Time stands still as we become one. Sadness lingers in her eyes as our gazes remain locked. She knows I’ll be gone soon. I’ve never experienced anything so agonizingly beautiful. I pray I’ll get to remember this on the other side, that whatever higher being there is will allow me to hold tightly to this memory. This is only a dream; the two of us imagining what could have been in another time or another life. Her breath on my neck, her hands and fingers pushing into the flesh of my back; all tragically beautiful memories I need because I’m not sure I can endure eternity without them. Grabbing my face, she slams her mouth to mine, kissing me fiercely. I push back, cursing the world that I can’t get closer. My thrusts quicken as she claws at me, catching my lips between her teeth, driving me fucking crazy. I pull my lips from hers as she cries out, her body tensing.
“I love you, Ike,” she cries as a tear drifts down her cheek. With the tip of my tongue, I collect it before joining my mouth to hers again. It’s only moments later when she cries out in pleasure, and I finish seconds after, resting my forehead to hers as we both fight to catch our breath. I kiss her neck, her jawline, and her lips once more as she whimpers. Sitting up, I pull her to my side and tug the blanket over us. Her head rests on my shoulder as we watch the water glisten. I’d give anything to do this for real, not just imagine it.
“How do I let you go, Ike?” she whispers.
I have no answer for that. So I retreat back into our dream where I squeeze her tighter. The background changes and we’re at the bank of the river, and together we take turns narrating the life we’ll never have together. We watch a million memories play out before us, just over the water’s surface. Some of my favorites are our wedding day, the way she smiles at me when she reaches the altar. Another is her asleep on the sofa, her belly swollen and round with our child. And of course, the day our daughter is born, cradled in Charlotte’s arms as Charlotte smiles lovingly at me.
The images play on in beautiful and chaotic order. They’re not all perfect, in some we fight, but those are followed by the ones where we make up.
“I guess you never figured out I’m always right,” she jests as we watch an image of her throwing a pillow at me as she shouts.
“No,” I say as the image shows me grabbing her and kissing her fiercely causing all her anger to melt away. “I just like to stir you up so we can have epic makeup sex.” She chuckles softly and nuzzles her head into the crook of my neck. “What are we missing?” I ask her.
This,” she says just before she describes the image of an old man and woman sitting side by side in rocking chairs. It’s us after a lifetime together. She slips her wrinkled hand in mine as we stare out into the mountains from our front porch, watching the splendor of fall.
In this fantasy, I kiss her temple, closing my eyes and praying she will have this one day. And I pray it’s with George. She loves him just as she loves me; fiercely. She’s crying quietly, tears softly seeping down her beautiful face. Leaning toward her, I say, “When you miss me, come here and talk to me. This will always be our place.”
“Will you be here?” she weeps.
“A part of me will always live here . . .” Looking back at the tree behind us, I sigh. “I’m sorry I couldn’t carve that I & C in the tree for you.”
“I’m sorry for a lot of things, Ike,” she whimpers as she attempts to stifle a soft cry. The moment feels tragically painful, reaching in the deepest part of my soul. And although I hate to leave her, I need a few minutes to sort myself out before I unravel.
“Charlotte,” I say, and squeeze her hand tightly. “I need a bit of time alone. I’m sorry, I just . . . Will you be okay here?”
“Sure,” she says, quietly. “I’ll go back to the motel. You will come back and see me, won’t you?” Her gray eyes linger on mine, hope and sadness etched across her face.
Brushing my knuckles against her cheek, I reply, “I promise, baby girl.” Then I morph away.
When I open my eyes, Ike is gone, so I remain still, lying on the blanket and staring at the sky. Everything we just imagined together felt so real; so content. But real or not, he’s leaving soon. There are no words to describe the pain I feel inside right now. The ache is endless, reaching from my toes to the tips of my hair. It is a relentless, gaping hole of torture. When he goes, he will take a part of me with him; a part that can never be replaced because it is his—he owns it. He was the first person in a long time that offered me comfort and friendship. And I realize the agonizing pain of letting him go is exactly how George has felt for a long time.