Anniversary In The Gardens

"What is today?"

"Hmm?" the man said, answering his wife as he brushed her hair neatly and pinned it on top of her head taking careful consideration not to make the bun too tight. He fastened the pins securely so that they would not fall.

"What is today?" she asked again, staring blankly at him.

"It's Tuesday. Are you hungry?" He traced her with his eyes making sure he had dressed her properly.

"No," she answered.

"I think maybe you should eat a bite of something-some toast perhaps or some warm oatmeal with fruit."

The woman looked a bit confused. She then frowned. "Do I like oatmeal?" she asked.

"Of course you do."

She shook her head. "I'm not hungry."

The man began buttoning her blouse and putting socks on her bare feet. He slid her shoes on. When he was satisfied, he wrapped her in a warm sweater. "There now."

"What day did you say it was?" It would be the fourth time she asked and not the last.

"It's Tuesday, remember?"

"Oh, yes. Tuesday."

The man took her hand and gently led her to the kitchen where he pulled out a small pot and a large container of oatmeal, which he promptly opened and sat down on the counter.

"Is there something special about it?" she asked.

"Is there something special about what?"

"Tuesday. Is something special about Tuesday?"

"It is." He retrieved the sugar bowl from the cabinet. "Don't you remember?"

She studied the question diligently for several moments before answering. "It's our anniversary!" She clapped her hands in delight.

"Yes! Yes, it is." He tapped the counter with the spoon he was holding and smiled at her. "Do you remember how long we've been married?"

"45 years and three months." She said the words happily, knowing that she had answered the question correctly.

"Very good!" He dropped salt into the pot as the water came to a rapid boil, and taking down two ceramic bowls, he set them on the table.

She stared at the objects in front of her but was unable to identify them or their function.

Picking up the long silver gadget, she examined it thoroughly and laid it down. She questioned him with her eyes. She mouthed the word spoon.

"Yes, my darling. That is a spoon. Very good." He leaned over and kissed the top of her head then returned to the pot on the stove.

She played with the spoon and twirled her napkin. "What is today?"

He paused briefly before pouring the oatmeal into the boiling water. "It's Tuesday." He watched the cereal bubble and break as he stirred it constantly until its consistency was rich and smooth. Pouring it into two bowls, he topped the mixture with cold milk and fresh fruit before taking a seat beside her.

She stared at it.

"Doesn't it look good? Look at the lovely fruit on top." He laid the napkin across her lap. "Well, get after it. Let's dig in."

She frowned. "What is it?"

"It's your breakfast, darling. It's oatmeal."

"I don't like oatmeal."

"Yes, you do like oatmeal. It's your favorite."

She slid the bowl forward. He slid it back.

"I'm not hungry."

"Sure you are." He handed her the spoon and ate his own, slowly in stages- first picking up the spoon and demonstrating how to hold it between his fingers then placing it into the bowl. He gathered small amounts of the fruit and milk placing the mixture into his mouth and giving her an example to follow.

She mimicked his every movement, her eyes wide with curiosity until she'd eaten all of it. Just as he did, she laid her utensil in the bowl when finished. He dotted the corners of her mouth with a napkin and set the dishes into the sink, rinsing them once and loading them into the dishwasher.

He asked, "Would you like to go for a walk?"

Strolling over to the window, she shivered and pulled her sweater closed before sitting back down. "No. It's too cold outside."

"Ok, darling." He stared out of the window noticing the beautiful summer's day. The newly bloomed flowers in the garden and the children playing in the neighbor's yard. Walking over to the thermostat, he adjusted the temperature to accommodate her and joined her once more at the table.

She smiled at him. "Tell me the story."

He sat next to her placing his hands into hers.

She beamed brightly. "I do love that story."

"All right." He leaned closer to her. "They met long ago..."

"What was her name?" she asked cutting him off.

"Kathleen."

"And his name?"

"Paul."

"Paul. I like that name, don't you?" She squeezed his hands in delight.

Smiling at her, he continued. He waved his arms dramatically, holding her complete attention. "He met her in the gardens while strolling in the park. She was so utterly beautiful that she drew his attention away from the flowers that surrounded him, and his eyes fastened upon her."

She beamed. "Did she notice him? Was he handsome?"

He smiled back at her. "I don't know how handsome he was, but she did indeed notice him."

She held up her hands and placed them on her heart. "And he loved her?"

"From the moment he laid eyes on her."

"And they lived happily ever after?"

"Indeed, they did, girl. Yes, they did."

"I love that story.” She stared at him briefly in a way that he knew she recognized him. He held on to that gaze for as long as he could, before her eyes faded, along with her thoughts to a distant far-off place that he longed to travel to but could not.

"Happy anniversary, Kathleen." He leaned over and kissed her softly.

She pulled away slowly and once again adjusted her sweater. "I'm so hungry."

He ran his fingers through her hair, pulling loose curls behind her ear. "Would you like some oatmeal?" he asked.

"Do I like oatmeal?"

"Yes, you do." He stood up and started over to the stove. "You like it very much."

She stared at him as he filled another bowl with cereal.

He sat back down beside her, and she smiled at him before asking, "What is today?”