The End of a Beginning

He was so young.

It was obvious. Not because of his lack of wrinkles, or absence of any gray hair. No, I could tell from the way the light shone in his eyes, and from the way he walked through the world carelessly, effortlessly, completely without caution.

I also knew from the lack of recognition in those beautiful hazel irises as he gazed upon me.

Too casual. Too nonchalant.

Too naive.

This man had not yet experienced pain. Not the kind of pain from a paper cut, or even a broken leg. Pain that mercilessly shredded you to pieces, left you wailing in the dark, wondering if you would ever find light again.

As he passed me without a second thought, the beating of my heart slowed to a slow, defeated thump. I was surprised it didn’t stop entirely.

This would be the last time I ever saw him.

It would be the last time I’d get to speak to him, embrace him, lay eyes upon that luscious head of black curls, and his smile that could light up an entire room.

Yet for him, the journey of our relationship was only just about to begin.

I remembered the first time I had met him. How utterly devastated he had seemed. Barely able to keep back the tears from rolling down his cheeks when he first introduced himself to me. I hadn't understood then, but I sure as hell understood now.

I wasn’t sure how long it had been since the last time I’d seen him - how long it would be until he saw me next. I guess it didn’t matter.

“Ren,” I said, stopping him in his tracks. He turned around, confusion all over his face. Confusion I understood all too well, from many, many years ago. He almost looked angelic in the glow of the golden hour, his silhouette blocking the sun as it dipped low on the horizon.

“I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

I made my best attempt at a smile, but it was an effort to keep my lips from quivering. It was an even bigger one to speak words without my voice breaking. “I’m Mel.”

His brows knit close together. “How do you know my name?”

I know more than just your name.

I’ve known you for quite some time now.

I know that you love to paint, and that you spend lots of time outdoors. I know that you hate winter. I know that you have a birthmark on the small of your back.

All things I couldn't say to him, if I wanted any chance at spending any final moments with him.

“Your coffee cup,” I said. “They wrote your name on it.”

“Oh.” Unsurprisingly, Ren still seemed completely at a loss as to why I had called out his name. Why I was even talking to him at all. For all he knew, I was a complete stranger to him. That much was clear from the blank stare he continued to send my way.

He was far from a stranger to me.

“Listen, this might sound kind of crazy, but…” I loosed a shaky breath. “I really need someone to talk to.”

“Oh,” he repeated. “I… I’m sorry, but I am on the way to –”

“Please,” I blurted. “Please, just a few minutes of your time. That is all I ask.” Without waiting for him to respond, I walked ahead of him and made my way towards a nearby bench. I didn't know for sure if he would follow me, but if my instincts were correct, then he would. Just like I had followed him the first time I had met him.

We were drawn together, by some unknown force. Just as much as we were cursed by some unknown spell of time.

Sure enough, when I turned around and sat, he did not disappoint my expectations. Though hesitantly, he seated himself next to me on the bench, a healthy distance away.

“How can I help?” he asked.

I stared into his eyes. So beautiful. He was such a kind person. Always had been. Even though he had no idea who I was and had no obligation to give me any time at all, he had dutifully followed me here and was willing to talk.

Recalling what he had said to me during my first time, I said, “I’m about to lose someone I love.”

Impossibly, his gaze softened even more. Ever the sincere Ren I knew. “I’m so sorry.”

“I just –” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’m not really sure how to say goodbye.”

He nodded. “I know what that’s like. It can be tough to find the right words to say. There’s so much pressure to make it all perfect. To make sure you don’t forget anything important.”

“Exactly.” I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “The difficult part is… he doesn’t really remember me.”

The sympathy only increased in his expression. “That must be really hard,” he said softly. “Dementia can be extremely difficult to navigate.”

I didn’t correct him, but instead studied the way his fingers gripped his coffee cup. A brief image flashed in my mind of those fingers grazing along my bare neckline. Caressing my back as he held me close, whispering my name over and over. What I would give to have that now. “I just don’t want to say anything that would alarm him or scare him off, you know?”

“Of course. But I think he knows deep down in his heart that he loves you, and that you love him too.”

Hope blossomed in my chest. “You really think so?”

He nodded. “Nothing can come between love. It’s too strong a force to be stopped.”

I wondered if he would have that same mentality after a few years.

“That’s very romantic,” was all I said.

“I know it sounds a little cliché,” he said with a small laugh. “But listen. Everyone deserves happiness, and peace. Yourself included. So my advice to you would be to say what you feel in your heart, and even if he doesn’t remember who you are in that moment, I think somewhere deep down inside he will understand.”

Electricity shot up my arm as he put his hand on top of mine. The warmth of the touch filled my whole body, spreading all the way to my toes.

I was going to shatter into a million pieces. My chest was going to cleave apart, emptying out until there was nothing left of me. How could my life go on after this moment? What purpose would I have?

Knowing full well these would be my last words to him, I placed my other hand on top of his and stared deeply into those hazel eyes that I had come to know so well. I drank in the sight of him, the feel of him, the way he tilted his head slightly to the side, the way he parted his lips slightly as he stared at me with the compassion of a saint who knew too well what pain felt like.

“I know you won’t understand any of this. But you will, eventually. I wish we had more time, but I will cherish every moment we’ve had together. You have taught me so much, and I thank you for that. You mean everything to me. And you always will.”

Out of desperation, or greed, I wasn't sure, I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his. He stiffened, but to my great relief, didn’t pull away. Perhaps he felt the fire burning between us, the same way I had felt inexplicably drawn to him from the moment I saw him. Some things in life are never fully understood.

I melted into him, savoring the kiss with every ounce of my being. I could have drowned in those lips, could have stayed like that for an infinite amount of time and never tire of it. All that mattered was him, and our joining together.

His first kiss with me.

And my last with him.

I allowed myself one precious moment longer before finally peeling myself away from him. Never had I known a task more difficult. His cheeks shone from my own wet tears I had left behind. He stared at me breathlessly, wordlessly. He was in shock, but I knew him well enough to tell that he did not regret the kiss. For that, I was grateful. I was not sure I would have been able to bear his look of rejection.

“I love you, Ren,” I whispered, before I stood up and walked away. I didn’t look back.

I never saw him again.