Her hand in his is warm, a mirror of the sun on his face. Though his steps are slow she matches them perfectly, and even his snail pace picks up dust as he walks. He takes this path every day – leaves his small white house, with the piles of newspaper in the corners and the smell of Bengay on the still air, and turns left down the worn concrete path; manoeuvres delicately around cracked pavement and telephone poles sticking at awkward angles into the sky; and turns three blocks down into the park. She walks a few steps behind him in the city, so he always wonders if he has lost her; like Orpheus he is afraid to turn, knows she will vanish in the harsh light. But under the calm dark trees she moves closer, slips her hand into his, and he breathes again. Dappled light like candle flames give her room to stretch, and silently they tell stories of their lives together. He remembers the day he asked her to marry him, her bright hair in a thick coil, the terror he could feel in his throat at the idea that she might say no – at the idea she might say yes. He sees her only out of the corner of his eye, the so familiar curve of her cheek, the tiny upturned nose. Remembers when their first child walked to the altar, how out of the corner of his eye he had seen a tear fall down her cheek, known the swell of pride he felt was mirrored in her felt, felt at one with her.
They reach the end of the day today, as every day they do, and he clings to her fingers, knows it won’t help; knows that at the end of the path he will turn to her, and knows she will disappear but it will be worth it because before she does, she will smile. At that smile will sustain him, warm him, feed him even as she fades away, as she falls two steps behind. And that smile will guide him through the lonely walk to his empty house. That smile will be his companion as he eats borscht at the table alone, the empty chair across from him a constant toothache. That smile will take up room in the bed beside him, the pillow still indented with the shape of her head. That smile will be the closest thing he has to keeping her place in his life filled, and tomorrow he will walk again, and she will smile.
And that will be enough.
Image courtesy of Stuart Thursby. Stuart is a graphic designer and photographer, currently adventuring in the wilds of Germany, where this photo was taken. To see more of his work, or to check out his portfolio, please visit StuartThursby.com.