Random Acts Of Storytelling
Page 9
Love's Last Kiss
Robert was in a garden. It never occurred to him to wonder why he was there; he only knew that it felt right. As he looked around Robert noticed that there was no direct sunlight illuminating the plants or the ground beneath him. As a matter of fact, he could not even discern the direction of the sun and there were no clouds in the sky. There were no shadows anywhere. And yet everything was bright and seemed as if they were glowing with a radiance of there own. But none of this really mattered to Robert. Everything was beautiful. He felt better than he had in years, and his wife - who he loved dearly - was standing next to him.
Monica, Robert's bride of thirty-five years, glowed with the same radiance as everything else that surrounded them. Robert noticed she looked a little confused, anxious, perhaps even worried. But she smiled when she looked at him.
“You are so beautiful,’ he thought.
“Flatterer,” she responded in his mind, using the same response she always did when he complimented her.
“No, I mean it,” he thought more forcefully.
She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it. “I know you do.”
They both began to walk down a path. Neither had discussed whether or not they should walk this direction on this path, but Robert knew it was the right direction.
Robert kept looking at his wife. His stomach still hatched butterflies whenever he looked at her and his feelings for her flooded his mind. He loved her as much now as when he’d first confessed his feelings to her.
“What are you looking at,” she wondered and smiled. ”
“Always at you my dear,” he thought. “Always.”
“You’re being silly.”
“No. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
They looked at each other, their eyes soaking up the look of the other. They could see their lives there. Robert could see himself and the first fumbling time he had tried to kiss Monica, and how she had laughed and gently taken over the situation. He could still feel that first kiss with all its power and promise of the future. There, also, was the moment he had asked her to marry him. He watched again as she suddenly burst into laughter that was quickly followed by tears as she hugged him furiously and began kissing his face over and over.
From the look of happiness on Monica's face Robert knew that she was seeing the same things. Things like the birth of their daughter, born in the day room of their home, delivered by their family doctor and next-door-neighbor, Patrick. And the birth of their son in the same room, three years later. He could see every first step, and ever fall, and every graduation from kindergarten through to college. Their children had grown up to become wonderful people.
Why weren't they here right now, he wondered?
Monica tugged his arm, distracting him from his puzzlement, and they continued down the path. He knew that there was a destination. He also knew that there was no rush. They would make it there on time. Till then Robert was compelled to look into his wife's eyes. Besides the fact that they were a beautiful shade of green and that he could see the love she felt for him, he wanted to see their past and share it with her.
The beautiful white of their winter wedding astounded him. He had been so rushed making last minute preparations for the wedding that he never really had the chance to stop and pay attention to all that they had done. But he could see Monica in her bridal gown. She’d looked like a fairy princess, her hair wreathed in baby's breath and the trail of her gown billowing and flowing like and enormous cloud. Tears came to his eyes there in the garden and in his memories as Monica said, "I do," while choking back a sob of joy.
“It's been a great life,” he thought.
It's not over.
“I love you, Monica.”
“You already said that.”
“I have said it a thousand times, maybe a million, and I'll say it forever. Monica, I love you. I love you. I love you.”
Monica laughed and squeezed his hand. “I love you, too.”
Robert reached out and pulled his wife into his arms, hugging her close to him. He squeezed her tightly. Monica responded by squeezing back as tight, reluctantly releasing Robert as he ended the hug.
“I want to lie down here.”
“Can't we keep walking?” Monica thought, pulling lightly on Robert’s arm.
“No, I think this is a good spot to lie down.”
Robert had picked a clearing of emerald green grass. A few yards away a small brook softly gurgled past. The trees around the clearing were tall and filled with bright, glossy-green leaves. Everything looked, sounded, and smelled peaceful. Robert sat and ran his hands on the grass. It was the softest grass he had ever felt.
“Will you join me?” he wondered to Monica as he lay back on the grass.
“I want to. But I can’t. Not yet.”
“Then kiss me.”
Monica smiled a sad smile and kneeled on the grass at Robert's side. She leaned over him, using both hands to support herself while she looked down at him. He smiled back up into her eyes. Slowly she lowered her head until her lips were just above his. Their eyes were only a few inches away from each others. Every wonderful moment they had ever shared filled their thoughts like a great burst of sunshine and rainbows.
Monica placed her lips on Roberts and they exchanged a long, slow, tender kiss.
“Do it again. Please.”
Monica did as Robert asked. She pressed her lips against his. A little harder this time, a little longer. Robert could see tears welling up in Monica's eyes.
“Thank you,” he thought as he smiled up at her.
“You're welcome.”
“I love you.”
“I know.”
“Mrs. Guyer,” said someone near her.
She did not pay attention to them. She was taking one last look at her husband’s face.
“He looks so peaceful,” she said.
“I'm sorry, Mrs. Guyer. We did everything we could.”
“That's okay,” she replied. “I know you did.”
“Your husband was a strong man,” said the doctor, moving to stand besides, Monica. “Most people would not have survived as long as he did. Not with this kind of terminal disease.”
“He's happier now. Feels better now,” Monica said, her hand gently touching Robert’s still cheek.
“I'm sorry your children couldn't make it here on time. The snow has closed the airport.”
Monica squeezed her husband's hand one last time, smiling down at his face. A hint of her lipstick colored his pale lips.
“It's okay,” she said, and the staff in the room wondered just who she had meant those words for.
“I'm sorry, Mrs. Guyer, but we have to take care of some paperwork.”
“Of course,” replied Monica, and she followed the doctor into the hall and towards his office.