• The silence is consuming. I cannot hear his rhythmically unsteady breathing, the shallow, then deep breaths he must take, has always had to take. The sighs that calm me, tell me he is alright. It is the eve of my 93rd year, and as I lay here, drowning in silence, all I can think about is him.


    It was mid November, the year coming to a close, as the school year was just getting into swing. It seems like everything was swinging back then. The cafeteria was full, packed with students dancing their hearts out after the homecoming game. I recall we had beat our long-time rivals, and everyone was rejoicing the victory. I happened to be jiving with my best girl friend, Ester, when he walked in.


    He; his eyes shone like sapphires in the gleaming sun; the eyes all the girls at Alabama University melted upon contact with. He was the classic Renaissance man, triple threat with good looks, good grades, and not to mention the star hitter of the baseball team; the type of boy your parents would love for you to bring home. The band started playing Glenn Miller’s newest hit as he and a few of the other baseball players walked toward the refreshments table. As he passed, his eyes caught mine, and he sighed, then smiled, this heart wrenching grin that makes you think of summer days and warm beach sand; that infectious smile that makes your eyes soft, and lips turn toward the sun.


    He walked over to Ester and myself with this casual strut, seeming unsure of himself. He looked me straight in the eyes, and let out a slow, southern, ‘hey,’ in his deep, steady voice.


    Ester, being the hilarious friend I love, responded with, “hey yourself, boy.”


    He chuckled at that, and asked me if I would care to dance. Ester grabbed his hand, and with a “you bet your stars,” Ester-ism, she dragged him away to the floor. He had a pained look on his face, almost begging me for help, and all I could do was laugh.


    After a Bing Crosby rendition, Ester looked as if she would pass out, and excused herself to get something to drink. He walked back over to me, looking ashamed.


    “That wasn’t what I planned,” he sighed out through a smile. I had to restrain myself from giggling at how gosh-darn cute that was.


    “That’s just how Ester is. When you get to know her, why, she’s just the cat’s meow!” We could see her over at the punch table, talking to Billy Randal, whose father was a private first-class, a one-striper.


    “I’m sure she is, but I think you’re right swell, Ann.” He smiled again, and this time I couldn’t help but laugh.


    “You’re not too bad yourself, all spiffy for the dance.” It is embarrassing to admit, but when most girls comment on a guy’s appearance, it’s just so they’re justified when they ‘check them out,’ as my grandkids would say.


    The dance was winding down, only couples dancing slowly to the soft beats. We stood in silence for a while, nothing awkward, nor uncomfortable, just relaxing; mellow. He looked up suddenly, just staring into my eyes, piercing into my heart, warming my soul. “What?” I asked.


    “Nothing,” he replied. I remained still, staring him down, almost. “What?” he questioned after a while.


    “Nothing,” I said, and his eyes crinkled, his shoulders relaxed, and that gorgeous smile played on his lips.


    “You… Would you like to go for a walk?” he offered, and I graciously accepted. He took my hand, and we were off through the crowd. Outside the cafeteria, the cold night hit like a thousand needles on my skin. The gentleman inside him took notice, and he took his coat, swung carelessly over his shoulder, and draped it over both of mine.


    It was a picturesque night, clear, bright stars shining in the open southern sky; no wind, just below-freezing temperatures was all. Then it hit me.


    “Oh no!” I exclaimed, and stopped walking.


    “What’s wrong?” He had stopped walking as well now, and look genuinely concerned.


    “I left my pack in the library!”


    “Is that all? Golly, Ann, you gave me the heebie-jeebies!” Running his hand through his tousled, curly brown hair, he sighed once more, just a simple action that left me, leaves me, completely helpless to his charms. “Well, come on, then,” he insisted, and dragged me toward the library.


    Surprisingly, the door was unlocked, and when I reached for the light, he stopped my hand with his. “No, if they see the light on, they might kick us out,” he reasoned with me. He didn’t remove his hand from mine, though, and the warmth soaked into my skin, heating my frozen fingertips.


    “I think I know where the candles are,” I told him, but was reluctant to leave him, in fear he’d strand me. He squeezed my hand, and assured me he’d be right there when I came back, almost as if he read my mind.


    It didn’t take me long to locate the candles and matches and bring a lit one back to the archway; the light illuminated his figure, exactly where I had left him.


    “Found ‘em,” I stated the obvious, and mentally scolded myself for getting so stuck on a boy. We started out by the bookcases, roaming the halls and shelves, finding nothing. After looking over the tables, he spotted my pack underneath one on the far right. The table was right by the window, and I couldn’t help myself but to stand in front of it, gazing into the peaceful abundance of the night.


    I didn’t notice him until his arms wrapped around my middle, and he rested his chin on my shoulder (he was never very tall, you see; just a few inches taller than myself). “What an unimaginable night,” he whispered, ever so lightly, soft as a feather. I turned my head to glace at him, whilst he was watching the world spin. I could smell his cologne, a tantalizing aroma that lulls you, makes you feel safe. Without thinking, I pecked him on the cheek. Moving slowly, like in those romantic movies, he rotated his face to parallel mine.


    “I’m starving. Want to catch a bite?” I asked of him, changing the subject to hide my embarrassment.


    He didn’t say anything for a while, and I was sure I’d moved to fast, but when he let out his breath and tightened his grip on me, all my fears melted away. “I think I’d like that,” he closed his eyes slowly, a long, carefree blink that washes out all the impurities of the world and human nature, that leaves you, just you, helpless, open and susceptible to the harsh cruelty, unless you have someone there to comfort you, to welcome you, that you trust with the utmost importance; you trust with your life and love.


    We walked through the dark, having blown out the candle back at the library. We entered the first diner we found, a cozy little mom-and-pop shop with red-leather upholstered booths and pristine white tables. An older woman, Sharon her nametag read, was on staff that night. She was pleasant, just what you would expect from a waitress in a diner on a Thursday night; she seated us in a booth by a window, giving us names of ‘hun’ and ‘sugar,’ and calling us the cutest darn things she had ever seen. The menus she handed us matched the motif to a tee; white paper, laminated, bound onto red leather. I was just going to order a sundae, something simple, but when Sharon came over to take our order, he started naming off practically everything on the menu, as if he hadn’t eaten in days; shoot, like he hadn’t eaten in years! Sharon lowered her pen and paper, staring dumbfoundedly at him.


    She turned toward me, after shaking her head and smirking. “And for you hun?”


    I looked over to him, and without looking back I told her, “I’ll just share with him.”


    We shared everything; from math books and sundaes, to our first home and strolls along the waterfront. I’ll never forget that night; the night our lives merged. As I lay next to him now, his hand fails to warm mine any longer. His breathing, or lack thereof, fails to comfort me. I’ll miss him, if only for the short moments we are apart. I’ll see him soon, I suppose. I close my eyes slowly, tuning out the world, releasing myself through a sigh, mush like the ones he makes; made. We’re close; I can almost hear him now.