Tell Me How

She lifted the cup to her lips, sipped, closed her eyes, and died. She closed the book.

“Alan? What do you think of the end of this book?” she said. “Alan?”

Alan was sitting at the table in the kitchen, his back facing the living room, studying a crossword puzzle through his reading glasses. Pushed towards the middle of the table was his plate, littered with a near meatless bone from his steak and a crumpled napkin. In his right hand was a pen, near it a glass half full of wine.

“What’s that, dear?” he said, straightening his back.

“The book I’ve been reading, the one I’ve been telling you about, with the young man and the orphan girl who had amnesia that loved each other.”

“Oh yes,” he said, “The book.”

“I just finished it. Imagine that. Three nights!” she looked up from her place on the sofa to the back of Alan’s head. “You need a haircut, Alan. It’s thinning, and when it gets long you look bald. But you aren’t bald.”

“How’d the book end?”

“Oh yes. After she finds the boy asleep in her bed, after they got into a fight and she left his house and he went looking for her and went to her house but she wasn’t there, she picked one of the cups up that he poured that was sitting on the bedside and drank, because it smelt like wine. But she didn’t know that he poisoned one of the cups and mixed them around so that he might or might not kill himself because he was so sad because of her. She thought it was just wine and was tired from driving around crying.”

“So she killed herself?” Alan wrote something on the paper.

“No, no. She didn’t kill herself. I mean, she died because of what she did, but she didn’t kill herself. Saying she killed herself sounds like she tried to kill herself. It was more of, what do they call it when someone accidently kills someone else, like a pedestrian or---“

“Manslaughter?” he said.

“Yes! Manslaughter. It’s as if she manslaughtered herself. She accidently hit herself with her car. Imagine that, Alan, she hit herself with her own car. Could you imagine hitting yourself with your own car and dying, but all on accident?” She said. “Alan?”

“Yes dear?”

“Could you imagine that?”

“Killing myself---“

“Manslaughtering.”

“Manslaughtering myself? With my own car?”

“Yes! That just… could you imagine it?”

“If I tried, dear, yes. Yes, I could. But I don’t see much stock in that.”

“Imagine how she felt! Imagine how she felt when she walked in front of her car. But, well, she didn’t start her car. She wasn’t driving her car. He was driving. He filled the glasses. And left them out. So isn’t it like he was driving down a hill or something and turned the car off and let it keep going?”

“Hmm?” he filled in another line and then erased it.

“Yes. He left the glasses out. He didn’t put the brake on. He manslaughtered her. He didn’t mean to, though. That’s why it’s manslaughter. Right, dear?”

“I would suppose so.”

“Yes. Imagine how he felt when he woke up and saw her lying there! She had no idea what happened, just lying there. I wonder if she thought anything when she closed her eyes. I wonder if, when she lied there, being dead, she relived anything. Do you think that’s what death is like Alan?” She said. “It’s like reliving life, moments?”

“Dear,” he sat up in his chair and slowly turned his body, resting an arm on the back of the chair, “I love you.”

“Alan? I love you too, but do you think that’s what death is like? Reliving things? I wonder if it all stops or repeats or just is. Maybe time freezes, but it doesn’t get old. Like a painting,” She said. “Alan?”

“Dear,” Alan looked at her eyes, then the book in her hand, and then turned back around, pushing his glasses back up to the top of his nose. “I think life is like that.”

“Oh now, Alan. You always have that way about you. Sometimes you just keep on with your ways, thinking things are one way when they are really one way another, or another way. Sometimes I wonder if you yourself think you’ve always been like that, because I remember, just a while ago, you weren’t like that. It seems like a week ago, but I know it wasn’t a week ago because your hair wasn’t gray. I think you’re very handsome with gray hair, Alan.” She smiled, looking at his hair. “Alan?”

“Yes,” Alan said, then coughed. “Yes dear?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” She smiled. “Well, Alan?”

“Yes dear?”

“Will you look at me? I want to see how handsome you are.” She said.

Alan took his glasses off, turned around, smiled, and looked at her.

“Alan? Are you crying?”

“Yes. I am.” Alan carefully stood up and slowly began to walk towards her on the sofa.

“Dear? Come and sit by me. Talk to me. I always talk to you, but I never let you talk. I need to start letting you talk more. I know you have stuff to say, even though you never want to talk about any of it, but I’m sure there have been times when you’ve wanted to say something but haven’t been able to because I’m over here, talking when I should be letting you talk.”

Alan smiled and slowly eased himself onto the sofa, she holding his arm with support.

“So how do you think he felt when he woke up, seeing her there?”

“Oh, I bet he was sad. He didn’t want it to happen. Nope, he didn’t intend for her to drink it. He loved her, and chased her, even though she wasn’t there, he knew she was going to go there after she got done going wherever else she went. He missed her and didn’t want to lose her. I bet he was sad when he lost her. I know he was sad. Who wouldn’t be sad?”

“I would be.” He put his arm around her. She leaned in on him.

“Oh, I know you would be Alan. I would be if I lost you, too. But I bet he felt really bad because he caused it. He, even though he didn’t mean for it to happen, caused it to happen. Do you think he went to jail? I bet they would have sent him to jail.”

“I bet they would have tried, but eventually understood.”

“I don’t know if they would understand. Maybe if he showed them how truly sorry and sad he was that he did that. I bet that would have shown them. He would need to prove that he loved her and wanted to be with her forever. Think he wanted to be with her forever?”

“I think he---“ Alan cleared his throat. “I think he did.”

“Yes. These two belonged together. I don’t think it would be fair to punish him for something he didn’t mean to do. Especially when losing her was punishment enough. Would you agree?”

“Yes.” He said. “Dear?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

She looked up at him. “I love you too.”

They stayed there, she with her eyes shut, Alan fixed on nothing in the distance.

“Hey. Hey, dear?” He said, lightly nudging her with his shoulder.

“I’m awake, Alan. Yes?”

“You never really did tell me how the story ended. I mean, you told me about it, but I would like if you’d read the last line.”

“You should read it, my eyes are sore.” She said, closing them and leaning on him.

“I would, but I left my glasses at the table.”

“Okay, okay.”

She sat up, brushed her thin silver hair behind her ears, picked up the book, opened it to the last page, and began to read.v “’He was lying there… you could tell he had been upset… he…’ here.” She said, “‘She lifted the cup to her lips, sipped, closed her eyes, and died.’”

She closed the book.