by Joe Stanley

2

There followed much the same. The grayness returned broken now and then by these visits from an angel. She was so kind in her tender ministrations that I could not doubt that she cared for me. And this made me feel so blessed, as if this wretched world, with all its horror, might be worth living in.

And at the same time, I pitied her to have pledged her heart to me, when I could not remember a thing about her. The word shame is insufficient to describe the anguish I knew at this truth, and no word can define the yearning I endured when she graced my sight.

I tried to talk with her about who I was and what was wrong with me, but she refused. I saw that this pained her, so I soon stopped trying.

I wanted nothing more than to see her happy.

“I don’t remember you,” I told her as she lay by my side, “but every time I see your face, I fall in love with you.”

Closer she came, her breath in my ear, her lips on my cheek slowly kissing their way to mine. I knew love, pure love, a love so powerful that it frightened me. I held her as she slept and fought to stay awake, to hold the moment forever. But such things cannot be and grayness took me away.

At times I returned to find myself alone. My thoughts were consumed by the question of my situation. I noted to myself how oddly her presence rendered such concern as nothing but trivial. She knew the answers, but withheld them, and I was left to my own devices.

I wondered if some disease was slowly consuming me, or if some tumor grew within my brain. What horror was stealing my life and health away? That I had no answer only made the answer that more terrible.

But again, I woke when she was gone and yet I was not alone. The cat, watching through sleepy eyes, sat by the door. I found myself happy to see it, though I knew no more of it than anything else. I called it, and as is the feline way, it ignored me.

I called again and waved a shaky arm. I was rewarded by a small chirping sound.

“Come.” I called, beckoning with my hand. It paused for a moment before trotting forward. But it stopped short of my reach and refused to come closer. It seemed as if it wanted to leap up on the bed, but it just wouldn’t jump.

With considerable effort, I rolled to my side and stretched toward the creature. For a moment, I did not understand what it was I saw.

The cat sat on the far side of a thick, white line painted across the floor. Then I saw that this line curved out of sight in either direction.

From the grayness, dim visions came. I knew what I saw before me.

At last, I understood everything.

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