THE MEMORY OF ALL THAT

by Linda S Barth

Our romance won’t end on a sorrowful note,
Though by tomorrow you’re gone;
The song is ended, but as the songwriter wrote,
The melody lingers on.

He knew he shouldn’t do it, but sometimes the temptation was impossible to resist, and he simply had to yield to its pleasure and its pain. There had never been any point in saying, Just this once. Once had never been enough. It never could be.

If he were being sensible, he’d shelve the book that hadn’t held his attention, extinguish all but the slow-burning night candle on his old mahogany desk, and tuck himself into bed. Tomorrow would be another long day of responsibilities – supervision, consultation, coping with events both planned and unexpected – just like all his other days for over thirty-five years. Not that he resented any of it. He’d pledged himself to his community, his family, and while admittedly there had been some regrets, he knew that given the chance, he would change very little of the time he’d spent as Father.

But once he had been someone else. Jacob Wells…her Jacob…and she had been his.

They may take you from me,|
I’ll miss your fond caress,

With a sigh that trembled in the stillness, he leaned back and rested his head against the threadbare velvet cushions of his favorite easy chair. Eyes closed, he hurried along a familiar path, away from a tranquil candlelit chamber to a hectic sun-drenched city street. The way never changed. He needed only to follow a heart full of memories to reach his destination.

But though they take you from me,
I’ll still possess…

And there she was, stepping out of a yellow cab, radiant in the summer sunlight. A dream, a vision, yet real and alive and nothing less than perfect. She had stolen his heart at that very moment, but he would have given it gladly and gratefully had she only asked. Mesmerized, he’d closed his eyes for a heartbeat, but when he opened them, she was gone.

In the year that followed, he’d waited for her, longed for her, wondering on the darkest days if perhaps she truly had been nothing more than a fantasy. And then she had returned to him as if by some magical spell or benevolent quirk of fate. Or perhaps it was the sheer strength of his love for her, a love so inexplicable yet meant be.

A love that gave him life, and then took it all away.

A tear trickled along the lines of his face. Despair was not what he’d intended when he’d yielded to his memories. He shook his head. No, tonight he needed to return to the happier times, and there had been many — moments of light and laughter and love — before it all turned dark, before it all disappeared…all but his memories.

His beloved memories of Margaret.

The way you wear your hat,
The way you sip your tea.

As a research doctor just starting out, there wasn’t much extra money for flowers and gifts and dinners in nice restaurants, but what little he’d had, he’d gladly spent to make her happy. She was accustomed to the finer things — he’d recognized that from the start — and while she assured him she’d be happy if they just wandered through the park on a summer evening, he’d wanted to give her so much more.

He sighed, images of their first date floating in his memory. Heart pounding, he’d felt light-headed when he’d asked her to join him for dinner at a little Italian restaurant in the Village. He’d been so worried he had misinterpreted her interest in him, so doubtful he could compete with what must be hundreds of other suitors, so certain she’d say no, gently but firmly, and walk away forever.

But she had smiled with pleasure, saying yes almost before he could finish asking the question.

He still could picture the way she looked that August night. A blue silk dress shimmering and floating around her delicate, slender body, a dainty feathered hat perched atop her coiffured blonde curls, little diamond earrings twinkling in the lingering sunlight of a summer evening.

He hadn’t tasted a bite of the food they’d been served or the wine they’d sipped. He was aware of only the wonder of the woman sitting opposite him at the small, candle-topped table. Her smile, her warmth, her beauty, and all of it somehow, miraculously just for him.

After several pointed looks and sighs from the hostess, they’d finally left the now-deserted restaurant, knowing it had already become “their place,” and strolled the quiet streets, hand in hand, sharing smiles and sighs and secrets. With the remaining cash in his depleted wallet, he’d hailed a cab and brought her home, ending the evening with their first kiss, short and sweet and perfect, just before the doorman ushered her inside and left him alone on the sidewalk. He couldn’t remember the long walk home to his tiny apartment, surprised when he finally found himself there, already counting the hours until he would see her again.

The memory of all that,
No, no, they can’t take that away from me.

He sighed as memories flowed unceasingly through him, each one joyous yet irrevocably tainted with bittersweet pain. They had promised each other forever, never suspecting how brief their time together would be.

As the years passed, he thought of her nearly every day, wondering where she had found a home, hoping that her life was a happy one. How tempted he’d been to search for her; yet he had never done so. Better to leave things as they were, to respect the choice she’d made, to fulfill the promise of the new life he had been given. To find a way to leave all the hope behind and be content to live with nothing more than memories.

It had never been easy, but at last he’d learned to see each remembered moment for what it had always been, a treasure, a gift, a blessing.

The way your smile just beams,
The way you sing off-key.

It had been early December and a light snowfall had softened the hard edges of the shops on Fifth Avenue, a few lingering snowflakes still sparkling as they floated past the streetlamps. Arm in arm they strolled past the brilliantly decorated shop windows, lingering whenever a particularly intriguing display caught their eyes. Mannequins clad in furs and velvets clutching martini glasses and cigarette holders as they lounged amongst glittering Christmas trees in the windows of Bergdorf Goodman. The familiar characters from A Night Before Christmas whirling on turntables, telling their story one window after the next at Saks Fifth Avenue. A miniature Victorian village arrayed at Lord and Taylor, full of twinkling lights, tiny snowmen, and strolling carol singers. For a moment, his heart caught, filled with the remembrance of when he’d once walked lanes much like those in a life he’d left behind.

It was as if she could read his thoughts. Does it remind you of home, Jacob? I’d love to see it someday.

He’d turned to her with a delighted smile, words tumbling one after the other. Celebrating Christmas in England, perhaps next year, with his aging auntie and an elderly second cousin, the only family still left to him after the war, and perhaps an old schoolmate or two. They would sip mulled wine by the fire and sample the family recipe for Christmas pudding, but for once he would not hope to be the one to find the hidden silver coin, for he no longer needed its promised luck. They would attend an uproariously silly pantomime, listen to the Queen’s Christmas speech on the radio, hang up their stockings for Father Christmas to fill on Christmas Eve after they’d returned from midnight mass, the beautiful sound of the choir voices still gilding the night air.

You have such a lovely speaking voice, Jacob. Did you sing in the choir when you were a boy?

Blushing like the schoolboy he once was, he admitted that he had, and then began softly singing the words of an old favorite, It Came Upon A Midnight Clear, his flawless, clear baritone gaining strength with each word and phrase. Passersby smiled at them, three or four pausing to join in, their mellifluous voices warming and soaring in the snow-sparkled night air.

Until a sweet yet terribly discordant soprano joined in. The singers paused for a moment, then in the benevolence of the season, soldiered on, each perhaps hoping they’d drown out the latest member of their impromptu choir.

How her eyes had twinkled as she’d grinned at him when the song ended and everyone had gone their own way. I know I can’t sing – but I just couldn’t resist!

He’d paused and right in the middle of the sidewalk pulled her into a warm embrace, as if he’d never let her go. Just before meeting her lips in a kiss, he murmured, Neither can I!

The images tumbled forward and Jacob’s heart soared, recalling how they’d wandered back uptown, eventually finding themselves in front of Tiffany. In the windows were exquisite displays of earrings and brooches and necklaces arrayed like fanciful ice atop sprays of red-berried holly and boughs of balsam fir, diamonds and rubies and emeralds glittering in the artistically designed lighting. He’d wondered if she already possessed several such pieces, knowing he’d never be able to purchase one for her.

He glanced sideways at her. She seemed to be staring at one display in particular, a small secret smile curving her lips. He let his gaze surreptitiously follow hers and was unable to suppress a sharp intake of breath. A sweep of diamond engagement rings nestled upon a swath of white fur, each more beautiful than the next. Could she possibly be wishing…was it too much to dream of?

She looked up at him, then leaned her head against his shoulder, sighing softly. He had to ask, he had to know. But what if he had misread her intention, what if he were wrong?

He summoned his courage and whispered carefully, Which one do you like best?

She turned and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, then whispered into his ear. The one you’ll choose for me.

As he’d gathered her into his arms, kissing her with all the passion and hope and gratitude in his heart, he knew he’d never wish for another dream to come true. A new life was opening up before him, filled with hours and days and years of a wondrous life with his beloved Margaret, who somehow miraculously loved him, too.

But how quickly the time had flooded from them, drowning all their hopes and sweeping away all their dreams. Dreams…and memories. They were all he had left of her now. And he would never give them up. He’d tried so hard to forget a world he had once loved. But there were some things he would never forget, even if in all their cherished beauty, they would hurt just as easily as they might heal.

The way you haunt my dreams,
Oh, no, they can’t take that away from me.

And yet those dreams, as precious as they’d always be, were tainted with darkness. The poison of betrayal, the soul-searing realization of abandonment, the wrenching loss of everything he held dear…

He felt the long-suppressed anger he’d thought he’d let go of years earlier begin to creep up on him like a familiar but unwanted friend. “No.” He muttered the word aloud. He’d promised himself he would not indulge in the bitter poison of sorrow and regret tonight. And he, for one, knew how to keep a promise.

Their wedding day. A brilliant June morning full of sunshine and flowers and the joyful wishes of her family and their friends. How beautiful she had been in delicate white satin and lace; how proud and happy he’d been as they walked back down the aisle, newlyweds embarking on a life that was their dream come true.

The weeks following their blissful honeymoon at Margaret’s family’s summer home in Newport were like something out of a fairy tale or one of those romantic films his auntie had so loved. Moving into a spacious new apartment in a building her father owned; securing an unexpectedly rapid promotion at work, a lucrative offer involving important research and government contracts; eager dreams of a baby to make their joy complete.

The images swirled through his mind, becoming frantic and fractured as they raced toward their inevitable conclusion.

A letter. It was still secreted behind the framed photo of their wedding day. He hadn’t been able to destroy image or words, to bury them where they belonged in the ashes of his dreams. He couldn’t. They were her final words to him. Since then, she’d had nearly thirty-five years to reach out to him, but there had never been even a whisper. He had to accept that there never would be.

We may never never meet again
On the bumpy road to love

A rapidly insistent tapping on the pipes shattered his darkening reverie, and for that he was grateful. He needed to escape the morass of hurt and pain he’d let himself wander into after all. Taking a deep, harsh breath, he reminded himself of a promise he’d made the day he’d finally accepted his fate, a promise he vowed to keep so that he could survive. He had pledged to somehow find a way to escape from a seemingly never-ending prison sentence of anger and self-pity. For he knew he would have to keep that promise he made to himself, or he would perish.

As the years passed, he had found the strength to turn anger and remorse into newborn hope and purpose by following the example of a remarkable man, someone who had every reason to despair, to rage against his fate, yet instead embraced life with gratitude and love.

If his beloved son could summon the courage and fortitude to overcome the tremendous obstacles he would continue to face his entire life, then surely he could find a way to turn his own cycle of heartbreak and despair into something good and valuable instead. And he had succeeded.

Jacob blinked hard, staring into the candlelit shadows of his chamber, seeing within it a microcosm of the community he’d done so much to build, to nurture, to maintain. A beloved dream had died, but another had been born in its place. Perhaps it had all been meant to be. Perhaps it was time to stop looking back and to embrace only what might lie ahead.

And yet…

Still I’ll always always keep the memory of
The way you hold your knife,
The way we danced ‘til three.

Picnics in the park, snuggling together on their blanket as they watched toddlers chasing butterflies, wondering when they’d have their own little one to cuddle and cherish. Swaying under the stars at a summer concert on the beach in the Hamptons. Pouring over the Sunday newspaper real estate ads, playing at choosing a colonial in the suburbs, a penthouse in Manhattan, a houseboat to meander down the Hudson, into the Atlantic, and far away…

How could he ever give up those beloved memories? He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. It would be like destroying part of his heart, smothering the light that had guided his life. There was no other choice, and, like Janus, he would continue to look forward and back, seeing it all as best he could. It was what he must do.

He sighed heavily as he rose to his feet. It was past time to get some sleep. There was another busy day awaiting him in just a few hours’ time. He would tuck away his memories for now, but he would never forget them. Margaret was forever vanished from his life, swept back long ago into the world where she belonged, but her love and light would live within him forever.

The way you changed my life,
No, no, they can’t take that away from me.

She had opened his heart to the possibilities of love, had shown him how to believe in miracles, had taught him that dreams can come true. And even when he was forced to awaken from those dreams, their magic and power and beauty hadn’t left him. They had given him the strength to dream a new dream. To take the precious gift of their love and transform it to something greater that would touch other lives, changing them for the better. And for that, for her, for love, he would be forever grateful.

No, they can’t take that away from me.

_____________

They Can’t Take That Away From Me: Lyrics by Ira Gershwin, music by George Gershwin, 1937.