Long Island cemetery.”
“Oh no . . . I am so, so sorry,” she said, resting her hand on my shoulder now, “What happened? Is it something you want to talk about?”
I didn’t answer right away. I dropped my eyes to the grass between us. Gently, I pulled my thumb and forefinger over a single green blade a few times before looking back up at her.
“Her name was Elyse.” I said, lifting my head, “She was my wife. We were married twelve years. She’s been gone for four now. Brain tumor. She had a God-damned brain tumor and was only thirty-five when I buried her.”
Neither of us said anything. Gina’s hand was still resting on my shoulder. As she started to stroke the side of it, I just sat there, studying her sympathetic look. Her eyes were pulled tight and narrow, and it had nothing to do with the late afternoon sunlight that was shining on her face. It wasn’t the reason small furrows were rippling her forehead either. Her lips had tightened, too; and they were pulled back into a slight grimace, as if she were the one enduring my pain.
Then, at that very moment, something happened. I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t hear it. But I certainly could feel it. It drifted silently into my heart like a fulfilled omen. Right then and there I realized that I would no longer want to go on living without Gina Elkin. I deeply wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. There was no longer any denying it. But as I looked into her gray eyes during this quiet moment, I still didn’t know if I could tell her. Yes, Elyse was gone, but she would always be with me. It had been difficult enough leaving a part of her back in my New York apartment. I very well may never have left had I not seen that dog-eared page in Travels with Charlie and the traced route in the road atlas. No , I thought now, I still don’t think I can tell her I love her. Shit! I just can’t do it!
But then something else happened. With my eyes still locked on Gina’s, I noticed something in my periphery. It was a movement—a small blue movement. It came from a freestanding blueberry bush, maybe fifteen feet to the side of us. Gina saw it , too; and together we rolled our eyes toward it.
A bird had lighted in the bush—a beautiful, deep blue Indigo Bunting. And the magnificent bird was looking straight at me . Then, without budging its dark glossy eye, it started singing in high strident notes. Sweet-sweet, chew-chew , it sung over and over again, as if it was trying to tell me something. Then, as quickly as it had arrived, it flapped its wings and flew back toward the pines. Gina and I both marveled as we watched it.
It was as if the bird had been summoned to deliver a message —did just that—then went back on with its life again. To Gina it was surely just a strikingly beautiful bird, but in my mind it seemed possible that it was far more than that. And it was enough to rev up my desperate-mourner’s imagination once again.
Trying to be logical now, I questioned whether or not I was simply trying to protect the loss of Elyse again. I asked myself, had I really seen something more than just a bird, or was my mind farther gone than I’d realized all along? Was I grasping at straws? Was that what the folded page and yellow traced line had been—empty straws? Was the way I interpreted all three of the odd incidents nothing more than some inner-mind safety device kicking in—trying to help me keep a handle on all my pent up sorrow and pain? Was I trying to convince myself that Elyse may have been dead but not totally gone? Was I trying to read into things that weren’t really there or was Elyse in fact telling me to go on with my life? I just didn’t know for sure.
But the moment that Bunting disappeared into the trees, and Gina and I returned our gazes back to one another, none of those questions seemed to matter anymore. Somehow, deep in my heart, I suddenly felt it would no longer be any great sin or a hurtful slap in Elyse’s face if I
“Oh no . . . I am so, so sorry,” she said, resting her hand on my shoulder now, “What happened? Is it something you want to talk about?”
I didn’t answer right away. I dropped my eyes to the grass between us. Gently, I pulled my thumb and forefinger over a single green blade a few times before looking back up at her.
“Her name was Elyse.” I said, lifting my head, “She was my wife. We were married twelve years. She’s been gone for four now. Brain tumor. She had a God-damned brain tumor and was only thirty-five when I buried her.”
Neither of us said anything. Gina’s hand was still resting on my shoulder. As she started to stroke the side of it, I just sat there, studying her sympathetic look. Her eyes were pulled tight and narrow, and it had nothing to do with the late afternoon sunlight that was shining on her face. It wasn’t the reason small furrows were rippling her forehead either. Her lips had tightened, too; and they were pulled back into a slight grimace, as if she were the one enduring my pain.
Then, at that very moment, something happened. I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t hear it. But I certainly could feel it. It drifted silently into my heart like a fulfilled omen. Right then and there I realized that I would no longer want to go on living without Gina Elkin. I deeply wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. There was no longer any denying it. But as I looked into her gray eyes during this quiet moment, I still didn’t know if I could tell her. Yes, Elyse was gone, but she would always be with me. It had been difficult enough leaving a part of her back in my New York apartment. I very well may never have left had I not seen that dog-eared page in Travels with Charlie and the traced route in the road atlas. No , I thought now, I still don’t think I can tell her I love her. Shit! I just can’t do it!
But then something else happened. With my eyes still locked on Gina’s, I noticed something in my periphery. It was a movement—a small blue movement. It came from a freestanding blueberry bush, maybe fifteen feet to the side of us. Gina saw it , too; and together we rolled our eyes toward it.
A bird had lighted in the bush—a beautiful, deep blue Indigo Bunting. And the magnificent bird was looking straight at me . Then, without budging its dark glossy eye, it started singing in high strident notes. Sweet-sweet, chew-chew , it sung over and over again, as if it was trying to tell me something. Then, as quickly as it had arrived, it flapped its wings and flew back toward the pines. Gina and I both marveled as we watched it.
It was as if the bird had been summoned to deliver a message —did just that—then went back on with its life again. To Gina it was surely just a strikingly beautiful bird, but in my mind it seemed possible that it was far more than that. And it was enough to rev up my desperate-mourner’s imagination once again.
Trying to be logical now, I questioned whether or not I was simply trying to protect the loss of Elyse again. I asked myself, had I really seen something more than just a bird, or was my mind farther gone than I’d realized all along? Was I grasping at straws? Was that what the folded page and yellow traced line had been—empty straws? Was the way I interpreted all three of the odd incidents nothing more than some inner-mind safety device kicking in—trying to help me keep a handle on all my pent up sorrow and pain? Was I trying to convince myself that Elyse may have been dead but not totally gone? Was I trying to read into things that weren’t really there or was Elyse in fact telling me to go on with my life? I just didn’t know for sure.
But the moment that Bunting disappeared into the trees, and Gina and I returned our gazes back to one another, none of those questions seemed to matter anymore. Somehow, deep in my heart, I suddenly felt it would no longer be any great sin or a hurtful slap in Elyse’s face if I
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