My Last Tango In Paris

It’s hard to know when to let go. When do you know if the other person is ready, or if you are? She had told me, though, that her time had come, that her roller coaster ride was over and she’d gotten her money’s worth. That was quite a difficult calculation to make.

Well, she’d been through the sum of all fears these last few months after I gave her AIDS for our second anniversary. I didn’t yell ‘Surprise’ or any such thing, the doctor took care of that for us later. The only thing that I ever thought about from then on was to never let go of her hand. I didn’t know who would be the first to leave, whether she would go alone or sooner. Well, it was sooner, and now my eyes and my life just focussed on our two hands, both pale – hers anaemia and mine under her hold on me. Her delicate snow-white arms were now slashed by hardened veins and stabbed by a deep needle.

Yet she looked pretty as ever in her blue hospital gown. Her soft blonde hair fell over her face, blocking the bright lights in the room that beat down on her beaten body. They reflected the harsh rays back with defiance and she looked at me. They were such pretty blue eyes that looked at me, she spoke her last to me with out words. Her eyes smiled at me and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll be waiting when you come.”

Oh God, how I loved her and how I was afraid I couldn’t face this alone. How I cried when I learnt I gave her AIDS. I got it after my accident when I got blood. She got it after our anniversary, when we made love. We were both quiet for some time as we waited for the doctor to correct himself. Instead we were left to pick up our lives and leave that room only to return when the doctor could help us no more. Later at home I broke down when she was in the kitchen cooking. She ran to me and held me and tried wiping my tears. But, eventually the only comfort I could find was in crying in bed with her as she curled into bed and put my head on her chest and ran her snow-white hand through my hair.

Life since then was about living, and we worked hard at it. All the movies we hadn’t watched and the places we hadn’t been were on our list. We danced every day and cried every night. We even took a trip to Paris, something we had always dreamed of doing. We found such satisfaction in art. The Mona Lisa was not an enigma anymore, we saw that bitter-sweet in each other ever since that day. The French really say it well when they speak of the joie de vivre, they just don’t mention that you find the joy when life is fleeting, or maybe the timing is something we decide for ourselves.

This past week we slowed down when life caught up with us again. She caught influenza and suffered a cut the day we went to the Eiffel Tower. Both took their toll on her weakened immune system .She laughed about it just yesterday, “Ah, Paris has been cruel to its most favoured. It killed Picasso and Van Gogh, and now I join their ranks.” That was not her only joke.

A few days ago, when I returned to her room after my bath I found her motionless on the bed. I rushed to her and frantically tried to wake her, but she didn’t move. I shook her and shouted out to her, but to no avail. With tears streaming down my face I jumped towards the door about to call the doctors, but when she called out to me. “You scare me, do you know that?” I was in shock at that point and I couldn’t even reply. “Is this how you’ll be when I am not there to look after you? Will you be this jumpy?” Well, she’d be proud to see me now, not even a single tear.
Another time I walked into her room and found her up and waltzing. I almost let out a cry of surprise before she quickly grabbed me and pulled me in saying, “Don’t let the doctors see, they think I’m sleeping.”

“Shouldn’t you be?” I asked.

“I know I should, but I couldn’t help it. They were showing that Al Pacino movie where he has this lovely dance with Gabriella Anwar. There’s so much in life apart from what we see, we just don’t see it. I don’t want to spend my last few days in bed. What am I resting for? I want to dance while I can. I got tired of waiting for you so I just started on my own. Now come, come. Dance with me. One last tango.”

I looked at her hesitantly, I didn’t know if she could take it.

“Please, I know you’re concerned, but believe me, it won’t hurt me to lose a few minutes of sleep, but I cannot sleep if I don’t have one last dance with you. So please, come and dance with me.”

I smiled. The most painful smile that I can remember. I took her hand in mine and pulled her to me and grabbed her other hand from behind and we both swayed with music that we couldn’t hear. But we both felt the rhythm that night, and danced like never before. It would be ironic now to say that we danced like there was no tomorrow.

That was yesterday.

I don’t know when the dance ended. I just remember it being very dark out and she was quite out of breath when I tucked her into bed and fell asleep next to her in a chair. I was woken a few minutes ago by a shrill tone from her vital signs monitor. I tried to get up, but I felt something holding me back. I turned around to see her hand tightly clutching mine. I turned to her face just in time to see her eyes closing as she smiled at me. Something in her face was soothing. It was as if she was saying, “Don’t you worry dear, I’ll be seeing you soon. I’ll be waiting.”

Well, the nurses and doctors have covered her body, and just her hand is still in mine.