Two Lucky

Three years ago, we celebrated our first Valentine’s Day together. It was three months after we’d met. We exchanged presents. He bought me a facial at Nickel, an upscale men’s spa in New York; I bought him a bag of weed through a classmate who dealt out of his fraternity house.

“This is the best Valentine’s Day present, ever!” he whooped, and fished out the bong.

After an hour, we were both hands deep in bags of Doritos on our couch. Jon Stewart was on. I always remember his laugh this way: he rubs his fists into his eyes, and laughs so hard he can’t stop.

A year later, we had left New York, and were in different cities. He was in Seoul. I was in Singapore. On Feb 14, I called him at night when he got home. All afternoon he had been hooked up to tubes and needles at Samsung Hospital, getting his chemotherapy. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love,” I said to him. He was too tired to say much: “I thought about you all day. I miss you.”

We hung up and went to our separate beds, full of words we didn’t say.

Back in New York the following year, our last Valentine’s Day was spent together watching the sun rise from a hospital uptown. He, on the thin bed. I, in the chair next to him. His left hand, heavy with sleep, rested in mine.

At New York Presbyterian Hospital, he had just endured six days of high-dose immunotherapy. By the fourth day, the chemo had taken his mind. He asked for the Indians to stop knocking on our door. He wanted to see the circus at North Carolina. He no longer knew who I was. On Valentine’s Day, our seventh day at the hospital, he finally woke from his nightmare.

When I opened my eyes that morning, he was already awake.

“Hey baby, how long have I been sleeping?” he asked me.

“Not long,” I said. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.” I leaned across and kissed him on the cheek. “What day is it?” he asked. “Wednesday.” I looked at the clock on the wall. 6 am. I’d slept a few hours.

This is what I wrote on that day:

“For the next 10 minutes, we chat a little in the dark. He is full of questions, gaining strength in lucid conversation. His eyes come alert. He’s finally turning the corner, I think to myself. In the window, shadows peel away. A band of mauve is on the horizon. It is almost daylight.”

Another year has passed. Happy Valentine’s Day, my love. It’s four in the morning. I’m tired, but I can’t sleep. Are you awake, too? I thought about you all day. I miss you.

This entry was posted on Thursday, February 14th, 2008 at 12:54 pm and is filed under Singapore. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.