Bald-headed
Ch. 35

On days like this, when only his memory was lost, my answer was unclear because I had hurt my husband unintentionally with a sprain of my tongue several times in recent years, and I was determined not to let that happen again. So I limit myself and answer only what is asked, sometimes not very well, and I give nothing in answer to the questions.

This is a separate decision, good and bad, but necessary, because with knowledge comes pain. To limit the pain I limited my answer.

There were days she never found out about her children or that we were married. I'm sorry for this, but I won't change.

Does this make me dishonest? Perhaps, but I have seen it destroyed by the waterfall of information that was his life.

Can I look at myself in the mirror without red eyes and trembling jaws and know that I have forgotten all that matters to me? But his condition is definitely at a stage much worse than mine.

I can't and he can't either, because when this adventure started, that's how I started it. His life, his marriage, his children. His friends and his work. It's like a question and answer in a game show format about life.

The days were hard for both of us. I am an encyclopedia for him and for some people here, and they too he has become a heartless object, of who, what and where in his life.

And why in fact, things I don't know and can't answer, that make it all worthwhile.

He would stare at forgotten pictures of descendants, hold pencils and paper that inspire nothing, and read love letters that bring no joy. He will weaken for hours, grow paler, become bitter, and end the day worse than it started.

Our days are gone, and so is he. And being selfish, so am I.

So I changed. I became Magellan or Columbus, an explorer in the mysteries of the mind, and I learned, clumsy and slow, but still learned what to do.

And I learned what was clear to a child though. Learn all the basics, and repeat them from the beginning after some time.

Life is just a collection of small lives, each living one day at a time. That every day should be spent finding beauty in flowers and likenesses and talking to animals.

Because a day spent with dreams and sunsets and refreshing breezes couldn't be better for me.

But most importantly, I learned that life is about sitting on a bench next to an ancient creek with my hands on its knees.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

Now dusk. We had left our benches and were walking staggered along the bright streets winding around this complex.

He held my arm, and I was his companion. It was her idea to do this. Maybe he was fascinated by me. Maybe he wanted to prevent me from falling. Whatever it is, I smile to myself.

"I'm thinking of you."

She didn't respond to this except squeezing my arm, and I knew she liked what I said.

Our life together has allowed me to see the clues, even if he himself doesn't know it.

I continued my words,

"I know you can't remember who you are, but I can, and I find that when I look at you, it makes me feel good."

He patted my arm and smiled. "You're a good woman with a loving heart. I wish I had enjoyed you like now."

We walk again. Finally he said, "I have to tell you something."

"Continue."

"I think I have an admirer."

"An admirer?"

"Yes." Yeah."

"I understand."

"You don't believe me?"

"I believe you."

"You should."

"Why?"

I thought about this as we walked in silence, hugged, passed through the room, passed through the courtyard. We came to the park, stood by the wildflowers, and he stopped me.

He chose a handful of flowers, red, pink, yellow, purple. He gave it to me, and I carried it to my nose.

I kissed the flowers with my eyes closed and she whispered, "They're beautiful."

We continued our journey, she was in one hand, flowers in the other. People were watching us, because we were a walking miracle, or so I was told.

It's true, though I often don't feel lucky.

"You think it's me?" I finally asked.

"Yes." Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because I've found what you're hiding."

"What?"

"This," he said, handed me a small piece of paper. "I found it under my pillow."

I read it, and it says,

The body slows down with deadly pain, but my promise remains faithful at the end of our days,

A gentle touch ending with a hug will arouse love in a joyous way.

"Is there any more?" I asked.

"I found this in my jacket pocket."

Our soul is one, if you must know and will never be apart,

With a beautiful dawn, your face beamed

I grabbed you and found my heart.

"I understand" and that's all I'm saying.

We walked as the sun sank lower in the sky. Silver twilight was the only thing left of the day, and we still talked about poetry. He was fascinated by romance.

By the time we reached the threshold, I was tired. He knew this, so he stopped me with his hand and made me face him.

I did it and I realized how hunchback he was. He and I are now aligned.

Sometimes I'm glad he doesn't know how much I've changed. He looked at me and stared for a long time.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I don't want to forget you or today, and I'm trying to keep your memory alive."

Will it work this time? I wondered, then knew it wouldn't. Can't do. But I didn't tell him my thoughts. I smiled because her words were sweet.

"Thank you" I said.

"I mean. I don't want to forget you again. You are very special to me. I don't know what I would be without you today."

My throat is a little closed. There was an emotion behind his words, an emotion I felt every time I thought about it. I know this is why I live, and I love her so much right now. How I wish he was strong enough to carry me to heaven.

"Don't try to say anything" she told me. "Let's feel this moment."

And I did, and I felt heaven.