I am not a rich man, nor one of great success. I suppose the world looks on me now as nothing more than a simple old man. I am plain; this does not bother me.

The only part of my life that will survive my death is an old house in North Carolina, surrounded by willow trees and rolling hills. A house that was once filled with love, but now holds only shadows.

In my old age, the weight of my life bears down on me. Admittedly, most of that weight is the doings of my overactive imagination and my severe arthritis.

And yet, despite my own failings and my utter lack of accomplishment I know I have done one thing right. I have loved another. I have loved another so surely, so steadily, so unyieldingly that it shaped everything else around me. It has been the true constant in my life; a guiding force through what was otherwise an unsteady course.

That is, until recently.

I walk slowly through the halls of the nursing home, my movements made difficult by the rain. There is only one reason I am out of bed today.

I approach the nurse’s station and am glad to see a familiar red head in pale pink scrubs sitting behind it.
Emma looks up from her paperwork and smiles at me when I walk up to the desk. She answers my question before I can ask it.

“Yes, you can see him today Blaine. He’s doing well.”

Preparing myself for what is to come, I clutch the faded moleskin notebook closer to my chest and straighten the salt and pepper bowtie around my neck.

Emma rises from her seat behind the desk and accompanies me. He doesn’t like strangers, so it’s better if she goes in first, and introduces me. Again.

When Emma and I enter the small beige room together, he doesn’t get even look up, or take any notice at all. He’s sitting in the rocking chair, facing that window that looks out across the pond. His eyes follow the raindrops that slide over the glass pane. Emma approaches him cautiously and places a gentle hand on his shoulder to stir him from his reverie.

He looks up at Emma and smiles warmly. I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. It is a good day. Some days he growls at her, and snaps that he wants to be left alone. Those are the days that recognition is hardest. For both of us.

She speaks to him in her most soothing voice, motioning to me. “Kurt, this is...Robert. He’s here to read to you today.”

I cringe inwardly at the fake name. It feels deceitful; lying to him outright. But it’s for his benefit. He doesn’t know Blaine, or at least not yet.

At this, he turns to survey me critically. His pale blue eyes sweep over my hunched frame and I am both saddened and tempted to chuckle at the same time. The lack of recognition on his face stings every time, but I also know that he’s appraising the length of my cardigan and the colour of my bowtie.

It’s a small comfort.

“Hello Kurt.”

He doesn’t seem overly impressed by me, he seems aloof. He nods indiscriminately in my direction, as if giving me permission to come in if I must.

Emma gives me a reassuring nod and motions to the chair opposite where Kurt is sitting. As I cross the room, Emma moves towards the door and presses a comforting hand to my shoulder as she passes.

I ignore the angry pain in my knees and my back as I lower myself into the chintz armchair. It’s absurd how difficult the little things have become.

I sit quietly with the notebook on my lap, waiting for Kurt to acknowledge me. Things have to be on his terms, or else they won’t work. So I wait as he stares out the window. Despite everything, there’s still nowhere else I’d rather be.

I can’t tell where he is in his mind. The vacant look in his eyes tells me he’s lost. In thought or the absence of it, I can’t judge.

Finally he turns to me. “Who are you again?”
I run my fingers through my head of grey curls nervously and reply,

“Robert. I live here too, and sometimes I like to read to y-....all of the residents.”

“Oh.”

Kurt turns back to the window and his eyes glaze over again. Luckily for me, something seems to snap him back to the present before long.

“Have we met before?”

It’s not one of his usual questions and it startles me. Does he remember something? My mind races, but I give him the prescribed answer because it’s safest.

“No.”

It’s always better to go with the usual answers instead of risking saying something that would frighten him. It had happened before. I said something I shouldn’t have. I moved too fast, jumped ahead in the story. I’d been impatient and it had ruined everything. Instead of coming back to me, recognition in his eyes, I had seen only fear. He’d started to yell, and backed himself into the corner of the room, yelling at me to get out, screaming for help. The nurses had run in, escorting me out as they tried to comfort a shaking and crying Kurt. I had done that to him. Me. I’d become the enemy. I didn’t get out of my bed for days, after that.

Yes, the safe answer was better.

“No, we haven’t. But I promise I’m a pretty nice guy.”

At this, Kurt smiles warily.

“So...you’re going to...read?” Kurt asks, motioning to the notebook on my lap.

“Yes. If you’d like me to.”

“As long as it’s not science fiction.” Kurt replies and I smile at the hint of his sass in his voice.

“Definitely not. It’s something a little...closer to home.”

I fumble with the pages a bit because my fingers are swollen and sore and Kurt surprises me by reaching over and opening the book for me. His fingers are still agile and adept, despite his many other ailments.

I have to restrain myself from noticeably flinching when his fingers accidentally brush mine. It’s the smallest thing. The touch of finger tips is as simple as it gets. And yet it makes my heart beat crooked inside my chest.
I collect myself again, staring down at the all too familiar first page. Just looking at the first sentence causes a thousand memories to rise up from the dust and brush themselves off.

“So what’s it about then? Kurt asks innocently, and I know that his memories are still buried.

I smile, telling him as I always do,

“It’s a love story.”