Ganieve Sidhu
Para Siempre y Siempre
Honestly, I don’t know where to start. I am sitting here, in this hospital, in 1962 New York. The room 248 will always haunt me for the rest of my life. Its pure white walls that bear no scratches, the white tiles speckled with grey spots and black streak marks. The wilting flowers sitting in a vase on the window sill. The two chairs perfectly lined up with the wall, the white board telling us who is on nurse duty. Currently the board says Nurse Rosa, but in about twenty minutes someone will change it to Nurse Smith, then Nurse Montenegro. Nurse Montenegro is the most sympathetic, at the age of 54 years; she has seen plenty in this Hospital. Mount Sinai hospital. Everyday Señora Montenegro comes to give us food, the same bland hospital food. I get tired and often am urged to go get something from our home. But I vowed never to leave her side. Whose side might you ask? The bedside of Maria Sanchez. She is wonderful, and I am an honored man to call her my wife. But in a few months, I will have to say I was honored to call her my wife.
“Mi esposo, darling, please go eat food from home. Rosalita and Pacito will help.” I look over, picking my head up out of my hands, at my beautiful wife. Even as her hair thins and falls out, even as her skin loses its color, and even though she is too weak to move, her eyes are as warm, welcoming, and bright as ever. I don’t know how to describe them, pictures may hold a thousand words, but nothing is better than to see her eyes in person. Nor do I have enough money to buy a camera or afford a picture. The job I have is very good, I own a small gas station in Syracuse, New York and I work along the side of my many friends. My children may come visit me time to time after school and we may be happy but no joy shall warm our apartment in a few months. No one will hear Maria’s special laughs that echo around the small rooms. No one will realize the shining light missing from my life.
“No my Mariposa,” I had developed a habit of calling her by Mariposa. It reminds me of the time we met...
“Hurry up Fern! Try to catch me!” I look up again to try to see the owner of the voice. It was early spring, the air still filled with the bitter wind of the winter but with the alluring and warm rays of the spring sun. Trees had started to bud and grasses were once again being painted green.
“Hey! Watch it!” I ran into a man carrying a box of fruits, causing a few to spill. I bend down to pick them up before muttering my apologies and dashing off once more.
“Come on! Mi Abuelo can run faster than you! Rapido! Rapido!” I laugh as I see Maria running ahead, she jumps over a wooden cart that had fallen over and continues her escape. The wind carries her laughs back to my ears as church bells ring over in the distance. I look up again instead of staring at my fancy black shoes, a rarity for my family and dodge people, dogs, cats, and other kids. The eight year old sprinted ahead once more and turned into an alleyway. I followed her skidding a few times as the downhill pathway wasn’t the smoothest you could find.
We may have been poor bur we still had fun in these alleys. We loved to run around during the day. Houses of the rich rose up on one side as if they were following us down this path while trees, birds, and hills followed us on the other. We ran and ran, Maria constantly taunting me until we reached the canal. She ran up the bridge but slowed down near the middle, her pink dress ruffled and her white shoes and socks muddied. Her brown hair was combed out earlier but now it had been reduced to something resembling a rat’s nest. She combed out her hair causing many annoyed and frustrated emotions to play across her face much like the new cinema that had been constructed on the other side of town. I laughed as little drops of rain began to fall from the sky. She looked up and happily twirled around with her hands out.
