Jack woke up feeling exceptionally fresh and energized.
He sprang out of bed with a sprightly leap that didn't quite suit his seventy five winters, and feeling much younger than he'd felt in decades, he set to his morning tasks with gusto and aplomb; after he'd had a quick shower to rinse off the stale, damp stench of his nighttime cold sweats, he quickly brushed his teeth to make sure his breath was as fresh as possible before he grabbed his comb and started styling his hair, carefully studying his reflection in his bathroom mirror and arranging his hair accordingly. He then grabbed his razor and began shaving the thicket of white hair that had formed on his jaw. It was slow going, not helped by his shaking hand and his old, blunt razor... but he persevered, slowly hacking away at his beard and earning several nicks in the process as he gradually exposed the pronounced sag of his neck and jawline. He then splashed his face with water to wash off the irritating mix of tiny hairs, shaving cream and blood, nodding with approval at his reflection as he instantly dropped twenty years of age. Satisfied, he dabbed his face and neck with aftershave; wincing as it burned his fresh cuts.
His next trip was to his wardrobe, where he'd hung up his best suit after getting it dry cleaned; he picked it up and lay it down spreadeagled on his bed, then with the exaggerated sluggishness that came with old age, he put on and carefully buttoned up his favorite blue shirt and then pulled up his suit pants and tucked his shirt into them, paying extra attention to keeping the shirt as smooth and unwrinkled as he could as he did so. It was while he was putting on his belt and struggling to find a belt hole narrow enough for his waist that he realized how much slimmer he'd got over the past few months... but that couldn't be helped, so he didn't obsess about it.
The last thing he had to do was ease himself into his suit jacket and examine his reflection again in the mirror... and he was quite pleased with the fruit of his morning labors; he might have been old and sick, but his appearance was still as meticulous and impressive as ever.
Which was just as well; he
was expecting company... and he had to look his absolute finest for his visitor.
Seeing as he still had some time to kill until his guest arrived, he shambled over to his desk and laboriously lowered himself into his chair with a grimace as various ligaments and joints audibly cracked and popped. As soon as he was seated, he regretted his choice; Jack was not a man made for waiting... as an old man, he was a vocal supporter and subscriber to the school of always actively busying oneself with various duties; in order to give oneself some semblance of control over one's own destiny, rather than submitting meekly to the ravages of old ages and listlessly awaiting death... however, his body was weak and unwilling to indulge his impatience. He was not getting out of that chair for a while.
Accepting his fate, he decided to find something to occupy his mind instead. For lack of anything better to do, he started rummaging through his desk drawers; the last time he'd sat at that desk must have been years ago, and it would undoubtedly produce something interesting that he'd forgotten about.
His top drawer was disappointing as it only contained various lengths of different-colored string and a sewing kit; remnants of a time when his wife had taken up sewing as a hobby. He smiled affectionately at her memory and closed the drawer again.
As he opened the second desk drawer, he was greeted with a sight he hadn't seen in decades; his son's BB gun... or rather, the
broken BB gun his son had asked him to fix some thirty odd years ago. He remembered taking it completely apart at that same desk in order to understand why it wasn't firing properly, only to realize that a small, broken plastic part had lodged itself in the barrel quite irreversibly... and his every attempt to dislodge or knock it loose only resulted in further damage to the barrel. By the time he was done with it, the barrel was visibly crooked in the middle and practically useless, so he'd had to secretly buy his son a completely identical gun so he wouldn't have to admit to him that such a small piece of plastic had defeated him. Next to the gun were some nuts and bolts and a screwdriver, all of which he'd been using for the same failed attempt at plastic gunsmithing. Finding nothing of further interest to him, he slid the drawer shut.
Or rather, he tried to... but the drawer wouldn't close. Something was stuck behind it.
Curious, Jack pulled the drawer out of the chest, panting at the small effort. He laid it on the floor next to his chair, and then reached out into the empty space behind it, blindly groping for the obstruction... and sure enough, his hand found a book which must have dropped down from the first desk drawer without him noticing.
But it wasn't exactly a book.
His heart almost skipped a beat as he beheld the pink, rose-patterned plastic binder of the ancient photo album for the first time since Kate had passed. His wife had spent two solid weeks rifling through every likely nook and cranny in the house looking for that album, and was almost in tears when she'd realized it was probably lost... oh, how he wished he could tell her that he'd finally found it! It was almost cruel that he could look at it when she had never had a chance to... and he almost put it back where he'd found it out of loyalty for his late wife, but something made him reconsider; it seemed only appropriate that someone would get a last look at all of those archived memories. Instead, he found himself blowing the dust off of its cover and laying it on his desktop. It was much heavier than he'd remembered... or perhaps he was just weaker.
Jack grabbed his reading glasses from his top left pocket and put them on; the blissful days when he could just look at things without the use of one pair of glasses or another were well behind him. Bracing himself, he took a deep breath and flipped open the cover.
The first picture that caught his eye was his first picture ever with Kate; it was a selfie she had taken of them lying on their backs in the grass at Regent's Park on a lazy Sunday, back when they'd lived in London; she was resting her head on his chest as they basked in the glow of a rare summer sun. His head was pillowed on his right arm, while his left arm wrapped protectively around Kate's waist as he playfully caressed her collarbone. Jack remembered that day as clearly as if it had been yesterday; both of them were in their twenties; their faces beautiful and clear of lines, and their eyes full of hope and optimism... nothing could have ruined their mood that day, as they were going through the glorious honeymoon phase of a new relationship; oblivious to the future challenges they would unknowingly go through together. He remembered his exact thoughts at the time; how beautiful he'd found her; how much he'd ached to admit his love for her for the first time and how afraid he'd been that she wouldn't say it back; how attracted he'd felt to her at that very moment, and how sincerely he'd hoped that she couldn't feel his stiffening manhood... which he would later learn that she could, but that she'd found it flattering rather than awkward.
Smiling fondly, he flipped a few pages until he found the specific picture he'd been looking for; their wedding. Of all of his treasured memories with Kate, that was the one day he had absolutely no recollection of; it had gone by in a haze of loud music, perspiration and energy drinks. The picture showed them having their first dance as a married couple, with his best friend Sam frozen in a ridiculous pose as he erratically wiggled within Jack’s line of sight in order to make him laugh and ruin the moment.
It was -without a doubt- his favorite wedding picture, as it not only showed how deeply in love they still were, five years after that first picture in London; but it also showed a funny, spontaneous, random act by someone who was very close to both of them... someone whose laugh he hadn't heard in seven years since he'd lost his battle with cancer. Sam had been a cornerstone of his life; a pillar he could lean against whenever times got rough... he'd always been there whenever he'd needed him, and would often prioritize Jack and Kate's well-being over his own, as evident from the time he'd donated two pints of blood to save Kate's life as she gave birth to their son, Eric. It had almost cost Sam's own life, and he ended up needing a blood transfusion, himself... yet it was still "totally worth it" for him, as he would later say often and loudly to anyone who would listen. Although he'd never married nor had any children of his own, he proved to be a third parent to Eric -his godson- and had got him out of so many tight spots during his turbulent teenage years that Eric ended up crying harder than anyone as his godfather took his last few breaths in his hospital bed, surrounded by his family and loved ones.
After all these years, Jack's grief for Sam hadn't dulled... and the sight of his once robust best friend reduced to a frail, wheezing skeleton would never leave his mind for as long as he lived. Unbidden tears welled in his eyes, but he angrily wiped them away; he'd promised himself that that wouldn't happen... Sam deserved to be grieved for for hundreds of years, but Jack was expecting a visit at any moment and it was the wrong time to lose control of his emotions.
He flipped to a picture he knew would take his mind temporarily off Sam; 5 year-old Eric was cackling with delight, his mouth open wide to reveal four missing incisors. He was wearing a yellow helmet and leaning against his first bicycle; a small red affair with blue tassels and two tiny training wheels. If the picture had been taken only two days later, it would have shown him significantly more bruised and crying over his almost miraculously botched attempts to learn how to ride what was effectively a four-wheeled bike. Jack had been later famously known to claim that teaching Eric how to ride a bike had been a more challenging task than earning his own helicopter pilot's license... yet just seeing how happy it had made his son made all the tantrums and rebellious kicks to his groin completely worth it.
The next picture he subconsciously gravitated to was of his awards ceremony at his firm; he was the youngest partner in the history of his company... a true testament to what a workaholic could do when he's not only left to his own devices, but actively supported by a loving wife. It wasn't his own, frankly smug face that he found himself scanning for, however; instead, he fixed his eyes on Kate's face... on the look of unbridled pride she had worn as she completely ignored the camera and had eyes only for him. It was something fierce to behold; almost a tangible force... the camera managed to even capture the faces of several people who were looking at Jack with unfiltered envy, and he was absolutely sure that it was not about his award.
He had won the jackpot.
The beautiful woman on his arm was not only there to smile for the cameras and briefly share his moment in the spotlight; she was there to celebrate her soulmate's success and tell him privately -purely through the mute, emotional language of the eye- that she was proud of him and that she would follow him to the ends of the Earth. She didn't need to say anything; she didn't need to buy any gifts; she didn't need to make any symbolic gestures... only one glance into her eyes was enough for him to hear thousands of loving words; pure poetry, imbued with so much selfless, raw, uncut passion and intimacy
that it felt almost obscene to be intruding upon it... even if he was the lucky man she'd been looking at.
The lucky man who was the last person she'd ever looked at.
He well and truly lost control of himself at that thought; his whole body trembling with racking sobs at the memory of his soulmate, lover and life companion of more than fifty years. There was no moving on for him... Kate was simply irreplaceable-
unforgettable.
He wept silently for a few minutes, allowing the grief to wash over him as he fought to regain control of his emotions... perhaps opening the photo album had not been the best idea he'd ever had. Finally, he regained his composure and, after due consideration, decided to keep going; he was damned if he wouldn't honor Kate by finishing that photo album, as he knew she would have wanted to.
Skipping ahead a few pages, he was shocked to see a picture of himself in his late teens... how did that get there? It was especially anomalous when he considered Kate's OCD and her compulsion to organize everything in chronological order. With a sinking feeling, he removed the picture from its transparent plastic sleeve and flipped it, thinking that perhaps Kate had written him a note on the back; but reality was unfortunately less poetic than his imagination. He flipped it back, and stared at the picture.
Where had all the years gone?
Reminiscent and lost in introspective melancholy, Jack considered his teen-self; a study in boyish good looks and muscular physiques. It
defied his understanding how that teenage heartthrob was the same person as the old coot who'd cut himself shaving his beard that very morning. He remembered getting that picture taken; he was
alive and conscious, and he was superficially the same person... minus vast amounts of experience and lessons learned, but who also still had youth and good health and laughter in his eyes. How was he such a familiar yet alien sight to his own eyes?
Almost overnight, the smiling youth in the picture had turned into a college student; a young adult; a husband; a father; a middle-aged man; a retiree; and finally a widower. Everyone he'd considered close had left him; his own parents and extended family were long gone; his best friends were lost to either disease or long distance friendship fall-outs or both; his wife had abandoned him much earlier than he would have dreamed in his worst nightmares; and even his son was too busy to take care of a rapidly ailing father... not that he'd told him that he was sick; he'd made sure to omit that particular detail from their weekly phone call catch-ups.
He was utterly and completely alone in the world... alone but for a million memories, constant heartache and unimaginable longing. He no longer tried to stifle his tears as they dripped steadily into his lap.
It was as if the universe had felt the raw pain in him; for at that particular moment, the photo album inexplicably dropped to the floor... and as he bent to pick it up, he couldn't help noticing the picture it had landed on; the final picture on the last page of the album.
It was a snapshot of the sailing trip they'd taken in the Mediterranean to celebrate his retirement; Kate was in his arms where she'd belonged -as elegant, graceful and breath-taking in her sixties as she'd been in her thirties- while an older and significantly balder Sam than the version pictured at Jack's wedding was visibly laughing at something hilarious as he clapped Eric on the back with enough force to knock the coke he had been drinking out of his hands- the camera had even caught the coke bottle mid-flight, and the bewildered look of confusion on Eric's face in the split second before his brain had processed what had happened. It was a brilliantly clear and sunny day, and the sea was the same deep blue as the diligently photo-edited variety usually only found on vacation postcards. Everyone was smiling, everyone was happy... the world felt complete.
Jack took the hint... perhaps rather than despairing at the thought that everyone had left him - and not by choice, at that- he should have instead been focusing on all the wonderful moments he'd shared with his loved ones. Every picture in that photo album represented a moment of sheer happiness... was he then not truly blessed that it was such a giant album? Did the fact that that he'd had so many moments of pure joy immortalized in picture form not show what an amazing life he'd had? It would be the ultimate act of ingratitude to deny the superb hand which he'd been dealt by fate. He'd had to face loss, true; but the bad times never take away from the good, for life is a mix of good times and bad times, and to neglect either would be to lose both.
In the end, perhaps it was enough that he could face himself in the mirror and honestly say that he'd had no regrets, and that he would have done it all again if he could.
A sudden noise from behind Jack snapped him out of his reverie. Without turning around, he straightened up in his chair and hurriedly wiped his face on his jacket sleeve; he was not going out without his dignity. He then hoarsely murmured "I've been expecting you".
A strangely angelic voice replied: "It is time, Jack."... not unkindly.
Taking one final, deep breath; Jack leaned on his desk to support his weight and rose to his feet.
"I'm ready" he whispered, as he turned around and slowly shuffled towards the blinding light... and beyond that, almost everyone he'd ever loved.
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Inspired by Johnny Cash's cover of "Hurt".
