Thus, ready to leave the horizon of life
No staff, no cane on the road of strife
I turn again and with much envy
I contemplate all the beauty that isn’t for me

It was a Wednesday like any other Wednesday; trees bent to the wind as they always did; the sun was shining as bright as it always had. But for Marianna, the night had already fallen. She wished she could cry, scream, or cuss, but she had no reaction. She already died, like those poor souls lingering in a coma. Most of the organs are still working to hold on to life, but the brain has departed, never to return. Unlike a coma, though, her numbness hurt, as if her body were desperately fighting to feel. 

She drove from the doctor’s office to a bar twenty miles out of town. Driving along the back roads to avoid traffic made the drive longer and gave her more time to process the diagnosis and finalize her decision. She arrived at Serendipity, a bar for those who lost hope and adopted a bottle as a companion; conversations without meaning, and end of days with little concern for tomorrow.

A group of men in short sleeves, manipulating their beer bottles, chatting, and laughing in a corner, stopped talking and turned to look at Marianna. She could never blend in with the crowd. She sat at the opposite end. Her leg dangled and hurt, so she placed her foot on the footrest of a second stool. The bartender, a tan man with wavy black hair and arms covered with tattoos, asked her what she wanted.

“I’ll have a margarita, please.”

She pulled her cell phone from her purse to Google the procedure the doctor was recommending, but the connection was too slow and her cocktail arrived before the page displayed. She took a sip of the beverage while her eyes scanned the bar. The door opened, and a tall man in a light pink polo shirt and a pair of tailored Prince of Wales pants entered. They immediately locked eyes. Biceps bulging, his jet-black curls shining under the bar’s fluorescent lights, he was at least twenty years younger than her. He walked toward her, smiling.

“I’d offer to buy a drink, but your glass is still full.” Interesting choice of words, she thought. “I want to buy you a second one, anyway.”

“If you buy me a drink, it means you want sex. If I buy you a drink, maybe I want sex, maybe I don’t.”

“By all means, buy me a drink. I’m a big fan of ‘maybe’. It opens all kinds of possibilities. Even a knocking opportunity?” He winked.

“Maybe.”

He waved at the bartender to draw his attention. “I’ll have a beer and put it on her tab, please.” The bartender looked at Marianna, who nodded.

“What is a handsome man like you doing in this dive? And that’s not a come-on. I’m really curious.”

“My car broke down. I’m waiting for the tow truck. What is a beautiful woman like you doing here? And maybe it’s a come-on.” He smiles, revealing unbleached, all-natural teeth. 

The bartender put the beer in front of the young man. “Enjoy!”

“That I will. What should we drink to?”

She lifted her eyes and gave him her biggest and happiest smile. “To Charles.”

“Your boyfriend?”

“Not exactly. But he does want to do things to me no one has ever done before.” She opened her eyes wide and gave him a wicked smile.

“Divorce?”

“It’s safe to assume Charles and I will never be together. Carthago delenda est.”

“Is that Spanish for cargo is delayed in the East? Charles is a drug dealer.”

She laughed and took another sip of her cocktail, and let the lime flavor linger on her tongue.

She noticed a 1-2 inscription on his tennis bracelet. She lifted his wrist and asked, “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Wife 1 and wife 2.”

“Oh, you are a serial killer.”

“I am. I gave both of them cancer.”

She cocked her head toward him and smiled. “I’m dying to know you. When do we get married?” If only she had cancer. People run races for cancer; they organize fundraisers; insurance covers the treatment; money flows from everywhere to support scientific research. But the real beauty of cancer is its final solution. Jealous of cancer patients! That’s something she never expected to experience.

He lowered his head close to her face. 

“You know… I am a boxer.”

“I have no intention of fighting with you.” She replied, pushing her hair over her shoulder.

“I meant, I’m used to getting hit and I know how to defend myself. At the moment, I feel defenseless.”

She put her hands on his cheeks to bring his face closer to hers, and in one gesture, she shattered all her inhibitions, kicked her catholic rigid boundaries, smashed years of waiting, and waved a finger to shame. She became a wild, fearless gazelle running free in the Sahara. The numbness softened, her heart opened like those annuals in the spring that bloom with vibrant colors for one summer before fall smothers them.

As she dug into his mouth, swallowed his lips, and chewed on his chin, her hand wandered lower on his body until she came in contact with his abs. Hard as rock. The universe is a cruel bitch. Why now? Why couldn’t she meet such a man when she was healthy, vibrant, and with legs?

She withdrew when she felt his Eiffel Tower poking her thigh. His face was flushed as the entire bar broke into applause behind him.

The beautiful man pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Gotta go. The tow truck is here.” He licked his lips and took one step back while still holding her hand. “Since there is a ‘maybe’ involved, here is my card if you want me to buy the next round.”

She put the card in her purse and asked the bartender for the check.

“Your drinks are on the house, Ma’am.” Said the bartender without making eye contact. Marianna blushed.

She drove home, singing. That’s the thing about the heart, sometimes it opens without warning, and once open, all kinds of things get in: joy, laughter, beauty, and memories. They all swirl into one cocktail that makes one delirious. In a way, running out of time was exhilarating. No worries about the future, no regrets, no desire for accomplishments, and no shame about her conduct. What if she were a slut for one night? Who would care? She certainly wouldn’t be plagued by guilt or remorse. In a way, not having a future made for a bolder present. 

She stopped by a grocery store and grabbed all the boxes of Tylenol left on the shelf and drove home. Once inside, she took off her shoes and sat on the couch, a bottle of water and the medication at her feet. 

The effects of the alcohol wore off and the numbness returned. The silence was delicious and the tick-tock of the clock regulating time was no longer audible. She felt hollow like a Halloween pumpkin with all its insides carved out, but the skin still thick and shiny. She thought about the rainbow bridge and all her dogs and cats. Will they be there waiting for her? Will they run to greet her? That thought was uplifting. How about Bernard? Would he be there, or has he moved on with eternity? Fifty was too young to be widowed but too old to start over. For some people, the simplest things in life, like growing old together, are a luxury out of reach. 

Marianna had not been with a man for years. After the disease started, she lost interest in most things that made people feel alive, like socializing, dating, or even celebrating holidays. She gave up on happiness, but still hoped Dr. Strauss would wave his magic scalpel and restore some QoL, as they call it in scientific journals. But too much damage had been done and she was no longer a candidate for the state-of-the-art surgery.

Google rendered disfigured images of patients who had the Charles procedure. Skinny carved legs with thighs sitting on top like balloons. But carving one leg won’t suffice. The disease was now attacking her second leg, her abdomen, and it was starting to show in her genitals. She had two choices: live as a freak or be permanently disabled with regular trips to the ER.

For some strange reason, modern medicine can’t explain why the disease had plateaued. Despite everything being dead inside and the skin dressed in a purplish tone, the swelling still looked like stage one, with occasional weeping. No more swimming, skiing, or hiking. Her svelte silhouette would expand, her legs would get heavier, and her entire body would rot, ooze, and deteriorate. Dr. Strauss's words “chronic,” “progressive,” “incurable” hit her like bullets, over and over. She used the face of her new encounter to block them.

At a glance, the clock showed 3:00 AM. She brushed her teeth, put on her nightgown, and met the silence in bed. The image of the young man remained planted in her mind. He was beautiful, and despite having gone through hard times, he kept his childlike demeanor. He lowered his eyes when she stared at him; his hands trembled when she touched him; and he just followed her lead during their epic kiss. There was something so innocent about him that it ignited her curiosity and desire. 

She got up early and sat on the couch again with a large mug of coffee. She retrieved the business card from her purse. The logo was a bug with Superman planting a sword in its back.

She waited until noon to compose the number on the business card. He answered on the first ring.

“This is Marianna. We met yesterday at Serendipity.”

“Marianna! What a pleasant surprise! Should I say joyful?” Glad you called since I had no way of reaching you.”

She breathed deeply, wondering if asking a man out was a wise thing to do, but again, what were the consequences? But before she could place her request, he made the first move.

“Listen, I need to jump into a meeting shortly, but if you’re available this evening, I’d love to take you out to dinner.”

“Actually, I have something to celebrate and I was wondering if you’d like to join me.”

“I love celebrations. What are we celebrating?” His voice was soft and melodious. Marianna’s heart wanted to sing again.

“Are you free on Saturday?” She asked.

“Saturday is good. Where do we meet?”

“The Inn at Little Washington.” 

After a second of silence that stretched into hours for Marianna, he replied, “Why so far away?”

“They have the best fish.”

“McDonald’s has fish and it’s much closer.” He had a sexy laugh that reminded her of her first kiss in high school. Tom Elliot. Tall, thin, shy, with the sweetest lips she’d ever kissed. She never forgot that first sensation of warmth, comfort, and closeness.

“I know the chef.” She said.

“Are you some kind of famous millionaire?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“Is this an abduction attempt? Will you sell me into slavery?” He said, still laughing.

“Is that your fantasy?”

“I only fantasize about beautiful, strong women, with an active mind.”

“Great. I’ll see you there at 7?

Confused by the proposition, he hesitated, “You’re serious? Can you tell me what’s going on?”

Marianna snapped and her voice took on an icy tone. “If the situation were reversed, a woman would think, ‘Wow, how romantic! He loves me.” She dragged her voice to imitate a naive young girl. “But because I’m a woman, it’s suspicious? If you don’t want to come, I can invite someone else.”

“Wow, wow, slow down. I didn’t say I wasn’t coming. I’m just not used to such grand gestures, that’s all. I’ll be there.” 

She hung up the phone and an involuntary smile escaped her lips. 

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