by Don Haslett

Created on: March 02, 2009

I was in my car on the way back to my office when the changing traffic light brought me to a stop. I looked about the non-descript intersection of outer Brooklyn as I absently sipped at my coffee. The three of them were on the sidewalk in front of a little brick row house just off the corner. She sat in her wheelchair, slightly bowed but still alert and fully present, while he stood behind her with hands firmly on the chair handles and his eyes gazing down at her, drinking her in. They had no luggage so this wasn't a trip, and there was no cart so the grocery store was not in their plans. The other woman was younger and stood just slightly apart from the elderly couple. Her affection and respect for the two was clear in her stance, and it was evident that as long as the two of them had each other, to stand any closer would be to interfere. I guessed her to be a favored niece or a long trusted home care attendant and that today they were waiting for the van to take them to see Muriel's doctor.

Herbert's back is no longer as ramrod straight as it had been on that day so long ago when he watched Muriel glide down the central aisle to where he stood with his best friend and the priest. But as I watched them and saw his eyes cherishing her I think that maybe he was bent over the back of her chair to better mirror her own curve and in this way he could stay closer to her, for he adored her as she did him. For a moment it seemed that my eyes played tricks on me because though I'm certain that his hands never left the chair, I could swear that as I watched, a much younger and strong tanned hand reached out to gently brush back a wisp of brilliant white hair from Muriel's eyes. She smiled and the illusion left me as they both remained in place just as they had been a moment before.

The years they had shared had brought them through troubles and lessons learned and many sweet, sweet moments. Those who know them would say that much of the time they seemed to be two people who shared a single mind. Today they would see Muriel's doctor and learn the results of her most recent tests. This raised the dread that was always there, the knowledge that the day will come that finds one of them left alone. Most of the time they could push this thought back into the shadows and enjoy the gift of today. But waiting for the van was a reflective time and at these moments it was difficult not to at least consider the aching solitude of the little row house with only a single plate on the dinner table, the groping in the darkness of an empty bedside and the unanswered calling out in half-dreams. But even with this hanging silently over them, each knew that whoever crossed first would not have to wait overlong for the other to follow. Just enough time to give a few special things away, tidy up the empty house and whoever had been left behind would find it easy to go to bed one night, let his or her heart finish breaking and simply slip away to find the other before the sun rose in the sky again.

My reverie was suddenly dashed by the impatient blare of car horns and I realized that the light had changed. I moved slowly past these strangers who without ever having noticed me, had briefly but completely captured my thoughts, and as I left them behind I hoped with all my heart that the day would end well for them.

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