by a single loud note and the rush of footsteps towards him.
The three nurses take up their positions around the hospital bed, watching. The doctor places the defibrillator panels on the old man’s chest. ‘Clear!’ he yells, while the lifeless body leaps; a vain attempt to keep it breathing. This repeats until the old man manages to gargle out his last strangled word.
‘Goodbye.’ He says it not to his doctor, not to his nurses, not even to his love. The old man says goodbye to his memories.
Jack McEntee is doing a Bachelor of Arts majoring in Creative Writing, with minors in Drama and Film. He wants to write everything from house advertisements to epic novels.
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