Four Degrees

It was four degrees when he left. We'd fought the entire night. In the end, bone-chillingly cold and exhausted, we agreed it was for the best. There was nothing more to be done, it was over, just like that, after 23 years, beyond repair, beyond our control.

When I first saw him he was wheeling himself down the faculty corridor in a shopping trolley, yelling something irreverent. A shambolic figure, unruly black hair, a wild beard and clothes too embarrassing to leave in a Salvation Army bin. The eyes, crystal clear blue, piercing to the core. I'll have that one, I thought, and I did, for 23 years.

We used to meet at my place. The lunacy of getting up at the crack of dawn to wash my hair and doll myself up, when all we did was lie in bed for the rest of the day, making love, talking, eating, just being together in blissful silence. Why wouldn't it last forever? A perfect fit.

No, not perfect. He did leave in the end. Without a word, without turning, without a single regret.

He soon arrived on the doorstep with a battered suitcase, containing two pairs of hideous synthetic pants, complete with shiny knees, one blue, one brown, two windcheaters, shiny at the elbows, one blue, one brown, and an assortment of other unspeakable garments. I never asked him to move in, he simply stayed, just like that, for 23 years.

He left at ten past seven in the morning. We had shared a wonderful last meal. Perfectly cooked steak with a marvellous Penfold's Shiraz. 'You have such a lovely smile' he said, but even that wouldn't stop him from leaving.

The first years were pretty hard. Abandonment anxieties. I often woke up, finding him standing at the window, tears streaming down his face, utterly inconsolable. His alcoholic father had left the family when he was four and he kept dreaming of letting go of his mother's hand and being left alone in a crowded scary city. On top of that he was riddled with guilt about leaving his own children. He drank far too much and once, deliberately, drove his car into a tree. Scary.

Somehow we got through it all. We had a great life, filled with music, literature, theatre, wonderful food, lots of laughter. My strongest memory, his eyes lighting up every time I entered the room. Why would he ever leave? The thought never crossed my mind.

He wasn't unhappy when he left. We had prepared well. spent one last night fighting like hell to conquer it, but we couldn't. He went just as they said he would. First the shallow breathing, next the fluttering eyelids, then the breathing stopped, and the eyes, briefly still beautifully piercing blue before disintegrating into nothingness.

isadora