Not again

Wise men say, only fools rush in. Harold McKee would normally never consider himself a fool, but in this moment he rather wished he was. A fool would dive in head-first and think nothing of the consequences. But Harold was taking his time, drawing out his agony. A simple task lay ahead of him: dinner and a three-word confession. It was the three words in particular that tormented him. This magic spell that had inspired infinite beautiful songs, led men to leave their past lives behind, and served as the muse for works of art that rivaled God’s own handiwork. The last time Harold spoke, and truly felt, these words was as the casket of his cherished descended into the earth.

Thinking of her death naturally led him into reflecting on their life together. That fateful July day 52 years ago when she moved to town. Harold was a greasy-haired, trombone-playing, sophomore in high school, sweating through his uniform in marching drills and praying for a water break soon. The prayer was answered, the water break provided, and his fate was sealed. Through the fence at the water station, he saw his gorgeous Lucille jog past. Autumn-brown hair with ripples of gold that caught the sun at just the right angle to frame her perfection. He watched as she kept her pace to the end of the block, then leaned against the wall and began to stretch. A million thoughts flying through his head, in that moment, he rushed in as a fool. When they told the story of their meeting throughout the years, she would always tell it as if he had amazingly leapt the fence and swaggered over to woo her off her feet. He seemed to remember it more like awkwardly flopping down on the other side of it and approaching her with some incoherent babbling interested in where she went to school. “She always did see the best in me,” he thought to himself.

From there, the memories played out in his mind in a grand, kaleidoscopic display. The first day of school when they were reunited in homeroom, getting to know each other in the cafeteria, their first official date with milkshakes under the stars, mowing nearly every lawn in town to scrape up enough money to take her to the prom in a limousine, that time they — A beeping tune interrupted his daydreaming. Harold shuffled over to the kitchen counter and answered the ringing phone.

“Good moooorning,” a sweet voice sang over the phone. How can such a hypnotic sound fill him with such dread?

“Hey, I didn’t think you’d be awake yet. Everything ok?” He didn’t know why he was asking her, she never seemed to worry about anything.

“Yeah, I just wanted to make sure we were still on for dinner tonight. Not every day a gal gets a dinner at a steakhouse like Phillipe’s.”

“As long as my pacemaker doesn’t quit on me, still hoping to pick you up at 6:00,” he chuckled.

“Mhm, you’re not getting away from me that easily,” she laughed back at him. “But I’m planning to wear a dress that will test the limits of that pacemaker.”

“Well I won’t tell Dr. Scott if you don’t. I’ll see you tonight, Cindy.”

“And I will think of nothing else until you do. Bye Harry.” The phone beep ended their flirting session and plunged him back into his anxious grappling.

Harold thought back to that day that they met in the diner six and a half months ago. The same booth he went to every Tuesday morning to drink his coffee, just like he always used to do with Lucille. The new waitress hadn’t quite got his regular order down yet, and brought him an omelet with extra onions and no peppers, instead of the other way around. Cindy overheard from the neighboring booth, and interjected; “That sounds quite nice, I’ll just have that.” This shocked Harold out of his silent meditation.

“You ordered an omelet with extra onions and no peppers?” he asked her bewilderingly.

“No, but the chef went through all the trouble of making it, and I hate seeing hard work go to waste. As many meals a day as he cooks, maybe he knows better what I need than I do!” Harold gave a light chuckle before turning back around. Before he could even add his second packet of sugar to the coffee, Cindy had turned back around to address him.

“Hey, since I’m in the mood for trying new things today, would you like to join me?” Her brown eyes seemed to sense his state of melancholic nostalgia. He agreed, and over the next few months his regular Tuesday mourning session became their regular Tuesday morning bonding sessions. Coffee turned into walks in the park, turned into dinners, turned into Harold learning how to be vulnerable to another person again. Tonight would be their six month anniversary, where Harold planned to tell her the words he never thought he’d say again since Lucille died.

Even thinking of Lucille caused a knot in his chest. His wife had only been dead for five years, but the fingerprints of her around the house made it seem like she still wasn’t really gone. Her clothes hung in the closet, her nightstand remained untouched, her paintings still illuminating the dining room they were mounted in. Those first few weeks after the crash took her life, those were the only things that got him through. He told himself if he got rid of them, then he had nothing left of her. Part of him still believed one day she would waltz back through the door, and adjust the painting she always swore was at a weird angle. He longed for the things he once thought as mundane from their 52 years of marriage.

“52 years. . . How can I even think of moving on!” He thought to himself. Lucille had gotten him through his parents’ death. He had been there through her multiple hospitalizations. They survived a house fire together, worked through constant money issues, overcame several career struggles, and none of it ever even phased him as long as she was by his side. Nobody can ever replace her, and he was a fool for even considering it.

But, Cindy. Cindy could never be Lucille, but she had shown him how to find joy again. Those five years between Lucille’s death and meeting Cindy, he had been a shadow of himself. She had rescued him from the pit. Maybe somehow Lucille had orchestrated their meeting from the afterlife? Just maybe Lucille had seen the sad state he was in, and asked a favor from the Man upstairs to send somebody to restore his spirits? That would make moving on ok, right? Lucille would want him to be happy. She would always be a key part of the man he had become, but maybe it was the case that he needed to be that man for Cindy.

A pang of guilt wracked his mind at the comparison between the two. He felt despair at his demeaning nature towards Cindy by comparing her to Lucille. They were both angels sent from above to lighten the life of a lowly worm. What right did he have to pit them against each other in his mind? If Cindy knew what was going through his mind, she’d call off the steakhouse dinner and forsake their diner booth forever. Lucille would find a way to haunt him and give him one of her trademark scoldings if she caught wind he was treating such a kind woman so harshly. Harold had been granted not one, but two dreams come true, and he was deserving of neither of them.

“Well, I know I don’t deserve her, so I guess I just have to treat her so well that she never realizes it,” he said out loud to himself. He gave one last glance at his scribbled to-do list for the day: double-check reservation with the restaurant, pick up flowers, get the car washed, iron shirt + pants, cologne, shave, and a few items scattered in there he would have to get his glasses to read. He laughed a little at the realization he had blocked off his entire day to get ready for a date. He reminded himself how he had done this before, all those years ago with Lucille, took a deep breath, grabbed his keys, and headed out the door to begin the preparations.

That evening

Harold opened the elegant door to Philippe’s steakhouse for his date. Cindy gasped at the regal decor, but Harold’s eyes were only on her in that heart-stopping dress. The host marked their reservation and guided them to their table. A subtle signal to a waiter, and the young man brought a water pitcher and lit the candle in the centerpiece.

“Good evening, my name is Mark, and it is my pleasure to serve you,” the young man’s gentle voice spoke.

“Well Mark, it is my pleasure to let you serve me!” Cindy’s cheerful reply earned a smile from both Harold and the waiter. “I’ll start with just some water, but I’m afraid I’m going to need a few minutes with the menu, I’m out of my depth here.”

“Of course ma’am. I am at your beck and call if there are any questions I can answer or recommendations I can provide. Enjoy.” Mark quietly stepped away into the kitchen.

“Oh Harry, this place is wonderful.” She glanced down at the menu. “But I’m not quite sure where to even start on this menu. What are you thinking?”

Harold took a deep breath. This was the moment everything had led up to. He knew he needed to do it now, or he would think of nothing else until he said it. He laid his menu closed on the table and looked into her caramel brown eyes.

“Well, I’m thinking a lot of things. I’m thinking about the state I was in when we met. Cindy, I- I was pretty close to giving up. I had been going to that diner by myself, ordering the same omelet every Tuesday for over five years. Even all the things I used to enjoy, I just felt. . . nothing. There was no emotion in me, all my joy was buried with her, and I grew numb to the despair until I was just a shell of a man. And then that waiter messed up my order, and there you were. Cindy, did you- did you know that was the first time I had laughed since she-” his voice started getting shaky at bringing her up. He could feel the tears begin to well up in his eyes, a combination of a significant door in his life closing and the nerves of a new one soon opening. “I was surviving, but Cindy, you taught me how to live again. You showed me joy again.” Cindy was smiling with tears in her eyes, sharing in his emotions as she was so great at doing. He reached across the table, holding her hands in his, both of them locked into the other’s teary gaze.

He fought through the lump in his throat; “Cindy, I-” and a sob finished the sentence. She gave a sniffling laugh and replied:

“I know. I do too.”