Reunited

A red cross marking the completion of another year adorned the calendar. Tomorrow she would return to me. The last year had passed so slowly there were times I thought it would never end but the day was almost here when I could again touch her, caress her, feel her warmth next to me.

I turned too quickly, the dizziness I thought had left me returned and I had to sit. I eased myself onto a chair and waited until the feeling passed and the kitchen settled down from its swirling motion.

I began to wonder: was this the final year we would be parted? In spite of the stream of doctors, each one suggesting months, some even weeks that were left to me, I was still here. It was as if my body rebelled at my heart's needs and insisted on forcing me to endure one more year without her.

Tomorrow we would be together, if only for a brief time, but it would sustain me until the time came when we would never be parted again.

I stood, slowly, carefully this time, and looked out the window at the falling dusk. Darkness appeared to come quickly now, quicker than the time of the year would account for. I remembered they said this would happen, a slow but inevitable loss of sight, a by-product of the illness as if it was something to be welcomed. I suppose not to have to look at this aging, disease ravaged body day to day would be an advantage, but what would happen if I were to survive another year, how could I meet her then? Blind, stumbling my way to our place, the place we first met all those many years ago.

I dismissed the thoughts from my head; this was not the time for negativity, only preparation. Just a few more hours left. I looked at my watch, nearly eleven, late for me. I remembered the days when I would be going out at this time, now only a bed beckoned.

As each year passed I had to set off earlier. I refused to use the walking stick my grandson had bought me, not for any reason of vanity, I was long passed that, but because it would be yet another symbol of my advancing age.

I heard his car pull up outside and sighed deeply. The thought of the usual conversation flashed through my mind: You'd be better of in a nursing home, they would look after you. This house is far too big for you now. All those rational arguments that it was impossible to argue against, but if he knew, he wouldn't say these things.

Does he not realise she lives in the very fabric of the house? Each surface she touched retains the memory of her. No, I guess not. To the young, a house is bricks and mortar, or worse, an investment. As I glance around, I can see her, dusting in time to some music on the radio or stretched out in her favourite chair, but tomorrow I'll really see her, not in my imagination, but solid, back in the place we first met.

If I had the energy, I could rush upstairs and pretend I was asleep, but there was no time for that. I leaned against the wall and watched as the door opened quietly.

"Sorry granddad, I thought you would be asleep. I was kept late at the office, another meeting."

"That's okay, Steve," I said, "I was about to go."

"I've brought some brochures for you to look at, when your ready," he said almost embarrassingly.

"Put them on the table, I'll look tomorrow."

It was like a game. He knew I would bin them without even glancing at the content. I heard him sigh.

"You're going tomorrow, aren't you?"

I didn't answer as I slowly climbed the stairs.

"Let me come with you?" he asked.

I continued to ascend the stairs; he knew what my answer would be.

* * *

The alarm sounded shrill in my ear, and for a few seconds, I wondered why I had set it, there was little to rise for now: until I realised the date. My mind was dulled from sleep but still I cursed myself for not realising immediately. Not to remember was an affront to her memory. I would ask her to forgive me later, when we would meet again.

The glow of daybreak cast a golden hue over the beach as I walked slowly down the path and onto the foreshore. I turned and saw a curtain twitch and I silently thanked my grandson for not interfering in my yearly ritual; at least that was how he would see it. I knew he thought my annual visit was the foolish action of an old man; but he didn't understand. Perhaps if he is lucky enough to have loved as I have loved he will one day comprehend why I need to have just one hour each year to relive that time when we first met, sustaining me for yet another year.

I focused my eyes on the point where the bay turned east, the place we had met, more to anticipate what lay ahead than to block out the discomfort I felt from my already aching limbs. Each step drained me until I actually wondered if I would make it this year; I knew I had to.

I reached the promontory a few minutes early, and settled down onto the still warm sand, panting from the exertion of the walk. I again looked at my watch, willing the second hand to move faster over the face of the dial; then I saw her.

I smiled as she walked towards me, her form turning from a whispery translucence into a solidity I would soon feel in my arms. She was always dressed in that same cocktail dress she wore when we met. I never asked where she came from, or why she was there; it seemed unimportant somehow.

She sunk down onto the sand beside me and her touch, gentle on my hand, caused my body to tingle as she returned my ageing body to that time long ago when I was young and virile once more. We undressed each other, the smooth contours of her lithe figure arousing me, readying my body for our lovemaking.

Our bodies moulded together as we kissed, not with the urgency of that first time, but with a gentleness that came from the passing of time. Her tongue slipped into my mouth, and meeting mine, caressed it as we shared each others breath. My hands stroked her firm breasts as we joined, became one on the warm, golden sand.

My eyes closed to allow my body to experience all the pleasure she was giving me, without distraction, until I realised this would be the only time I would see her for yet another year and they snapped open. She sensed my conflict.

"Rest, my darling, let me love you," she whispered as she moved on me.

As I relaxed, my hands explored, each swelling and valley of her; she moved gently and smoothly on me, but soon, too soon, it was over. The realisation that for yet another year, our time together was over, consumed me, and the knowledge that was she was about to leave dulled the pleasure inside.

She rose, her hand reaching down to me.

"It's too soon," I cried as my hand took hers. "Please don't go yet."

She smiled down at me, "Come with me, my love, your times over now, we can be together now, forever."

My confusion lasted only a moment before I stood, and taking her hand, we walked together once more over the soft, golden sand and towards the rising sun.

* * * * *

He is later than usual, Steve thought, as he stared down the beach and towards the rocky promontory. He had always let him have this time to himself but he was getting frail, too fragile to be walking that kind of distance alone. It was time to have the talk he always seemed to avoid. He was too old to be alone even though he visited him as often as his career allowed.

As Steve walked, tracing the footsteps of his grandfather, he knew that this time he would have to be firm; he could no longer leave him to fend for himself. It was then he saw him, lying, unmoving at the base of the rocks. Steve paused for a few seconds before moving slowly towards the prone figure.

He knew he had 'gone' even before he reached him, but his sadness was tinged with the realisation that at least he had had one more year. The tide had begun to lap at his grandfather's feet as Steve bent to lift the delicate body. It was then he noticed the bare footprints leading away from the spot and down the sand.

How could anyone leave his grandfather like this, he thought angrily, until he realised there was only one set of footprints leading to the spot, yet two leading away. A stray wave, breaking higher than others, swept up the beach and, in an instant, the prints were gone, lost forever.

His eyes travelled up the beach in the direction the marks had led, and, for only a moment, he could swear he saw a young couple walking hand in hand. He blinked and they were gone.