Franklin sat on the couch and whispered, as if he needed to, “ What the hell was going on?” He played Cedric’s words from the driveway, over and over again in his mind. Cedric had mentioned his dead wife, Dorothy. He hadn’t heard that name in the ten years since she died. Shortly after that, Cedric and he stopped talking to each other.
Then he remembered his wife, Rhonda's response, “I know, I know.” Then the sudden realization hit him, and it threw his mind into a state of chaos he’d never known. Thoughts and images, pieces of conversation, scenes from moments of his life buffeted him like winds from a tornado. He could feel his emotions welling-up like floodwaters all around him, engulfing him. Then it all went black.
Could it be true? It was the first thought he had when his consciousness returned. He knew that it was, but didn’t want to accept it. He was a retired science teacher known for his stubbornness. He thought how can I check? He knew there had been something different for a while, ever since his wife stopped leaving him a to do list. He couldn’t put his finger on it. He tried to feel his heartbeat and couldn’t. He never was any good at checking his own heart rate. He tried to take in deep breaths. It appeared to him that he was inhaling and then exhaling, but it didn’t feel like it. Huh, he thought.
He felt like he had to approach his own possible death with a fact-based approach. He still had all his senses. He could see, hear (that had been poor for years), feel (He was pretty numb lately.), taste (he hadn’t had anything to eat for a good long while). He just wasn’t hungry. But there was something else.
It was the sense that he had always had of the passage of time. He and Rhonda would joke about his uncanny ability to correctly judge the correct time even when he didn’t have a device like a watch or cell phone. He listened for the grandfather clock in the corner that Rhonda loved so much. It was silent. Apparently she hadn’t wound it, and it was silent. Rhonda religiously wound that clock everyday. He didn’t know the time, he knew he must really be gone.
He looked to the high, East-facing windows, across the room from the couch. Sometimes he fell asleep. That was what he called it. He would lose consciousness and everything would go off, like his batteries would run out. But then just as suddenly, he would be awake. He watched his wife sitting almost next to him, sipping her coffee. He would try to talk to her, but she never responded. He enjoyed those moments, but he ached for real contact. When she was gone, he would find himself staring at those windows. Most of the time, he couldn’t get off that couch and he felt fixated by those two high windows.
He had always hated those windows. They seem to be good for nothing to him. You couldn’t look through them because they were too high. You couldn’t place a plant on the window’s ledge because you couldn’t reach it to water it. When he complained to Rhonda, she would say, “They aren’t so bad. They let in the early morning light.”
Twice a year the windows made the honey do list to clean. He had grown to hate that. He’d have to get out the three-step ladder and balance on top of it. Every year the job became more dangerous and difficult with his failing ability to maintain balance.
For many years, Rhonda, wouldn’t commented on the growing dangerous situation, but he did notice her lurking behind him, watching. He glanced back at her, and she would turn around and shuffle some papers on the table, pretending not to watch. Their silly routine almost caused Franklin to lose balance, several times, causing her to suggest hiring someone to clean the windows. Of course, he vehemently rejected the suggestion because it was too expensive, and he could do it himself.
To his surprise, time didn’t stop, he just felt removed from it and it seemed irregular and unpredictable. He would watch days flash by like the flashes of a camera. Then there were periods when light from the windows seemed to go on forever. Rhonda would buzz through the living room at a blurring rate. He could barely see her. And then there were other times when she seemed to move so slow. It was like watching slow motion replay.
There were a few times when Cedric would pop up in the living room. He hated that. He did not trust Cedric. He had to contact Rhonda and warn her. But how, he had to figure out how to do that? Then he remembered that one morning just a few years after their wedding. She told him that they talked to each other in her dream. When she woke up she felt closer to him even though she couldn’t remember what they talked about. She asked, “Did you dream about us, together… talking…last night?”
He had no idea what she was talking about, but he could sense his wife’s need for affirmation as he took her hand and replied, “Yes, I remember.” The rest of their talk occurred back in their bedroom with him inventing a conversation. This happened between them just a few times. He would make her laugh and then they would make love. He assumed that she knew he was fibbing. It was all in good romantic fun. He wondered, I couldn’t really talk my wife in her dreams when I was alive, but maybe, just maybe, I could talk to her in death.