I sold everything and bought a one-way ticket to see my first love. Fate had other ideas. I had to decide whether to give up or travel the longest route to love after a heart attack mid-flight.
I sold everything at 78. My apartment, my ancient pickup truck, and my years-long vinyl record collection. Nothing mattered now.
Elizabeth contacted me first. The letter arrived unexpectedly between bills and ads, as if unaware of its potency.
“I’ve considered you.”
It stated nothing else. Just one statement took me back decades. I read it three times before breathing.
A letter. From Elizabeth. Spreading the paper, my fingers shook.
“Do you remember those days? We laughed, and you held my hand that night at the lake. I do. I always have.”
I said, “James, you’re a damn fool.”
history was history. For the first time in years, it felt closer.
We exchanged letters. Start with brief notes. Each lengthier letter peels back time. She told me about her garden, how she played the piano, and how she missed my teases about her bad coffee.
She sent her address one day. So I sold everything and got a one-way ticket.
I closed my eyes as the jet took off, picturing her waiting for me.
Will her brilliant laugh remain? Will she still tilt her head while listening?
However, a peculiar chest pressure stiffened me. A stabbing pain ran down my arm. My breath jerked. Flight attendants rushed over.
Sir, are you okay?
No words came to me as I tried to respond. Overhead lights blurred. Swirling voices. Everything turned black.
The world altered when I woke up. A hospital. Pale yellow walls. Beeping machine next to me.
My hand was held by a woman beside the bed.
“You scared us. I’m Lauren, your nurse,” she replied softly.
I swallowed, throat dry. “Where am I?”
Bozeman General Hospital. Your plane landed unexpectedly. You’re stable after a small heart attack. Doctors say you can’t fly yet.”
I rested my head on the pillow. «My dreams had to wait»
“Your heart isn’t as strong as it used to be, Mr. Carter,” the cardiologist stated.
“I figured that much when I woke up in a hospital instead of my destination,” I murmured.
He smiled tiredly. “I know this wasn’t planned, but relax. No flight. No hassle.”
I remained silent. He left after sighing and writing on his clipboard. Lauren hesitated at the entrance.
“You don’t seem to listen to doctors.”
“I don’t strike myself as someone who sits around waiting to die, either,” I replied.
She didn’t blink or say I was reckless. She studied me with a slight twist.
After pausing, she replied, “You were going to see someone.”
“Elizabeth. We wrote letters. Following 40 years of silence. She invited me.”
Lauren nodded knowingly. Maybe she did. I often talked about Elizabeth in my half-lucid periods.
“Forty years is long.”
“Too long.”
I anticipated her to probe my history as doctors did with symptoms. But she didn’t. She sat alongside my bed with her hands on her lap.
I murmured, “You remind me of someone,” to myself rather than her.
“Yeah? Who?”
“Myself. Very long ago.”
She looked away like I hit something deeper than intended.
Over the next two days, I discovered Lauren’s history. After losing her parents, who wanted to be doctors, she was raised in an orphanage. She followed their way in honor.
One evening over tea, she recalled a traumatic memory: she fell in love, but the man departed when she became pregnant. She lost the baby soon after.
After that, she worked nonstop, stating that it was the only way to escape her thoughts. This emotion was familiar to me.
She entered my room with car keys on my last hospital morning.
I frowned. What’s this?
“A way out.”
Lauren, are you?
“Leaving? Yeah.” She shifted weight and breathed. “I’ve been stuck too long. James, you’re not alone in your search.
Looked for uncertainty and doubt in her face. I found none.
“You don’t even know me,” I said.
She grinned. “I know enough. I wish to assist.”
We drove hours. Like a promise, the road continued. Air blew past open windows, carrying dust and asphalt smell.
“How far is it?” she questioned later.
Couple more hours.”
“Good.”
“You rushing?”
“No,” she answered, looking at me. “Just making sure you don’t pass out on me.”
I laughed. Lauren unexpectedly entered my life and became really important to me. I recognized the actual thrill of my quest then. I didn’t mind that it was longer than a flight.
When we arrived at the letter’s address, there was no house. A nursing home.
Lauren shut off the engine. This is it?
“She gave me this address.”
We entered. The air smelt of new linens and ancient books to make it feel like home. Some elderly terrace dwellers watched the trees sway while others stared at nothing. Several nurses offered comforting words and blankets.
That was wrong. Elizabeth always despised the idea of aging there. I was interrupted by a receptionist.
“Can I help?”
Before I could speak, Lauren froze next me. I followed her look to the desk man. Her age was close to his. Dark hair, gentle eyes.
“Lauren,” he inhaled.
She retreated. No need to inquire. How her shoulders stiffened… I knew. Lauren knew. From another existence.
I left them to their time and continued into the facility.
Then I spotted her.
A blanket covered her lap as Elizabeth sat near the window with slender hands. Her hair was entirely silver, and her face was gently worn. Smiled at me.
It wasn’t Elizabeth’s smile. Her sister’s. As realization hit me, I paused.
“Susan.”
“James,” she whispered. “You came.”
Bitter laughter escaped me. “You ensured that, didn’t you?”
She lowered her sight. “I didn’t want solitude.”
So you lied? Allow me to believe… I shook my head and exhaled hard. “Why?”
“I found your letters. They hid in Elizabeth’s things. James, she read them constantly. Even after years.”
Swallowing hard, my throat burned.
“She died last year. Despite fighting to save the house, I lost it too.
Between us, silence stretched.
“You had no right,” I remarked, coldly.
“I know.”
Turned away. I stopped looking at her. “Where is she buried?”
She replied slowly. Not trusting myself to say more, I nodded. Then I left. Lauren was still ahead.
I called her, exhausted, “Come on.”
What to do next was unknown. I knew I couldn’t handle it alone.