{"id":1728,"date":"2020-12-17T20:43:45","date_gmt":"2020-12-17T20:43:45","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.hawaii.edu\/vice-versa\/?page_id=1728"},"modified":"2020-12-31T16:08:19","modified_gmt":"2020-12-31T16:08:19","slug":"sara-kay-rupnik","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.hawaii.edu\/vice-versa\/sara-kay-rupnik\/","title":{"rendered":"Sara Kay Rupnik"},"content":{"rendered":"

Fly<\/h2>\n

 <\/p>\n

Kevin complains about flies when truly, I promise you, there are no flies to be seen.\u00a0 \u201cFly,\u201d he calls in the midst of his channel surfing, and I come in from the kitchen with the fly swatter that has become my appendage.\u00a0 I sit beside him on the couch, waiting and hopeful.\u00a0 I am ready to see flies.\u00a0 I am ready to stand and swing with the force of a tennis player.\u00a0 I am ready to kill and kill again with loud, satisfying thwacks.<\/p>\n

Kevin has landed on MTV, and while the screen is busy and buzzing, there are no flies.\u00a0 \u201cThat\u2019s J. Lo,\u201d I say, \u201csinging in Spanish.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSad,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d\u00a0 I nod.\u00a0 It is<\/i> sad, a mournful, lost love tune, but that doesn\u2019t keep J. Lo from simmering across the screen in a slow, sultry dance.<\/p>\n

\u201cFly.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere?\u201d\u00a0 I stand with swatter raised.<\/p>\n

Kevin switches from MTV to FOX News.\u00a0 \u201cGone,\u201d he says, like he\u2019s given up hope I will ever save him from what only he can see.<\/p>\n

After lunch, we walk to Pinewood Park.\u00a0 Kevin is a tall, lean man, a man who looks like he could run a mile and never be winded, and I am short and round with wide hips, muscled calves, and bad knees.\u00a0 Should Kevin decide to run, I wouldn\u2019t catch him.<\/p>\n

We walk at least two miles a day, he sniffing the air like a hound and me dosed with arthritis medication. \u00a0 We are rounding the curve by the lake, when Kevin breaks his stride. \u00a0 \u201cFly, fly, fly.\u201d<\/p>\n

I search the ground for dog droppings, for a bird carcass, or a discarded sandwich.\u00a0 Nothing.\u00a0 At this time of day, the park is quiet.\u00a0 Lunchtime joggers are back at work.\u00a0 Mothers with strollers are putting their babies down for naps.\u00a0 On the far side of the lake are three young women, college students, I\u2019m guessing, trotting like colts.\u00a0 Kevin turns to watch them, his eyes as bright as the sky.\u00a0 Then, on the water, I see a shimmer of color, the wispy sensation of flight.\u00a0 \u201cKevin, did you see a dragonfly?\u00a0 Is that what you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d\u00a0 His eyes cloud.\u00a0 Then he starts off towards home, his longer stride perfectly transmitting his impatience with me.\u00a0 \u201cNo.\u00a0 Fly.\u00a0 Dragon.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIs this normal?\u201d\u00a0 I ask Kevin\u2019s doctor.\u00a0 \u201cAre hallucinations typical for Early Onset patients?\u201d \u00a0 I refuse to fully name anything with early onset<\/i> so casually attached to it.\u00a0 Like Kevin is experiencing puberty.\u00a0 Or menopause.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, Brenda.\u201d\u00a0 Dr. Bogue is slouching on his stool like a teenager, but now he leans towards me like we\u2019re old buddies at a neighborhood bar and launches into a long, rambling response.\u00a0 He throws in a few examples, an odd exception, and a couple medical terms just to dazzle me.\u00a0 He believes he is charming.\u00a0 He believes that using my Christian name instead of Mrs. Gorman<\/i> will prevent me from asking more questions.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo seeing things is not unusual?\u201d\u00a0 I am hoping he will argue with me, that he will say, why, yes it is, Mrs. Gorman; perhaps your husband has been misdiagnosed<\/i>.\u00a0 I want him to tell me that Kevin has something they know how to fix.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s more common for our patients not<\/i> to recognize what they see.\u201d\u00a0 He measures each word like he is doling out a great reward.\u00a0 \u201cRather than recognizing things that aren\u2019t there.\u201d<\/p>\n

I say, \u201cYou don\u2019t really know, do you?\u201d\u00a0 It\u2019s my best parting shot.<\/p>\n

We are barely out the office door, when Kevin spins around to peer through the plate glass.\u00a0 \u201cFly,\u201d he says loudly.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou saw a fly in Doctor Bogue\u2019s office?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d\u00a0 He shakes his head, and Yvonne, the lovely receptionist, gives us a friendly wave.<\/p>\n

On the way home, Kevin spots flies in front of the public library and across from the Dairy Queen.\u00a0 While we are stopped at the intersection of Lincoln and Cherry, he points excitedly, claiming a fly on the windshield and later, one on the behind of a passing bicyclist.\u00a0 I wonder if I could be going blind.<\/p>\n

We have cocktails with the Evening News.\u00a0 I need one by this time of the day, and I figure it can\u2019t hurt Kevin.\u00a0 Too late to worry about losing brain cells now.\u00a0 We sip martinis and watch one piece of bad news after another.\u00a0 The war in Iraq blazes on.\u00a0 Cheney is booed in Ohio, but Kerry and Edwards are gaining no ground in the polls or the hearts of Americans.\u00a0 Experts are expecting a shortage of flu vaccine.<\/p>\n

Oh God, Superman has died.<\/p>\n

I contemplate switching the channel.\u00a0 But wait.\u00a0 A young couple is arrested for having sex at the Alamo. \u201cCheers,\u201d I say, raising my glass.<\/p>\n

\u201cFly,\u201d Kevin says, looking right into my eyes.\u00a0 \u201cFly time.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

We did it everywhere when we were young.\u00a0 All the ordinary places and then some, beginning with our Icelandic Air flight to Amsterdam, where we had emergency row seats, good-sized blankets, and darkness working to our advantage.\u00a0 We were both thin then.\u00a0 It wasn\u2019t as tricky as you might imagine.\u00a0 Mostly we did it standing up and after dark.\u00a0 Up against a wall in the Waterloo Station and the far right column at the Jefferson Memorial.\u00a0 On the Metro and the Maid of the Mist.\u00a0 It helped that maxi-coats and granny dresses were in style then.\u00a0 Against a canyon wall in Death Valley and one of the great Sequoias.\u00a0 General Sherman, I believe it was.\u00a0 At a war protest and a George McGovern rally. It helped that we looked ordinary, more conservative than not.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, baby,\u201d Kevin would say, \u201clet\u2019s fly,\u201d and we\u2019d slip away.\u00a0 Into a doorway, between parked cars, or there on the grass between a boxwood hedge and a banner made of bedsheets and proclaiming \u201cEighteen Today, Dead Tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n

I can\u2019t remember when we stopped.\u00a0 Or why, exactly.\u00a0 When you\u2019re married as long as we\u2019ve been, you may have lots of opportunities to be creative, but things change. We had our daughter.\u00a0 I gained weight and lost my dexterity.\u00a0 Kevin took a job funded by taxpayers and lost his nerve.\u00a0 Our entire generation grew up and became stuffy.<\/p>\n

Fly.<\/i>\u00a0 Who have guessed that I, the one claiming to have all her faculties, would be the one to forget?\u00a0 The one to so easily confuse a stellar verb with a commonplace noun?\u00a0 If Kevin and I had to live our lives all over again, I tell myself now, we would be more daring.\u00a0 We would cut classes and start at dawn, out on the dew-slippery quad.\u00a0 We would try out the Coliseum, the Parthenon, the Pyramid, and Stonehenge.\u00a0 This time around, we would leave our daughter home with my mother or Kevin\u2019s father or a pierced, tattooed babysitter.\u00a0 We would travel to unconventional places, places accessible by ferry or donkey or zipline, carrying only what would fit on our backs.<\/p>\n

The real disgrace, the real disaster, is never the one you can imagine.\u00a0 If we\u2019d known that tidbit forty years ago, we would have made sex in public places an art form.<\/p>\n

\u201cFly?\u201d\u00a0 Kevin is watching me closely.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s fly.\u201d\u00a0 I lead the way to the bedroom, so I don\u2019t have to see his disappointment and pretend I don\u2019t know that the last, strong, pulsing coil of Kevin\u2019s brain is set to the time when we were so demented by love the blood rushed from our brains and made us dizzy and aching and disdainful of beds.\u00a0 I shed my clothes as I go and pull Kevin down on top of me, a plump cushion for all his sharp angles and bony edges.\u00a0 \u201cSoon,\u201d I lie as convincingly as I can.\u00a0 \u201cSoon, baby, we\u2019ll fly as high and far as we can go.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Our daughter, Elizabeth, is planning a destination wedding.\u00a0 She is a beautiful girl who likes nice things, but when it comes to spending her own money, she has her father\u2019s common sense.\u00a0 Brant, her fianc\u00e9, does not.\u00a0 Their list of destination sites originally included a castle in Scotland, a beach on the Indian Ocean, and a villa in Venice, but Elizabeth vetoed them all in favor of something more domestic.<\/p>\n

She comes to see us every other Sunday, during the time Brant\u2019s Chess Club meets, with a new list of possibilities.\u00a0 She has grown tentative around her father, I notice, like he is too distant or too fragile to hug, and there is that awkward extra beat of time between her \u201cHey, Daddy\u201d and her embrace.\u00a0 Kevin, who lights up at the sound of her voice and holds her tight, his eyes closed to seal away the essence of her, must notice the change.\u00a0 Despite medical evidence to the contrary, I think it must break his heart.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, what do you have for us today?\u201d\u00a0 I say brightly.\u00a0 I\u2019m happy to notice she has chosen to sit beside her father on the sofa, but I suspect it\u2019s to avoid having to face him straight-on.\u00a0 Really, it\u2019s not until you\u2019re up close that you have the sense of a blank slate.\u00a0 Even from across the room, Kevin looks like a fit, rather attractive, older man.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve narrowed the old list.\u201d\u00a0 Elizabeth takes a notebook out of her leather bag.\u00a0 \u201cAnd we\u2019ve added a few new ones.\u201d<\/p>\n

I hate the use of we<\/i>.\u00a0 Mostly because I know Elizabeth is the one doing the research on wedding sites.\u00a0 Primarily because we<\/i> inflates Brant into a larger-than-life version of his rather bland self.\u00a0 It\u2019s not that I don\u2019t like the guy; it\u2019s simply that Elizabeth deserves someone with a little more pizzazz.\u00a0 A take charge, I\u2019ll-do-that-for-you-honey kind of guy, who will put a little more oomph, and a little more of his own money, into these wedding plans.\u00a0 A guy more like her father.<\/p>\n

\u201cRight now, we\u2019re thinking someplace Western.\u00a0 We know Hawaii is too far, but there\u2019s a park overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge.\u00a0 There\u2019s also a lodge overlooking a waterfall in the Rocky Mountains.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWould that be too cold?\u201d\u00a0 The wedding is scheduled for late September.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, there\u2019s a ranch in the Arizona desert that might be warmer.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about snakes?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMom, why do you have to be so negative?\u201d\u00a0 The notebook is closed and back in her bag.\u00a0 \u201cWhere do you want me to go?\u00a0 A beach in Florida like everyone else?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, not all.\u00a0 September is hurricane season.\u201d\u00a0 I can\u2019t bring myself to tell her that my negativity is really her father\u2019s.\u00a0 In some bizarre husband-wife telepathy, all of Kevin\u2019s practical concerns are transferred to me and I dutifully give them voice.<\/p>\n

To make amends, we leave Kevin to channel surf and go into the kitchen where I feed her carrot cake and spiced tea and ask safe questions about bridesmaids and flowers.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt will be simple, Mom.\u00a0 Annalee holding wildflowers or maybe a single rose.\u201d\u00a0 Elizabeth is absorbed with smushing cake crumbs between her fork tines.\u00a0 \u201cSo, you think Daddy will be okay by September?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay in what way?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know.\u00a0 Will he be able to manage a trip out West?\u00a0 Will he be able to fly?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour father,\u201d I say with a perfectly straight face, \u201cloves to fly.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe won\u2019t change?\u201d<\/p>\n

Finally the bulb lights.\u00a0 Elizabeth is worried about how Kevin will look.\u00a0 She pictures him bent and drooling, rolling down the aisle or the beach or the mountain path in a wheelchair, and while I understand this might be a good time for a lecture on shallowness, on judging people by appearance, I also remember how I worried that my own father would act the fool at my wedding.\u00a0 \u201cYour father will look great in a tux, honey.\u00a0 He could be a father-of-the-bride model.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe wedding\u2019s almost a year away.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe might be a tad more gray, but that\u2019s very distinguished, don\u2019t you think?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t b.s. me, Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour father,\u201d I begin, and then I weave together an epic that is part history, part romance, part adventure.\u00a0 Not bullshit, which is outright exaggeration, but more like voodoo.\u00a0 A spell I want to cast.\u00a0 I tell her Kevin is strong and athletic and likely to stay that way for a good many years.\u00a0 I tell her he is more docile than aggressive, not apt to rant and rave and shower her wedding guests with spittle.\u00a0 I tell her no matter what sort of wedding processional she has in mind, she can take hold of his arm with pride.\u00a0 \u201cIf worse comes to worst,\u201d I say.\u00a0 \u201cI can prop him up right beside you.\u201d<\/p>\n

That, too, is voodoo, because some days I feel too weak to carry on, but it doesn\u2019t matter now because Elizabeth is mopping at her eyes, which means I have said too much.\u00a0 \u201cThis is just so hard,\u201d she says.\u00a0 \u201cSo stressful.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell then, having your father at your wedding is one less thing for you to stress over,\u201d I say with calm assurance.\u00a0 \u201cHe\u2019ll be there.\u201d\u00a0 Another of my magical incantations.\u00a0 \u201cIn fact, I\u2019m thinking maybe we\u2019ll take a few trips between now and the wedding, a few practice runs, so he\u2019ll be comfortable with traveling off to the destination of your choice.\u201d\u00a0 If I had pixie dust, I would sprinkle it now.<\/p>\n

\u201cBrant\u2019s and my choice.\u201d\u00a0 She corrects me.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what I meant.\u201d\u00a0 Pure bullshit.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It turns cold early in November, but Kevin and I don\u2019t vary our routine.\u00a0 Routine is good, according to Dr. Bogue, the whiz kid.\u00a0 He also has dispensed a new drug he calls \u201cpromising.\u201d\u00a0 Promising<\/i> has increased Kevin\u2019s appetite and added muscle to his wiry frame, so that he now looks like one of those men who go to the gym to prowl for a trophy wife.\u00a0 \u201cNot so fast,\u201d I call when he darts ahead of me in the park.\u00a0 \u201cYou\u2019re turning into a damn jock.\u201d<\/p>\n

Whether from the effects of the drug or because he has forgotten, Kevin no longer talks about flies, and I miss it.\u00a0 I rather liked his conviction that we could have sex wherever and whenever we wanted.\u00a0 Our present nighttime routine consists of cocktails, followed by dinner and television.\u00a0 Then, after Letterman\u2019s opening monologue, we sit for a few moments of silence before we heave ourselves off the sofa and get ready for bed.\u00a0 It\u2019s a tradition, really.\u00a0 In the old days, we had a nightcap and sat in the sunroom while Kevin went on about his job and I went on about Elizabeth\u2019s playgroup or her Brownie Troop or her AP classes.\u00a0 But once we wound down, we still had that moment of quiet, holding hands and staring out at the night.\u00a0 It makes it easier now, don\u2019t you see, to pretend we\u2019ve already had our talking time and this silence is a mere continuation of our old pattern.<\/p>\n

Tonight Kevin is agitated.\u00a0 He fidgets with the needlepoint pillows at our backs.\u00a0 He shuffles through insurance papers on the end table.\u00a0 He picks up Elizabeth\u2019s travel brochures from the coffee table and turns them over and over in his hands as if he is counting photos of waterfalls and rock formations and flowering cacti.\u00a0 We could do this, Brenda, <\/i>he says, flapping the pages back and forth.\u00a0 We\u2019re not so old that we couldn\u2019t travel, couldn\u2019t have a few more adventures.<\/i><\/p>\n

No, of course Kevin doesn\u2019t actually speak, but I hear his voice in my head, and I know these are his thoughts.\u00a0 Not thoughts as they must be now, all piecemeal and scattershot, but thoughts of the real Kevin speaking out from wherever it is his brain is being held captive these days. \u00a0 \u201cI don\u2019t know about that, honey,\u201d I say.\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019m not as sturdy and quick on my feet as I used to be.\u201d\u00a0 I watch those faraway places flutter between his fingers and try to remember what I\u2019ve read about the importance of sensory stimulation.\u00a0 In spite of all Dr. Bogue\u2019s blather about routine, wouldn\u2019t a change of scenery, the enticement of new sights, sounds, and smells activate the brain?\u00a0 Maybe tap into some little-used mental closet just waiting to store up new memories?\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019m not ruling it out,\u201d I say, \u201cbut let me think about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

It rains solidly for the next ten days and we are stuck inside.\u00a0 So much for a daily routine.\u00a0 Kevin follows me around the house with the ever-present travel brochures and surprises me with an odd slice of memory at every turn.\u00a0 Do you remember the woman we met on the train to Marseilles?\u00a0 The one with the see-through dress and no underwear?<\/i><\/p>\n

\u201cI certainly do.\u00a0 A woman after your own heart.\u201d<\/p>\n

More likely my wallet.\u00a0 Like the Gypsies in Rome.<\/i><\/p>\n

\u201cHoney, those kids were so little they could barely reach into your pocket.\u201d<\/p>\n

It would be good for us to get away, Brenda.\u00a0 Soak up a little sun before winter settles in<\/i><\/p>\n

\u201cWhere do you want to go, Kevin?\u2019<\/p>\n

This question usually slows him down, but his response time is improving.<\/p>\n

Anywhere warm, babe.\u00a0 Anywhere with you.<\/i><\/p>\n

Ah, always the charmer.\u00a0 \u201cAnd how would we pay for this little vacation, dear husband?\u201d<\/p>\n

Call Mike Button.<\/i><\/p>\n

Mike Button is Kevin\u2019s financial advisor, the man I\u2019m depending on to keep us out of the County Home for the Aged, so I can already guess his reaction to my request for frivolous funds.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe in the spring,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

You\u2019ll be busy with wedding plans by springtime<\/i>.<\/p>\n

Personally, I doubt that Elizabeth will share any more of her wedding plans with me, but we are seeing more of her now that Brant has advanced to the local Amateur Chess Finals.<\/p>\n

\u201cBrant doesn\u2019t want you to go and cheer him on?\u201d\u00a0 I ask as I hang up her raincoat.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe says I distract him.\u201d<\/p>\n

That could be a compliment, but somehow I doubt it.\u00a0 \u201cHis loss is our gain,\u201d I say.\u00a0 \u201cCome out to the sunroom for a glass of wine.\u00a0 Your Dad has a nice fire going in the fireplace.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA fire?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know, I know.\u00a0 How can a man who can no longer write his name build an absolutely perfect fire?\u00a0 I figure it\u2019s some primeval\u00a0 instinct that all men must possess.\u00a0 Fire-building, eating, and sex; they\u2019ll be the last to go.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cToo much information.\u201d\u00a0 Elizabeth waves her hands alongside her ears as if to deflect news that her father and I might be still somewhat normal.\u00a0 Too little or too much, that\u2019s always been a problem for Elizabeth.<\/p>\n

Kevin is keeping a close watch on his fire, but he stands and opens his arms when he sees his daughter.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Daddy,\u201d she says, \u201cyou\u2019re looking good.\u201d\u00a0 For once she sounds like herself, and for a short while we could be mistaken for a television family, most likely one from a Lifetime drama.\u00a0 Kevin pokes at his fire, nodding sympathetically as Elizabeth relates the highs and lows of her week. \u00a0 I pass around pumpkin bread and smile graciously.<\/p>\n

Eventually, of course, she runs out of things to say and they both turn to me.\u00a0 Elizabeth is counting on me to fill in the silence, but Kevin begins to pester so steadily, I cannot think straight.\u00a0 See if she\u2019ll look after the house while we\u2019re gone, Brenda.\u00a0 Tell her we need a week or two away and nothing much can go wrong in so short a time.<\/i><\/p>\n

\u201cElizabeth, your father is anxious to take a trip and I wondered if you have any suggestions for us.\u201d<\/p>\n

Geez, Brenda.\u00a0 I said tell, not ask.\u00a0 You\u2019re opening a whole can of worms now.<\/i><\/p>\n

\u201cA trip where?\u201d \u00a0 Elizabeth nervously watches Kevin flip embers like flapjacks and send sparks shooting up the chimney.<\/p>\n

See?\u00a0 What did I tell you?\u00a0 She\u2019ll want us to go on some Senior Citizen Mentally Challenged Physically Impaired bus trip, for godsakes.<\/i><\/p>\n

Then quit acting like a pyromaniac<\/i>. \u00a0 I touch his sleeve, and he puts down the poker, settles back into his chair, and manages to look serene.\u00a0 \u201cSomewhere warm,\u201d I tell Elizabeth.\u00a0 \u201cAnyplace he can get out and move.\u00a0 You know being inside all these days has been hard on him.\u00a0 On both of us.\u201d<\/p>\n

Not Florida.<\/i>\u00a0 Kevin\u2019s fingers begin to drum a discordant tune on the arm of his chair.\u00a0 I refuse to go to Florida.\u00a0\u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n

Elizabeth gives me one of her stern, calculating looks, a look I\u2019m certain has a direct link to Kevin\u2019s no nonsense gene.\u00a0 \u201cI don\u2019t think it\u2019s a good idea, Mom.\u00a0 Maybe it would work if I could go with you?\u00a0 Once Brant and I\u2019ve picked our own wedding location?\u201d<\/p>\n

Absolutely not.<\/i>\u00a0 Kevin\u2019s foot taps against the hearth.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve got too much to do, honey.\u201d\u00a0 I watch Kevin over my reading glasses, willing him back into submission. \u00a0 \u201cYour father is so strong, so vital, so cooperative right now.\u201d\u00a0 The old voodoo is back at work.\u00a0 \u201cThis would be an excellent time.\u00a0 We\u2019ll be fine, honestly.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sometimes you have to ask for help.\u00a0 Sometimes you have to admit you have no clue what to do next and be willing to take on faith what others tell you to do.\u00a0 Women like me learned this lesson as soon as we gave birth; men like Kevin are still holding out, refusing to surrender any outward show of control.\u00a0 Which is why I am completely honest with Marie, Elizabeth\u2019s travel agent, and why Kevin is not totally ecstatic when I replace his tattered travel brochures with a pristine cruise line booklet.\u00a0 He holds it unopened, resting atop his palms like a sacrificial offering, for a long time.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell?\u00a0 Whaddya think?\u201d\u00a0 I finally ask.<\/p>\n

Given our circumstances<\/i>, he finally answers.\u00a0 I guess this is good<\/i>.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt will be great.\u201d\u00a0 I fire up the old magic spell.\u00a0 \u201cWe can eat good food and lie in the sun and watch the world go by.\u201d<\/p>\n

He doesn\u2019t look convinced.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat were you hoping for?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

Something edgy and new.\u00a0 A singular place where we\u2019d be totally on our own.<\/i><\/p>\n

I don\u2019t remind him that we\u2019re already in that<\/i> place.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It has been years since Kevin and I took a cruise, and I have to admit I\u2019m overwhelmed by the grand scale of everything now: the sheer size of The Kingdom of the Sea herself, the number of guests and crew, and the many, many lounges and bars and places to eat.\u00a0 I worry Kevin will wander off and never be found again, although Marie has assured me otherwise.\u00a0 \u201cFirst of all, you\u2019re in a limited space, Mrs. Gorman, and the security is terrific.\u00a0 They know when you leave and re-board the ship, when you enter your cabin.\u00a0 There are cameras in all the public areas.\u00a0 It would be very difficult to simply disappear.\u00a0 Much harder than wandering off from a beachside resort, I\u2019d say.\u201d<\/p>\n

Aha.<\/p>\n

At the moment, at least, Kevin is calm and sticking to my side and looking every bit the model tourist.\u00a0 Elizabeth would be proud to witness his polite nods to effusive staff members and his smiles to the ship photographer, his ease in navigating the luncheon buffet and his patience during the lifeboat drill.\u00a0 Although his silence bothers me.\u00a0 Is the clamor of the ship too loud for me to hear? \u00a0 Or have I lost my sense of his voice?<\/p>\n

When the ship sets sail, we stand on the highest deck and wave to the folks along shore like everybody else.\u00a0 Kevin, I notice, is looking down, rather than off in the distance, and I take his arm and steer him away from the railing.\u00a0 \u201cI bet you\u2019re tired.\u00a0 Do you want to go to our cabin?\u201d<\/p>\n

He shakes his head and plops down in a deck chair where we can listen to the steel drum band and watch a conga line dance around the pool on deck below us.\u00a0 Ole, ole<\/i>!\u00a0 They sing, raising their arms skyward.\u00a0 Despite the music and the dancing and the children splashing in the pool and the loud conversations all around, I fall sound asleep and awake in a panic.<\/p>\n

Oh, dear God.\u00a0 Kevin<\/i>.<\/p>\n

But Kevin is right here, watching me.\u00a0 \u201cDid you nap?\u201d I ask, looking around.\u00a0 The crowds have dwindled to a few couples, dressed for dinner and strolling along the deck.\u00a0 Below us, the pool has emptied and the hot tub has filled with tanned, silver-haired women, old friends, judging by their easy laughter.\u00a0 I check my watch.\u00a0 \u201cShall we shower and dress for dinner and then go for a drink?\u201d<\/p>\n

We have cocktails in the Nautilus Lounge, where a bald, goateed pianist plays music from our parents\u2019 heyday: Gershwin and Carmicheal and Irving Berlin.\u00a0 \u201cBon Voyage,\u201d I say, clinking my glass against Kevin\u2019s to the strains of \u201cGoodnight, Irene.\u201d\u00a0 He takes a sip, holding the liquid behind his cheeks before swallowing.\u00a0 Sitting here on our rounded leather banquette, I imagine we look pretty damn good.\u00a0 Not old and feeble, not young and overly chatty, but reasonably appealing and naturally comfortable in our silence.\u00a0 People pass by and smile like they, too, get our vibe and find it acceptable.\u00a0 The server has no trouble taking drink orders from me rather than Kevin.\u00a0 No problem with me signing the charge to our cabin.<\/p>\n

The same is true at our table for two in the dining room.\u00a0 Kevin appears attentive while our waiter makes his recommendations, but when I do the ordering for both of us, Sanjay respectfully defers to me.\u00a0 \u201cThank you, madam,\u201d he says, taking our menus and bowing away from the table.<\/p>\n

Kevin\u2019s fine motor skills have not slipped away from him yet and he loves to eat, so dinner is a good time.\u00a0 Even the slow pace of serving one course after another does little to disturb him.\u00a0 \u201cWhat now?\u201d I ask as we finish our cr\u00e8me brulees.\u00a0 \u201cA bit of dancing?\u00a0 A walk on the deck?\u00a0 Or would you like to go to the musical show?\u201d<\/p>\n

No response.\u00a0 No telepathy tonight.<\/p>\n

\u201cSee you tomorrow.\u201d\u00a0 Sanjay pulls out my chair for me.\u00a0 \u201cTomorrow is formal.\u00a0 Dress up.\u201d\u00a0 His lively manner is lost on Kevin, who is drifting away from the table.<\/p>\n

My knees have grown stiff from too much sitting.\u00a0 \u201cTomorrow.\u201d\u00a0 I repeat before hobbling into Kevin\u2019s wake.<\/p>\n

Bad knees or not, I have decided I will walk as long and as late as Kevin wants to walk, because once we are sealed into our cabin, I worry claustrophobia may overcome us.\u00a0 We cruise through the casino, but the jangle of slot machines and clatter of coins makes us jittery.\u00a0 We pass through lounges where the music ranges from jazz to karaoke and eventually find ourselves outside the disco, where music from the Sixties, our music, calls to us like Sirens.\u00a0 We step into the room where floor to ceiling windows curve around the back of the ship like the panes of a lighthouse.\u00a0 Here folks of all ages are gyrating through a medley of old dance songs: The Twist, The Locomotion, The Pony, The Mashed Potatoes.\u00a0 The dancers look both ridiculous and amazingly beautiful, and I could easily stay here and watch them all night, but Kevin takes my hand and tugs me out into the corridor.\u00a0 \u201cLoud,\u201d he says when we reach the elevators.\u00a0 \u201cToo loud.\u201d<\/p>\n

On the deck below the disco, the ship seems to be standing still, but the wind beats at our clothes and whips our hair back from our faces.\u00a0 The water below us is so black it can only be seen in the rise and fall of its white-tipped crests.\u00a0 \u201cAlone at last,\u201d I shout to Kevin, who once again is staring straight down.<\/p>\n

In that moment of facing an endless dark sky and sea, I feel myself shrink.\u00a0 I grow small and insignificant and frightened, and I use my last bit of self-control to urge Kevin away from the edge and around the corner where the rock-climbing wall serves as a windbreak.\u00a0 Above us the music has softened and slowed.\u00a0 \u201cBlue Moon,\u201d always the last song at our high school dances, falls down around us, and now, as then, I want to be held.\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cLet\u2019s dance,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

Kevin\u2019s arms wrap around me, his chin rests against my temple, and we move together in our old familiar rhythm.\u00a0 Who would have guessed that dancing, like riding a bike and raising a child and finishing each other\u2019s thoughts, one of those acts average people perform with no professional training, would be the last to leave us?\u00a0 So when Kevin lowers his mouth to my ear and clearly says, \u201cfly,\u201d I\u2019m not the least bit surprised.<\/p>\n

The rock-climbing wall is open only a short time each day.\u00a0 At night, it is decidedly off limits.\u00a0 We slip past the chain, past the warning sign, and position ourselves out of view of the wraparound disco windows.\u00a0 I slide off my new expensive, bought-especially-for-the-cruise panties, shove them into Kevin\u2019s pocket, and go to work on his belt.\u00a0 If there are security cameras, as Marie has promised, I can\u2019t find them.\u00a0 I am more concerned about a rock bruising my kidney as I nestle my back against the wall and pull Kevin into me.\u00a0 The footing is tricky, but after a bit of scrambling, I step out of my shoes and onto a low rocky projection, and we are ready for business.<\/p>\n

\u201cRemember the Alamo,\u201d I say, and from somewhere I hear Kevin laughing.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m with you, baby,<\/i> he says.\u00a0 It doesn\u2019t matter what happens next.<\/i><\/p>\n

He\u2019s right, of course.<\/p>\n

If we are swept overboard or thrown off the ship for indecent behavior, if Kevin fades like a flower and never says another word, it will all come down to this:\u00a0 he will never leave me.\u00a0 As we move towards eternity, Kevin will be in my head, telling me which lawn guy to hire or when to move money from one fund to another or that I look mighty fine for an old broad.\u00a0 His steady presence will urge me on, echoing the rush of my blood, my breath, my heart.<\/p>\n

It will be, I promise myself, like flying.<\/p>\n

\n

\"\"Sara Kay Rupnik<\/strong><\/span> lives on Jekyll Island, Georgia, where she teaches creative writing for the Jekyll Island Art Association. She holds an MFA in Writing from Vermont College and is co-founder of Around The Block Writers Collaborative. Her collection of short stories, Women Longing to Fly<\/em>, was published by Mayapple Press in 2015.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Fly   Kevin complains about flies when truly, I promise you, there are no flies to be seen.\u00a0 \u201cFly,\u201d he calls in the midst of his channel surfing, and I come in from the kitchen with the fly swatter that has become my appendage.\u00a0 I sit beside him on the couch, waiting and hopeful.\u00a0 I … <\/p>\n

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