Ridiculust Ch. 03

"Hand it over, bub," said Roger. "Our future master wants the other one too."

"Greedy bastard," she replied, gingerly leaning forward to offer her container. It was taken and hustled to the bushes.

"Maybe there's a family to feed," Roger replied mildly, yawning, stretching, and managing to finish the move with his arm around her shoulders.

"Smooth move," she said, snuggling in and resting her head on his shoulder. After a long pause, she continued. "I'm a widow. John taught Math and Chemistry at the high school along with me and my Math, Accounting, and Business Studies. We got married out of teacher's college and came here to start our lives together. That was thirty-five years ago." She looked up and saw Roger looking at her quietly. He reached up and smoothed her hair, waiting for her to continue. "Three and a half years ago, we were watching the Super Bowl together. His team had won with one of those last-second field goals and he was so happy. I of course was cheering for the other team, just to bug him, so I was not happy about it. I got up, took the empty bowls to the kitchen and came back for the glasses. He was sitting on the couch, with his eyes closed and a smile on his face, but he had died. Just like that." Her voice shook and Roger held her tighter. "They told me later that he'd had a massive heart attack, and there was nothing that anyone could have done to save him."

"How devastating," Roger said, with a raspy voice. Raw memories of his were being replayed.

"The whole town was in shock. The school closed down for the day of the funeral. The support and love I got were overwhelming. I went back to teaching after a couple of weeks, mostly dealing with all the paperwork that a death creates. None of the kids gave me any trouble for the rest of the year." She laughed lightly. "I think they were afraid that I'd fall apart in front of them." She looked up again. His eyes were shining brightly, and wet streaks had run down his face. She sat up and brushed the tears away. "What's wrong?" Roger coughed and snuffled, getting a napkin to wipe his face.

"I'm a widower too," he said softly. "At almost the same time as you lost John, I lost Jeannie. In mid-January of that year, we found out that her feeling sick and sore was because she had Stage V pancreatic cancer." Sarah winced. "It was everywhere. They said that if she made it for a month, she'd be lucky. She took it better than I did, strangely enough. I think that she knew all along that it was something bad, and wasn't surprised. So, we spent the next week getting her affairs in order, you know, our wills reviewed and updated, insurance companies contacted, arrangements made with a funeral home..." He trailed off as they looked at each other, eyes bright. She stroked his cheek gently, and he caught her hand and held it there.

"How long did it take?" Sarah asked softly. Roger had to pause to compose himself.

"She was killed by a drunk driver ten days after her diagnosis, on Super Bowl Sunday. Ironically, she was on her way home from an AA meeting, in an intersection near our home, waiting to turn left when the asshole blew through the red light from the cross street and slammed into her door. She was killed instantly. No chance at all." His voice broke. "The asshole was also killed, because he'd apparently forgotten to put on his seatbelt and went through the windshield. Saved me the trouble it would have caused by my killing him with my bare hands."

"Oh, how awful," Sarah said softly. "You never got to say goodbye."

"No. No. I didn't. I wanted, more than anything else, to be able to heal her. To reach in and rip out those tumors and smash them on the floor. She didn't have to spend her last days suffering as the cancer ate her alive. But I never got to say I love you that one last time." The bench was set back from the paved path a few feet, and passers-by on the way to the concert stage could see how tightly they held each other and hear their soft crying, and hurried on, respecting their privacy in the public space. It took about ten minutes for them to get the pain out, followed by embarrassed nose blowing on the napkins that came with the food, and eye wiping as they tried to compose themselves again.

"Neither of us got to say goodbye. Except at the funeral, when only the living could hear it." That would have set them off again, but they had already cried themselves out. "Why am I not afraid to be so vulnerable with you? And you are so wide open with me."

"It's trust, the foundation of love," he replied thoughtfully. "Could we be ready for love again after so long without it?" Her response was a delicate, tender kiss, one that promised so much more. "Here we are, one minute ready to tear each other's clothes off, the next bawling our eyes out. This date has taken more out of me than any other." Roger wiped away a tear from Sarah's face. "How's about we spend the rest of the time here listening to some music? That band sounds good."

"That sounds like a plan," Sarah replied as they both shakily stood up. "Let's go celebrate."