The First Last Date

The First Last Date

The tears welling in her eyes obscured her reflection momentarily. She quickly grasped a tissue from the box on her dressing table and carefully dabbed the delicate area beneath her modestly made up eyes, stemming the stream and preventing any restorative work.

She barely recognized the soft curls woven into her usually professionally straightened hair. She knew the style was for the purpose of recognition; but still the resemblance was enough to warrant an admiration she herself had not emotionally accounted for.

Another deep breath, and she gazed for longer than was comfortable at the reflection that stared back. She took a moment to appreciate the similarities. The hair. The makeup. The choice of attire. Her mother would have so very much approved.

As a final touch, she raised a string of her mother’s pearls around her neck; fingering them lightly as they hung just below her collarbone. The slight disturbance released a wave of Blue Grass, and she inhaled it as though it was her last breath. A fragrance has such an incredible ability to revive memories archived long ago, and she held on to the flickering highlight reel as it faded with the settling scent.

A harsh shrill off her mobile phone broke the momentary spell, and she reached for it, but not before taking a generous gulp of her favorite Viognier. “To dispel nerves”, she had told herself whilst pouring a glass that would be frowned upon by a true wine connoisseur with a true appreciation for the grape. Her freshly applied lipstick stained the rim of the glass. Pillar box red. Not her first choice. Or even her second. But she knew it would be approved of, and this was one occasion where she needed to mesmerize.

“Hi Laura. Just checking in. Very much looking forward to meeting you”

Her heart involuntarily skipped a beat, which she scolded herself for. At her age nerves only served as wasted emotions. But still, the anxiety surrounding this whole occasion had placed her outside of her comfort zone. Had it of been of her own engineering, she may have felt more at ease. In control. Perhaps that’s where her discomfort originated from; it had not been her design.

A brief glance at her delicate wristwatch let her know it was time to leave. One last surveil of her appearance reassured her she was doing the right thing, and after breaking away from the reflection she barely recognized as herself, she slipped into her overcoat and headed out into the still balmy autumnal evening.

_______________

She was first to arrive, by design, not by default. She needed it to be that way. If for no other reason than she could order a vodka martini and have it reordered by the time the waiter barely left her table.

The waiter eyed her with an empathetic stare; “first date?”

“You could say that”, Laura answered in a voice she didn’t recognize as her own, managing a feigned smile. How could she possibly explain the circumstances surrounding this façade? She owed an explanation to no-one and decided to allow the waiters and the other patrons to forge their own explanation of her temporary nonconformity. She raised her empty glass once again in the direction of the now seemingly disinterested waiter and gestured for a refill.

No sooner had she replaced her empty delicate martini glass on the table, the distant ring of the overhead entrance bell – the old fashioned brass kind, that announced a new customer – rang, and the door opened, allowing a cool breeze through ahead of the man that was not far behind.

Laura inhaled as deeply as her lungs would possibly allow, and reluctantly raised her eyes to meet those of the man who had crossed the threshold. He recognized her immediately, and without announcing his arrival to the staff, made his way straight to her table, pausing only several inches away to extend a hand. He was tall and handsome; a true gentleman in the way he spoke and dressed. Maybe in another life, she thought to herself….

“Laura; its an absolute pleasure. Thank you so much for agreeing to this”.

She met his hand with her own, and there was a moment of mutual appreciation that needed no words. The lanyard that hung unceremoniously around his neck detailing his medical credentials needed only a momentary glance. They nodded silently to one another, and without another word, the only moments ago stranger turned on his heel and walked back out of the door.

Laura sat, gathering herself. She reached into her purse for the Valium that her physician had only ever prescribed to be used on an ‘as and when necessary’ basis. This overqualified as one of those times. She washed it down with the complimentary table water and sat rigidly wringing her hands in the secrecy of her lap.

What happened next seemed to unravel in slow motion…

The overhead doorbell again rang, signaling a new arrival. The door opened, once again welcoming the tall – now familiar stranger… But this time, ahead of him, and being very carefully maneuvered in a manual wheelchair, was a frail old man – dressed for an era he no longer belonged in - with a confused and distressed expression on his face.

“Daddy”.

The lanyard wielding stranger – she knew they had been introduced over the phone, but in that moment she struggled to remember his name – wheeled the old man to the table where Laura sat, applying the breaks, and whispering a few words of comfort and reassurance before retreating to a corner table where he could himself dine, but also oversee the occasion that has been so carefully orchestrated.

The old man blinked several times whilst attempting to visually consume his immediate surroundings. His cloudy eyes obviously struggled to focus on anything beyond a few inches, but after a few moments his gaze fixed on Laura.

His expression of fear and confusion evaporated and was instantly replaced by one of recognition and what could only be described as adoration.

“Ruth?”

Laura gulped; wanting with every will in the word to tell him “No! Its me! Your daughter!” But she knew she couldn’t… She had a role to play tonight, and she had to honor that.

____________________

Two years previously

Life was so perfect. Laura’s career… Her family…. Her choice of suitor… She could not have wished for anything more.

The night she received the phone call to tell her her mother had passed away unexpectedly from a brain aneurism was the day her life changed forever.

Her father – the strongest man she had ever met, and her hero – was broken. Not long after the death of her mother, her father developed a rapid onset of dementia; no doubt brought on by the trauma of losing the love of his life, or so the specialists believed. As medical professionals, a broken heart has no scientific grounds for substantiation. But the trauma was way beyond anything they had ever witnessed.

His memory deteriorated and regressed to a time before the birth of his two children. His memories – although vague in recollection, were ones that aligned with a life lived 50 yeas ago.

Laura had no choice but to place her father into specialist care. She had tried repeatedly to do it herself, but with her father’s lack of memory recall and hostility to anything he did not recognize, it became impossible.

She visited. Regularly. Not that he recognized her and would frequently shout at her that he needed clean sheets, or that the radio was not giving an accurate representation of current affairs, or that she should be serving the British Army instead of assisting him with his personal hygiene. “We have a war to win”

__________________________

Two weeks ago, she had received a call from the hospice. It was a call she had been expecting, but even so it came as a blow to her very core.

Her father’s condition had deteriorated rapidly due to a virus, and the prognosis wasn’t good. But despite all of his bitterness towards his caregivers and ‘imprisonment’ as he called it, there was one thing that kept him going. One name. One woman. One memory.

“Ruth”.

His first, and only love.

Laura had been given the option to say goodbye in the traditional way. By laying at his bedside, whispering prayers to a god he didn’t believe in. Holding a hand that he would pull away whenever his body allowed.

No. She didn’t want that.

It was the caregiving stranger – who’s name still evaded her – who had suggested what she had come to accept of as the ‘final supper’.

__________________________

Present Day

Laura stared at her father. It pained her to know that the man staring back at her no longer recognize her as his daughter. But she took solace in knowing that even if not a few hours, he could be reunited with the great love of his life. Her mother.

She reached for his hand, his paper-thin skin so delicate and detailed. Hands that held a lifetime of experience and stories to be told around a fireplace.

“Ruth. I missed you”

Tears welled in his hooded eyes, and Laura strained to withhold her own.

Their moment of tenderness was interrupted by the waiter – clearly confused by the transpiration of events.

“Are you ready to ord….”

“I know your father” the old man suddenly chimed in, staring with momentary animation at the young waiter. Still grasping his daughter’s hands, he began regaling his first ever visit to this particular family owned restaurant; it has been a first date with the woman who would later become the love of his life. It was in this restaurant their love was cemented, and despite the dementia and failing memory, the old man had never forgotten.

It was no coincidence that this had been chosen as the venue to dine. Many times, Laura had heard both of her parents recall their first ever date and how it all began. If it was going to be anywhere – it had to be here.

“Give us a moment to look at the menu?” Laura started… Only to be interrupted by her father, who without hesitation asked for a bottle of their finest Merlot.

Merlot. The first bottle of wine they had shared together. Laura still kept safe the cork from their first anniversary where their only choice of drink would be a 1967 Merlot; the wine they had shared on their first ever date.

Laura shot a glance at the caregiver, who had been keeping a close eye on them since arrival. His immediate look was one of disapproval, but she countered with a pleading expression. He softened, and after a few seconds gave a nod.

____________________

The bottle only ever poured two glasses; neither of which were finished.

The conversation and recollection of memories; the laughter, the tears. The most precious gift.

__________________________

The following morning: still dressed in her mother’s pearls and with tear stains down her porcelain cheeks… Laura awoke to a phone call.

The caller at the end of the phone needed no words. “I know” Laura said without prompt.

“Laura; you should know…. Before he died… He spoke at length about the time spent with his wife last night”

“That’s good. That’s what we wanted”, she stammered through a stream of unrelenting tears.

“No, but he said something else. Just before he passed”

“What?”

“Thank you, Laura. My special girl. Thank you”