Marvin and Leah

Marvin’s head drooped as he examined the perfectly manicured yellow and orange marigold in his hand. With a slow and gentle stroke, he ran his thumb and index finger down the stem. He inhaled, adjusted his posture, and looked straight ahead. In the pristine glass doors of Madison General Hospital, the reflection of an old, battered man with thick round-framed spectacles peered back at him. He had lived a long life, the wrinkles on his face a testament to the many seconds, days, and decades that had passed, but he’d never felt his age. There were the physical repercussions of gravity that he could not deny, like backaches and joint pain, but the fatigue of life that sometimes comes with age never seemed to affect him.

Not until recently, that is.

Marvin’s heart had been buoyed by an exceptional woman. Even on his most challenging days, it was she who lifted him. She would ease his struggles when he needed her most, and then she would raise his chin with a curled forefinger, set him on the right path, and push him forward. For her, he would do the same. For her, he would do whatever the world required. And just as steel needs iron and carbon to be whole, poor Marvin needed Leah to complete him. He could take no more of the shattered soul that looked at him from the glass doors. He stepped forward.

Inside the hospital, the personnel gave him nods and melancholic smiles, and he returned them. He stopped at the reception desk and caught the eye of Dr. Williams.

“How’s she doing today, doc?” Marvin asked.

“She’s still in good physical health,” the doctor said.

“Has she… has there been any progress? Does she remember?”

“Not yet, but remember, the strongest memory triggers are those that are very personal. We’ll all keep trying.” The doctor had told Marvin not to overwhelm her with information, that it was best to start with the earliest memories, but each day she didn’t remember felt like a knife in Marvin’s already tender heart.

Marvin’s shoulders sagged. “Thank you, doctor… Is she awake?”

“Yes,” the doctor replied and nodded toward Leah’s room.

Marvin shuffled down the hall. He used to take long, purposeful steps, but without Leah, he’d been devoid of all the energy he once took for granted. As he stood outside her door, he steadied himself against the wall and fought back the tears that crept up. Throughout life, Marvin was a beacon of strength, a sturdy pillar for his friends and family to rely on. Taking on that role meant that he had to be fearless, or be as brave as one could be, in all situations. But here, outside of Leah’s door, he was frightened. He couldn’t predict her reception to his presence, and all the bravery in the world couldn’t negate his dread.

Marvin knocked.

“Come in,” said Leah in her soft, genial voice.

Marvin peeked his head around the door and opened it gradually. When he fully revealed himself, he had hoped to see recognition in Leah’s eyes, but instead found confusion.

“Is it time for my medication?” Leah asked.

“No, no. Nothing like that,” Marvin said, crestfallen. “I just wanted to ask you some questions, ask you if you remember the marigolds—”

“I apologize sir, but I’ve no more energy for questions today. Everyone asks me things I don’t have the answers to, and it hurts me to see the disappointment in their faces.”

“Alright,” Marvin said, and turned to hide the tears that wouldn't obey.

“I’m trying,” she said.

“I know.”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

“Yes, maybe tomorrow,” Marvin said. He took a step to leave.

“I hope you haven't traveled a long way, sir. I don’t mean to disappoint.”

Partially hidden by the door, he said in a shaky voice, “You’ve never disappointed… Have a good evening, Leah.” He placed the marigold in his pocket and left the hospital.

The little pieces of him that remained together seemed to fragment further upon each visit. He drove home that evening, two hours away, and prepared dinner for himself. He hadn’t eaten much since Leah’s accident, but still, he set the table for two.

Marvin and Leah weren't religious, but they had a tradition: hand in hand, they would give thanks for their good fortune, and complete the ritual by telling each other how grateful they were for one another. Marvin placed the marigold into a vase on the table and took a seat. With his palm up, he imagined Leah’s hand in his and said, “And I’m thankful for you,” and gave a weak, tear-filled smile in the direction of the empty place setting.

When Marvin slept that evening, he dreamt of a tangerine clouded sky blanketing the field of marigolds where he first met Leah. In the dream, Leah had her back toward him, while she picked a bouquet. The sky darkened, the clouds became blood red, and when Leah turned around, she had no face. Marvin awoke with a start, panting, then turned and sobbed into his pillow. It wasn’t the first time he'd had the nightmare, and it was causing him many sleepless nights. He decided he wouldn’t attempt to sleep again that evening.

The next day Shea and Carlos—Marvin’s daughter and grandson—came to visit. They made a trip to the hospital with Marvin, and though he asked Leah about the field of marigolds, she couldn't recall. Marvin refused to reveal his pain, but when his grandson caught a single tear rolling down his face, he said, “Mommy says gramma is better, why are you still sad, grampa?”

“Carlos!” Shea said.

“It’s alright, Shea,” Marvin said. He tried to think of how a young boy could relate to even a fraction of his pain. “Who’s your best friend in the whole world?” Marvin asked.

Carlos took a moment to think, then said, “My best friend is… Roscoe!”

Carlos chose the family dog. “Why Roscoe?”

Carlos took another moment to think, then went to Shea and wrapped himself around her leg and said, “Because he's always happy, and he follows me everywhere, and he always wants to play even when mommy and daddy don’t, and he eats the food that I don't want, and sometimes the food that I do want, but that's okay because I love him.”

Shea and Marvin chuckled.

“Well,” Marvin said, “what would you do if Roscoe got hurt, but the only thing that was wrong with him was that he didn't know who you were? When you went to pet him, he would be afraid of you, maybe even run away or try to bite you. So even though he could still play, he wouldn't want to play with you or be near you. Would that make you sad?”

Carlos nodded.

“That’s how it is with grandma, she's having a hard time remembering me.”

“What happens if she never remembers?”

“That’s enough, Carlos,” Shea said. “Sorry, dad.”

“It’s quite alright,” Marvin lied. He had never entertained the thought that Leah would never remember him. The momentary despair made his chest feel tight, but he brushed away the notion and winked at Carlos through his thick, round spectacles.

He returned to the hospital the next day, marigold in hand, and knocked on Leah’s door.

“Come in,” she said.

Marvin peeked around the door and smiled. “Hello,” he said, “Care for a visitor?”

“I think I would like that,” she said and then smiled. And just as a flower looks to the sun for life, Marvin was drawn to Leah’s smile. He seated himself in the chair next to hers.

“How long have I known you?” Leah asked.

“Oh, quite sometime now.” Marvin chuckled.

“I’m sorry that I don’t remember. I mean no offense.”

Marvin hid the dagger in his chest, as well all the ones that came before, and smiled. “No matter,” he said, “I just wanted to sit and talk.”

“Well, that’s alright then.” Leah looked down at Marvin’s hands. “Lovely flower.”

“A marigold,” he said, then ran his fingers of the petals. “When you were younger, there was a field you always used to go to, and it had millions of these flowers. Do you remember?”

She closed her eyes and focused. After a minute had passed, she sighed and shook her head. “I apologize. I wish I could. Really, I do.”

“I know.”

Leah looked uncomfortable. Marvin took his cue and rose from the chair. “For you,” he said, and handed her the marigold.

“Thank you.”

He nodded and left.

Many weeks had continued in this fashion. Marvin would sit and speak with Leah to try and jog up old memories, but with no success. She couldn't remember that he had visited every day. Marvin had to tell Leah on each visit that he had been her marigold benefactor.

In mid-June, he decided to take a few days of rest from the hospital. He wanted to see Leah, but the torment exhausted what little energy he had. When he gathered enough confidence, he took a marigold from the vase, put it in his front pocket, and took the two-hour trip.

When he knocked on Leah’s door she said, “Yes?”

Marvin peeked in and smiled. “Hello.”

“Where have you been?” Leah asked.

Marvin’s heart began to race. Could she have remembered him, he wondered?

“You’re the one who's been bringing me these flowers, correct? The one who asks about the marigolds?”

Marvin was disheartened for a moment. She hadn’t remembered who he was.

“I realized there was one extra in my vase every day, and then I realized the number hadn’t increased for the last few days. Have you been well?”

Marvin nodded. “May I sit?”

Leah gestured toward the seat.

“I remember the field of marigolds,” she said.

Leah looked at him. The glance bypassed his thick lenses, went to his heart, and resuscitated him.

Marvin observed Leah, her face a work of art, and though the canvas had gotten a bit weathered, the painting on it was no less beautiful. If anything, it was even more so, because on that canvas was a depiction of one who endured life’s cruelty, and yet still shone with determination and compassion, with love and loyalty. Marvin cleared a tear from his eye.

“You do?” he said.

“I believe so… Though it’s all a bit messy. I can remember an endless field of marigolds. I remember laughing. And there was a young man…”

“Yes?”

“He was so handsome. I think… I made him uncomfortable when I smiled at him.”

“Not uncomfortable, no,” he said quietly. He remembered that moment when she first looked at him and their gazes entwined. In that instant he felt like he was placed in a warm, slow-flowing river, and that wherever that river took him, he would be comfortable, so long as the woman in front of him was by his side. And that feeling had never been wrong.

“And I think…”

“Yes?” Marvin said.

“I think he looked a bit like you.”

Marvin couldn't hide his tears. “It was me,” he said.

She smiled. “You got old.”

Marvin couldn't help but laugh. “You're two years older than me,” he said.

“Time must have gotten away from us.”

“No, no. We’ve made every day count.”

She paused. “I hope you don’t mind, but I need some time to think.”

“Of course.” He rose to leave, and said, “May I?”

Leah nodded and offered him her ear. Marvin placed the marigold behind her ear and left.

That evening, it wasn’t the old, battered Marvin that returned home, but the young man in the field of marigolds. And when he dined that evening, he set the table for two. But after he said, “And I'm thankful for you”, the tears that came weren’t those of a heartbroken man, and his sleep wasn’t that of a tortured soul.

For the first time in months, Marvin felt whole again.