54

This was inspired by one of the stories on Comic Relief a few weeks back, as well as "Time" (which features one of my favourite lyrics ever) and "Hold On" - both by Tom Waits. Again, not one of my best as it's a first draft. Needs more poetic bits.


54

54 years they were together. Most of their life.
They met in early '54 at a dance hall. 3rd Of February.
She wore a florial dress that night, he, his father's suit.
It drown him but he felt like a man. His name was Roger.
He approached her, nervous but determined.
Her eyes were big and green, her silk was pink, her hair was mousy and brown.
Her name was Marie, and didn't like it when people called her Mary.
He said he liked her dress and asked for a dance; her cheeks became rosy and she obliged.
They danced to The Chordettes - "Mister Sandman". He was in a dream.
He walked her home and a kiss on the cheek behind her garden hedge. She didn't want her mother to see.
That night they fell in love.

They married in '56 at the church on their road. It was cloudy on their wedding day, but they didn't mind.
They couldn't afford a wedding ring, so they borrowed her late grandmother's.
She moved into his family house two days later. His mother liked her, and so did his father.
He got a job at a shoe-menders. Fixing soles and mending heels.
She helped around the house.

It was in '61, when they got their own home, a small flat in the Elephant & Castle.
Two rooms, a kitchen and shared toilet. The walls were paisley and green, like her eyes.
The floors were made of old, bent wood. The boards would creak under a kitten's paw.
She had a flowerbox outside the kitchen window, where she grew daisies.
It wasn't much, but it was their home.

In '64, they tried for a child but couldn't.
Either she was barren or he was infertile.
They didn't know which.
He bought her a Yorkshire Terrier from a man in The Ship.
She loved it and called it Brando, after the actor.
He was firm that Brando would sleep on the floor, but always woke up with him laying on his feet.

Her mother moved to Cornwall in '72 and died a year later.
It was cancer, the doctors said. Cancer of the pancreas.
They tried to make it to the hospice before she died, but were an hour late. She never got to say goodbye.

They went on a foreign holiday for the first time in '81. They went to Spain.
The beaches weren't like Brighton or Broadstairs, and he got sun-burnt on the first day.
She just went red. She never could tan - her skin was too sensitive.
They stayed in a little villa which looked on to the bold, blue sea.
They would watch the boats and sip their drinks. His a beer, her's a Blood Mary.
He would always make a joke, and she'd always laugh.

He retired in late 2003. He was tired of work and had back problems.
He planned to spend his days doing crosswords and watching TV.
She wasn't looking too good. Always tired, stomach pains.
They went to the doctors to run tests.
She was scared. He never let go of her frail, silky hand.
She was diagnosed with cancer in 2004. Pancreatic, like her mother.
They didn't know how long she'd live. Only a few years, or maybe more?

They spent their days playing cards, reading, watching TV.
She began to forget the rules. Most likely age.
She forgot dates too. She'd forget what day it was or the way home from the shops.
He took her to the doctors again as it became more frequent.
It was September 2006 when he found out she had Alzheimer's.

She quickly got worse as it took hold.
Some days she'd forget who he was.
She'd be hurtful.
She couldn't help it.
He wouldn't let her see him upset.
She wouldn't be able to understand.
Each day varied.
The cancer was eating away at her even more.

It was early 2008 and Marie was asleep in bed.
Roger was sat in the chair next to her bed.
Her eyes were vacant, except for the pain.
Her skin was yellow, like a skeleton wrapped in cling film.
Her mousy hair was now thin, almost non-existent.
He glanced at the calender resting on top of their old record player, dusty from years of rest.
3/2/2008.
He wanted to cry. He wanted it to end.
Marie was sick. He was sick of her illness.
He no longer wanted to watch her die. He couldn't.
He couldn't watch her struggle to sip water through a straw.
He couldn't leave her bed-bound any longer.
He couldn't explain to her why she was in pain everyday.
He couldn't spend another moment watching tears fall from those big, green eyes of hers.
He wouldn't let her suffer any longer.

Roger cleaned off the dust and put on their record. The Chordettes.
After closing the florial curtains, he picked up his pillow.
Marie still slept, wincing slightly with pain.
Her breath was raspy as it swept through her throat.
Tears filled his pale eyes as he watched her.
Slowly leaning over her, his tears dropping over her heart, he raised the pillow.
He thought about how he'd never see her eyes again.
"I love you, Marie. And I promise, this won't hurt a bit."