A few months ago, I entered into an online writing competition sponsored by a group call NYC Midnight (https://www.nycmidnight.com). The challenge was to write 1,000 word short story in 48 hours. Guidelines given were that the genre of the story should be "Romance", the setting for the story "A cottage") and at some point in the story a "Whisk" should appear. I didn't win anything, but got some good feedback, both positive and constructive.
‘Til Death do us Part
There
is so much more to love than simple romance. John and Stuart show us what a
lifetime of commitment means to true love.
I returned from my walk at around three in the afternoon. The sun cut through the trees to give the cottage a surreal glow. The sound of Puccini’s “Nessun Dorma” wafted through the windows and out into the surrounding forest. It was John’s favorite piece, and I was glad that I had bought it for him on one of our first Valentines Days together. These days, I would leave it playing as he napped and I took my daily walk.
It was my idea that we move out here on a full-time basis. It seemed like the right thing to do. We had purchased the place shortly after we married - a get away from the pressures of big city life. Over time it became our home away from home. We’d isolate ourselves, looking only to be with each other. We were fully and blissfully in love.
John and I met in one of the gay bars that were scattered around NYC in the early seventies. I had realized my attraction to men during high school but didn’t consider acting on it. I just wasn’t ready to admit to myself that I was gay. It wasn’t until my early twenties that I started to explore dating other men. I began to venture out in search of, if not love, at least someone with whom to enjoy life. John had more experience as a gay man, spending his nights in bars around the city, picking up a variety of one-night stands. One evening. we both found ourselves in a club in midtown Manhattan. He sauntered over and with a smile led me onto the dance floor. We danced for hours; he invited me home to his apartment; and we’ve been together ever since.
For the next five decades, we balanced our outward lives – John as an engineer in an architectural firm and me as a graphic artist in a small sales promotion agency - with an intense exploration of each other. I don’t believe any two human beings could have been better suited. Whether it was art, the theatre, our book preferences – even the food we preferred – it all brought us closer. We maneuvered our way through an outside world of prejudice and homophobia by relying deeply on each other. I remember when we finally decided to come out to our families, announcing ourselves as the very happy and committed couple we had become. His family had an easier time accepting the news, as they had long considered John a bit “different”. Mine took a longer time to accept us, and my father never completely came around. When New York legalized same-sex marriage in 2011, John and I walked down the aisle with family and friends present. We looked deeply into each other’s eyes as we ended the ceremony with the traditional “Til death do us part.”
____________________________________________________
These and other memories ran through my mind as I stood on the porch of the cottage. When I entered, there was no sound from the bedroom, so I assumed that John hadn’t yet woken from his nap. I decided not to disturb him, so I went into the kitchen and took out some eggs, a bowl, a whisk, and a few other utensils to make dinner. It wouldn’t be much of a meal. John had little appetite now that he was in the very last stage of AIDs.
He had been diagnosed 10 years earlier. We assume he was exposed to the HIV virus during a brief period when we experimented with an open relationship. It’s not something we were particularly proud about, but we knew at the end of the day, he and I would be together. I lucked out, being one of the fifty percent of partners of HIV positive men who don’t get the virus.
Once the shock and disbelief wore off, we began a spate of doctor appointments, endless antiretroviral treatments, and other therapies to fend off the disease. For a while, we were successful. We used our love for each other to maintain a positive attitude in the face of what everyone told us was inevitable. And, as the word implies, the inevitable came. Over the last 12 months, John has been increasingly assailed by bouts of pneumonia, fevers, weight loss and fatigue. These last three months have been worse, with chronic diarrhea wasting away what is left of his fragile body.
____________________________________________________
“Stuart, are you there?” John’s weak voice came from the bedroom.
“Yes love, I’m right here.” I hurried to his side.
“Did you have a good walk?” I had to lean over to hear his question.
“It was short. I wanted to get back to you.” I replied.
“We’ve had a good run of it, haven’t we, Stu?” he whispered.
“Yes dear, more than 50 years.”
I lay down beside him on the bed and gently gathered him in my arms. His thin frame felt like a bundle of sticks. I smoothed the hair from his forehead and stroked his cheek. He had a brief coughing spell, his body spasming against me. I wiped away some phlegm that dribbled from his mouth.
A slight smile came across John’s face. “You must really love me, old man.”
“I do, Johnny. Always have and always will.”
A tear ran down both of our cheeks as we gently kissed.
“I’m not afraid, love. Are you?”
“No, my heart. Not if we’re together.”
I continued to hold him, breathing in his smell, until he once again fell asleep.
_______________________________________________________
Much has been written about romantic love. Little is understood about what it means to truly love another. I am reminded of something I once read: “Romantic love may take, but true love gives away.” John and I gave each other all the love we had to offer. We gave from our hearts, freely, without reservation. As we come to the end, we will continue to give all that we have…
…’til death do us part.
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