Fiftieth Anniversary

S and I (M) are seated on our sofa before a young man who is writing a book about relationships. Though we hold each others' hands, we speak directly to the young man (somehow this gives S a meaningful focus). The young man says: "Tell me about when you first met."

S: We met at the Guggenheim. She bumped into me. I always said it was on purpose.

M: He’s right about the deliberate bumping but it was on the Staten Island Ferry. I just had to meet him. He had an air of mystery that drew me to him like a moth to the flame. It’s okay if he thinks it was at the Guggenheim - at least, he has the right city.

S: We spent the night on the town, painted it red.

M: I was home by ten. But who am I to argue? The past gets distorted and changed all the time, doesn't it? Just so long as the rewriting is not for evil purposes, relax and let the essentials endure: our profound love for each other, through all the years, the ups and downs, till death do us part, as the vow goes. And we did take the vows - two years after the deliberate bumping. I’m not sure he remembers that.

S: We went to Sardi’s to dine with Tony Bennett.

M: We went to the Brooklyn Diner. It was the day after we met. We both had the Tony Bennett breakfast.

S: Ham and eggs with hash browns.

M: French toast with raisins and pecans. It's a classic: Tony Bennett's Famous Thick-Cut Cinnamon French Toast. Often, I play Tony's records for him. He sings along. He thinks he might be on one of the duet albums. Or on the Christmas album, the one with Count Basie and his band on the cover. He loves Christmas. And food. He can still finish off a big plate of French toast, famous or otherwise.

S: I wore my blue suit with the brass buttons.

M: He was all in grey, looked very handsome. Steel-grey and fine-cut like Cary Grant's suits.

S: She was gorgeous in pink.

M: I wore a yellow pantsuit. But pink or burgundy or puce - it doesn't matter now. It only matters that he’s here. Although, increasingly I guess he really isn’t here. He still seems to know me - most of the time. Occasionally, he thinks I’m Tony Bennett. When that happens, I sing to him. And he sings with me. It’s interesting that Tony ended up with the same condition, but apparently his long term memory remained intact. He could remember all the lyrics to his songs. S can too. But he doesn't remember "Ducking into the Frick", not a song but it should be.

S: We went to Central Park. It was autumn.

M: It was December. It started snowing, so we ducked into the Frick. For a long time “Ducking into the Frick” was a running gag for us. Well, not so much a gag as a story. One we recounted often. At bedtime, the kids used to say: "Tell us about when you and daddy went to the Frick with a duck." Watch your spoonerisms, I'd always say!

S: I lost my hat in the park. It was a blue fedora.

M: It was his scarf, charcoal-grey. We retraced our steps on Fifth Avenue and found it lying in the slush. Nowadays, he can’t remember to wear a scarf or a hat when it’s cold out. Sometimes, he forgets his jacket. I make sure he has it though, especially when the wind blows so frosty his nose looks like a cherry.

S: That carriage ride we took.

M: We never did. He felt sorry for the horses, so we only took cabs. He’s happy to know the horses have been freed of their burden now.

S: I'm happy just thinking about that Friday and Saturday, two magical days when I fell in love.

M: It was Wednesday and Thursday. But he’s right about the magic. And who's monitoring the calendar anyway? Not me. Our love transcends time. It's very clear - our love is here to stay.