Day 38

Epilogue

Wednesday, May 18th; 3078.

Langston’s been in the hospital for weeks now. I visit every day, scared I’ll lose him one day. These are the days I wish Swiper was here, I think. After almost sixty years of being married, these are the only few that he’s not looking so good. I mean, he’s in the hospital. My frail bones barely carry me up the flight of stairs, not wanting to get caught up in the elevator traffic. Once I push through the metal door, I spot a chair and collapse onto it to take a breather. All the other floor workers look concerned, but Langston’s nurse, Jennie, is used to this now. She calls me in, looking distracted today. A tad worried, I follow her cautiously. I plop down once more onto a more comfortable seat; the one I use and have used for the weeks that Langston’s been here. I know something's wrong as I get a better look at my husband. He's paler than usual, which scares me. I kiss him gently on the forehead, making him smile through the pain. I hold his hand as the nurse explains the situation.

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After some time of Jennie explaining, I have to cut her off. This is too much for me. "He doesn't have much more time." There's no way they know that. I mean, sure, it's weird that he's pale, but that doesn't mean he's already dead. I put my head in my hands for maybe too long, as Langston taps me on the shoulder worriedly. He hasn't talked through all of these weeks, though I don't think it's been all that necessary until now. "I'll be fine," he assures in a raspy tone. Already feeling lost without him, I squeeze his hand and nod through the tears that fill my eyes. Leaning back into the chair, I try to soak up the last moments with my husband. Jennie leaves with a nod, and I nod once more to someone I'll probably see again. Not like Langston. Once I leave this room, he'll be gone forever.

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Langston’s once warm hand goes cold. Looking down at him, he looks as though peacefully sleeping, though never breathing. A tear escapes my eye, and I have to wipe it away. I have to be strong. I leave the room after one more kiss to his forehead, picking up his things at the front desk with plans to clean up.

Saturday, June 4th; 3078.

I place a Forget-Me-Not flower onto the cold cobblestone grave I had commissioned for Langston. On it, it reads, “Langston. A shining star, forever in our hearts.” Sure, it's embarrassing, but I can't think of anything better. It fits him.

I walk back home, through the field of Forget-Me-Nots, the baseball park, and the town square. It takes me about thirty minutes each time, but it’s totally worth it. I mean, I have to visit my husband every once in a while. Even if he will never talk back to me. I get back to the house, taking the rusty old keys out of my pocket, jamming one into the lock. The door clicks open groggily, sounding almost as worn as I feel. I clean up Langstons’ side of our room, making sure to place everything in its rightful spot, looking just as clean as the day he left to go to the hospital.

Saturday, June 4th; 3080.

It’s exactly two years after Langston’s death, and I know something’s wrong already. For one, I can’t get any food down. Secondly, my breathing is laboured, and I’ve only walked down a flight of stairs; from our bedroom down to the kitchen. I try to check my pulse, but I can't track it. Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure that I’ve been sleeping for longer than usual for the past few weeks. I think I'm dying. I grab my coat, aiming for the door. I need to visit him one last time, I think.

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I collapse onto my knees in front of the tombstone, barely making it. My bones shake violently as I wheeze, too old for this trip. I open my coat pocket, managing to pull out the tiny black cat chopstick holder from all those years ago at the hotel. Langston had stolen it, funny at the time, but now as memorable as a statue itself. I shakily place it on the top of the stone, its painted face still adorable. My legs give out after only a few steps away, my body falling into the field of Forget-Me-Nots. I manage to flip over onto my back one last time before blacking out.

I’ll see you soon, love.