Fade Away
She sat in her wheelchair, a woman lost within her own thoughts, a spirit ill fitted to sustain the trembling and feeble mind and body that was slowly shutting down. The attendants at the nursing home did not move her, afraid to jar her from the internal constitution which held her together. It was the distant look in her eyes, the motionless lips that sometimes quivered and burned with the heart's best blood that gave them hope she would hang on to life until he arrived. Everyone can recollect a tragic story but some people wear theirs in appearance, in essence, in every fiber of their being, and he was such a man.
There was a melancholy look in his eyes when he entered her room. His languor seemed to make a deep impression on her. In happier days she was a beautiful and interesting girl and he the young man that loved her. But her most delicate and cherished attentions were not for him but for another. Still he lived for his love and stayed true and tender to her throughout the years. Even a small degree of hope is enough to cause the birth of happiness. It is a strange thing to note the excess of passion at a stage so late in life but his passion for her never once wavered.
He remembered Helena with her pale gold curly hair picking daisies and wildflowers. Some days they'd lie in bed for hours on end just holding one another. His hands stroking her thighs and back as they took breaths in unison, quickly then slowly again, caressing and dosing the day away. He always thought the way she sat cross-legged at dinner was cute and he missed the sound of her slurping tea. He can still see her sitting across the dinner table every night in that blouse he loved so much, the one with the huge white ruffles that hung low over her shoulders, like each time was the first.
She made him dizzy with her crazy stories about wanting to visit Pakistan and climbing K2. She said Chomolungma, the goddess mother of the world was calling her to kick up some dust and bring a new understanding to the world. He humored her, all the while being taken in by her innocence. He still sees her the way he saw her that one night, sitting naked, sketching flamingos in flight with charcoal and crying like a baby. John, John, she said, what name do I have for you? She meant that in the way a soul mate could sense all the stars in the heavens have names that somehow fit them.
The day she left him for another man was when he started remembering to forgive. Remembering to pass beyond her faults and quirks as he had always done into the nights of solitude assigned for him. The days of light were difficult. It gets to be kind of lonely when you keep putting off time until you suddenly determine for yourself that it's counterproductive, that you have to move on. So John found himself smiling at others and he in turn became the subject of curiosity to most. He sang and danced and even loved among despair and isolation. But all through his traveling circles, she was always there.
And now the end is near. He tried not to listen, not to look at the face in which only the eyes remained familiar. But she has trapped him within the language of death swallows, whimpers and gurgling. He had this feeling like he was going to cry, that he was totally going to totally lose it but quickly recovered his composure for her sake. He wanted to make her forget the years of her dull existence with the man she left him for and only have her remember those moments of ecstasy, but he could not find the words. So he opened a book he always carried and showed her a picture of K2. Her smile made a wave of sweet joy that escaped from his heart and went coursing through his veins.
"I am yours to die with, to desire," he said.
Somewhere in K2 between two snow-covered boughs, there's a bright star!
