A Better Way to Tell the Story

     There are probably many ways to tell this story. It could easily be told through his eyes, or hers, or mine, or yours, or a third or even fourth party’s. Or instead, a mixture of them all might be combined, leading one on to an interesting circus of points of view. After all, his account might be very different from mine, yours, or somebody else’s. And if the walls, and the ground, and the air, and other things inanimate in life also had their say, even more details could be revealed. One might, for example, be able to know exactly how and when the protagonist took a bath, what kind of soap and shampoo he or she used (if any), what songs were sung, how efficiently specific parts of the body were cleaned, and exactly how much water, down to the last molecule, was used in the process. But such descriptions might take away from what is really happening. One might get caught up in the overwhelming details of life and miss out on the meaning. The subtext. The real story.
     It is better to see things through a perspective that is less accurate in details and more true to what is happening. There is clearly only one way to tell this story.

     The phone rang. The sudden interruption into William’s rapidly spinning world almost scared him. Almost. Instead, he was left staring upward, not moving from his amply cushioned bed to react, not answering the phone just yet. He wanted to hold onto the dream above him for a little while longer. It was his favorite part of any late night and no interruption seemed worthy enough to end it short.
     Hovering just a few feet above William was Amber. She existed in a context that impossibly placed her somewhere between his bed and ceiling. Amber was there above him, dressed in the ultra short flower-dress that William loved so much, twirling in an ever present early-summer Montana wind, turning, charming. It was all happening once more on a bright hill covered yellow with lady slipper orchids: a place William remembered so well. Amber was playing the game of luring, purposely letting the slightly-cooled breeze assist her in the effort. The wind cooperated by catching her hair and lifting it up in display, combing out each shortly curled strand for William’s desire. Her hair looked inviting enough to swim into.      And William was ready.
     As if to mock him, the phone rang even louder. It was enough to force Amber to run far off into the field, farther and farther away until William could no longer see her. The empty space left by her then faded quickly into the fan positioned on William’s ceiling. With Amber prematurely gone, William contemplated flinging the phone across the room. His better judgment stopped him just short and curiosity took over. It was almost 2:00 AM.
     “Hello!” He yelled into the phone’s receiver much louder than he actually intended. The other end of the line provided no reply other than thick, heavy breathing. The thought that a prank phone call had interrupted his moment with Amber infuriated William. He repeated his “Hello” with hopes of quickly discovering that this was not the case. The breathing stopped.
     “Will? A rickety old voice asked. “William Anding?”
     “Yep, it’s me. What are you selling?” William sharply replied.
     “Will, it’s you. I’m glad I found you...so glad.”
     William’s brain now dusted off all of the appropriate memories so that the voice on the other end could be identified. He knew who it was, though could not think of a name to match with the voice. He was the worst at associating old acquaintances with old names. As a result, he knew who it was without actually knowing who. Luckily he had help.
     “It’s me, Mike Hartford. Amber’s father.”
     A silent pause.
     “Are you still there?”
     “Yes.” William was still there, but had great difficulty finding even the simplest response.
     “Will, I know it’s been a long time. A long time since we’ve spoken.”
     “Almost four and a half years, Mike.”
     “Has it been that long?” Mike now quietly whispered. “It seems like you and…Amber, used to spend your time together just yesterday. It’s amazing.” Mike’s voice trailed off into silence.
     If his memory had told him that this was Mike, then William now began to question its competence. The Mike Hartford he had known was a loud man, always assertive and strong during conversation. Something was very different.
     “How could the time have flown by so quickly?” Mike unsteadily asked.
     “It hasn’t for some of us.” William replied.
     Mike laughed. Not with a laugh that sounded as if induced by any great humor, but more with a forced laugh that sounded like it had struggled to make it past his mouth.
     “That’s what I liked about you, Will. You always had a good sense of humor. My own father used to say that a man who can make people laugh has infinitely more power than a man who can only make people cry. You could always make people laugh, Will. Always.”
     “Well, I try, you know. I don’t often succeed, but I try.” William replied.
     “Nonsense. I’ve never heard you burn a joke before. You’re a natural.”
     “I, uh…”
     “Tell me a joke, Will.”
     Silence. How could he respond to a request such as this? At this odd hour of night? After so long? William did not think of himself as a comedian and rarely was one to tell a joke. Now was no exception.
     “I don’t think I could right now, Mike. It’s pretty late.”
     “Yes, of course it is. Very late. Too late.”
     There was a point to this call. Mike had something to say. William wanted to know what it was badly.
     “So what brings you here? I mean what made you call?” William plainly asked.
     A pause that seemed like minutes followed. William wanted to intervene in the near silence, but resisted. Mike’s breathing once again began to grow heavy and audible. William waited.
     “Will…you heard about the accident?”
     “The accident?”
     “The car. All my fault. It’s my fault how things are now.”
     “The accident?” William again repeated.
     “Amber’s mother is gone. Amber is…”
     Another pause. William distinctly heard what could only be Mike taking a swig from a bottle. This was a side of Mike he more easily recognized.
     “Will, you always loved her didn’t you?”
     Loved?
     “You really loved my daughter, didn’t you?” Mike added.
     William’s heart instantly began beating faster. How could he answer this? His lips parted and a simple answer came out involuntarily.
     “Yes.”
     “And you still do don’t you?”
     William’s left hand began shaking. His shoulder followed.
     “Yes. I always will.”
     “I knew it, Will. I knew it. I think she did-does-too.”
     “Mike?”
     “I’m going to leave you something, Will. Something that most people never get. Something both you and Amber deserve.”
     The shaking traveled through William’s chest. His heart began to feel as if it might explode.
     “I’m leaving you a second chance. Everything. Take care of her.”
     “Mike?” William repeated.
     “I can’t…” Mike’s thinning voice trailed.
     William wanted to repeat Mike’s name again, to say anything, but nothing came out. The other end of the line then ended in a finalizing “click.” Immediately after, a steady dial tone filled William’s ear. He let the phone stay connected to his ear for unknown minutes.

     6 months later

     It was morning. This was always the most tedious part of the day. Little ever changed in order or procedure. But William never complained, not even to himself. It was time with Amber: real time. That, in any context, made William happy.
     First was the change out of the colostomy bags. This morning, Amber’s bag was more than half full with wastes her body had processed overnight.
     "Thank you very much.” William told Amber as he replaced the filled bag with a fresh one. “I won’t know what to do with such a prize.”
     William always made light of this part of the daily procedure. He was positive that it was embarrassing enough for Amber to have to go through the same routine day after day. Calling her collected wastes a “prize” had become the norm and Amber always had a quick comeback.
     You’re welcome; don’t spend it all at the same place.
     William laughed. Though he had not actually heard her say it, he believed that she had thought it. He had to. They were that close. They always had been.
      After the colostomy bags came the bath. William often sang to Amber during this long procedure in which he meticulously cleaned her thin, wasted body in her specially built, invalid-friendly bath tub. She had been a shower singer herself and William carried that torch for her now. This morning it was two of Amber’s favorites: Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You” and The Village People’s “YMCA.” William sang these renditions with great enthusiasm as he systematically cleaned each of Amber’s limp parts. His off-key voice easily echoed beyond the large, open bathroom, and continued on throughout the rest of the excessive Victorian mansion Amber’s father had left him. As William washed in deeply personal places, he called upon memories of Amber’s delicate singing voice and allowed her to join in with him. The songs then become much more toned and harmonious. Sometimes William wished they could just sing all day.
     Breakfast was no more exciting. Amber received her food in pasty liquid forms which flowed directly into her abdomen through a long plastic gastrostomy tube that resembled an umbilical cord. They “ate” together at the table like any family might, except William always sat behind Amber and her wheel chair so that she could not see what he was eating. Eating eggs, bacon, and toast, Wheaties, or an orange, did not seem fair while Amber only received that same grayish liquid. The only drawback from this routine courtesy was that he knew Amber was always one who was curious about what was happening behind her back.
     What are you eating?
     “Nothing special my love. Just the same as you.” William replied to silence. He hated lying to her, but he felt it was one of those necessary lies. To quickly change the subject William used the repeated tactic of reading the newspaper out loud.
     First he began with the small time local stuff, and then he moved on to the arts and entertainment section, the sports, the business section, the classifieds, the ads, the editorials, and then the bigger headlines.
     “…during which, the Governor said he had no recollection of making any such promises about the budget when he was running for re-election…”
     The finale was yet to come. After all of the world’s news and other material in the paper had been covered, it was time for the comics. At this point, William moved around in front of Amber’s stationary position at the table and held the paper under her unfocused eyes so that she too could see the comics’ shorts illustrations.
     “You know, I think it’s time we had a talk- says Beetle Bailey.”
     “Not now- says the Sarge.”
     “But it’s important Sarge- says Beetle Bailey.”
     “Beetle, I’m busy, I don’t want to hear another word from your pie hole- says the Sarge.”
     “OK, then I won’t tell you about the tank that just rolled over your new car- says Beetle Bailey.”
     William laughed loud. Amber, static and unmoving, laughed loud enough on the inside for William to hear. They laughed together.
     Because the bad weather that had plagued much of Montana this summer briefly seemed to be cooperating, William planned a walk in nearby Orchid Park later in the morning. This too was often part of the routine. It was also an excuse for William to see Amber in that short flower-dress he loved so much.

     In the early summer, the slight hills of Missoula’s Orchid Park were always covered brightly in yellow. Somehow, a place that often remained buried deep in snow for a large portion of the year glowed brilliantly with life in the summer months. Yellow lady slipper orchids covered the skin of its small hills and most of the short, flat distances in between, sharing the ground only with sparingly positioned spruce trees and the animate guests who were there visiting. It was a sight that William felt could not likely be repeated anywhere else.
     William took Amber to one of those yellow-clothed knolls, parking her mobile chair just at its base, and then lying down himself so that he could watch the expected blue and white wrestling above. As he relaxed into a satisfying position and began taking the big sky view, he quickly realized that there was one additional color above: gray. Contradictory to the weather forecast that he had so clearly read out loud earlier this morning, premature afternoon rain clouds were already beginning to threaten from the west. Coming rain meant that he would soon have to wheel Amber back to their home, that place of routines only a few blocks away. She would hardly have any time to take in the scenery before it was already time to leave once again. But the small hills and the island-like trees of the park were all theirs. There were no others within sight. All of the park’s benches were unoccupied and no feet touched its few paths. In such solitude, William knew the two of them could easily rest here and reminisce when things were different.
     Confident that there was still time, William reached over to Amber and closed her eyes gently with his fingertips. He then lay back unto the orchids and let his own eyes close.
     “Just a few more minutes.” He whispered to Amber. “I promise I won’t let it rain on you.”

     A powerful dot of water awoke William. It had hit him square in the nose and then continued rolling into one of his nostrils. In reaction, William quickly sat up, not immediately aware of his surroundings. Amber was there next to him, fading from a dream of a dynamic woman whom he had just been chasing through the hills and flowers, to the frail, wheelchair-bound invalid of reality. Another rain drop sliced into one of William’s squinted eyes as he attempted to comprehend this metamorphosis. As more rain drops began falling, William finally understood where he was and what was happening.
     “I’m sorry,” he said to Amber as he hastily stood up, intent on getting her home as quickly as possible.
     That was when it happened. As more and more rain drops fell, William saw that they were no longer alone in the park.
     The man was well groomed and dressed in excessively expensive business attire; the woman, too, appeared highly maintained, but was dressed much more casual, wearing a short sun dress almost identical to the one Amber now wore. This lead William to the speculation that the two had not arrived here together.
     The attractive couple sat at a wooden bench within 50 feet of William and Amber. Despite this relatively close distance, they did not seem to notice William now staring at them, or perhaps they did not care. They were pressed tightly together, kissing passionately, and were clearly oblivious to everything else around them. The raw passion the two shared entranced William, holding his attention as the rain continued to fall.
     Moments later, William silently cursed at himself for forgetting Amber. Quickly he reached over to her eyes and opened them once again. He then titled her limp head so that her gaze involuntarily fell upon the kissing couple across the park.
     “I’m sorry.” He said for a completely different reason than before.
     The rain fell harder and together they watched as the couple consumed each other like a last meal.
     “Amber, you know that I would never have left you.”
     I know
     “I mean even after the accident, I would have stayed with you.”
     She knew. He was certain that she did. If Amber could talk she would tell him that she was sorry that she had left him so long ago. That it was a mistake. That it took something as horrible as the accident and her father’s suicide to make her realize how she truly felt about him. William understood all of this. He knew her like no one else could. He knew what she wanted. And what she needed.
     William began sliding his hands carefully through Amber’s hair, taking in every detail of her soaked curls along the way. After he felt his hands had amply memorized their details once again, he then moved to her soft rosy cheeks. Gently he tilted her face upward so that it was parallel to his own. He looked at that beautiful face, into those glossy ovals, without blinking.
     “I love you.”
     I love you too.
     William then moved his lips slowly towards hers…


     There is a reason that a story like this should be seen through his eyes and not mine. Who would want to know about how miserable I am, always? The only point there could be to that story is that I want this to stop. And it won’t. I am helpless to stop this from happening: to stop him from loving me. Being loved unconditionally by someone that I discovered long ago I cannot, will not, ever love is a horror that I never knew could exist. Now it is life: one I have no choice but to live. This is why I prefer his point of view. It is a better way to tell the story and it is a wonderful place to be. Things are innocent there. The love is real. Life is grand. Who wouldn’t want to exist in a place like that?