....by Ed Krizek
At seventy-three her hair was almost completely white although it had a
gray tinge to it. She had brislty hairs growing out of certain spots
on her face. Her stroke some years ago had left her paralyzed on the
left side and food drooled down that half of her face when she ate.
She wore a brace on her left leg and her hand on that side of her body
clutched involuntarily in almost a fist, as if she were trying to hold
onto something.
Bob always took care of her. They had been what can be loosely called
friends for the past fifteen years. He picked
her up and sat her in her wheelchair. He wheeled it all around the
city to shops, the grocery store, and the park. On nice days he would
push her several miles during the daylight hours.
Bob was older than Jean, but time had been kinder to his body.
Although he had the physical strength to help Jean he also had some
problems that come with age. His memory was not what it used to be.
He often forgot important tasks like going to the bank,
and he became upset and confused when he ran out of money. Bob would
never use automatic tellers. He could never quite get the concept of
pushing buttons and receiving money. He never complained though. He
was happy God had given him the chance to take care of Jean.
They were what youth oriented America terms companions. Each had a
different reason for needing the other. Jean had been a highly
independent woman before her stroke, flirting and cavorting her way
through life. Now God had made her a cripple who was dependent on Bob
for her existence. Jean was uncomfortable with this state of affairs
since she had always done for herself. Yet she recognized that perhaps
this lot she had been given was appropriate since she had not always
been the most giving person in her youth. She had never loved her
husband who died before Bob’s wife. She just couldn’t get herself to
open up and trust a man. She told her family that she didn’t love Bob
either, but that she was thankful that he had come into her life since
she couldn’t get along without him. And although Bob loved her dearly,
he had often heard her say this but felt it was the Lord’s way of
helping him atone for the life he had led in his youth. He had not
been perfect either. Once Bob had been a Marine, young, and strong,
and ready to give his life for his country. Now he was forgetful,
weak, and unwilling to give away the little time he knew was left to
him.
For Bob it happened gradually. Sometimes he would see a scintilla of
light flash across Jean’s eyes. He thought he could see her dancing as
a young adult woman, beautiful, sensual, and full of life force. He
attributed this to his deteriorating mental state at first. He knew
his mind played tricks on him. For Jean, it was different. One day
she was rolling in her wheelchair with Bob pushing behind. She turned
and saw him in his Dress Blues, marching with his white gloved hands
around the wheelchair’s handles with brass buttons shining against his
uniform. Jean did a double take and was comforted to see the soft
paunchy white-haired man she knew.
Neither of them talked much about their feelings. Both were concerned
about the effects of old age on the brain, so the visions were never
mentioned. But they persisted, and grew stronger and longer with time.
There began to be days when instead of going out for wheelchair walks
they stayed indoors and stared into each other’s eyes. Each seeing the
glint of life in the other. Neither of them said anything, but both
knew what was happening.
Finally one day Bob said, “Would you like to dance, Jean?”
“I’d love to!” she said.
They put a waltz on the record player. Bob took Jean’s right hand and
helped her to stand. He put his arms around her waist and said, “I
love you, Jean.”
“I love you too, Bob,” she replied.
And they were found dead, in the middle of the living room of the
apartment they shared by the building manager in what was described by
the coroner’s office as an embrace.