Blog #6 - A Memory

Herman's ringing alarm clock jolted him out of deep sleep. He reached for his glasses, but they could not clear his vision from the fog that had impregnated his apartment. Herman picked up the newspaper as he began to prepare breakfast. Herman stared at the text, trying to make out the words, when he saw the date: January 11th, 2013. Suddenly, he felt the fog seep through his eyes and ears, and when the sensation passed, he saw his wife, Ruth, gazing at him from across the table.

"Herman, dear," she croaked, "could you make me another cup of tea?" She gestured to her walker to indicate that she would do it herself if she could.

"Of course," he replied, already filling the kettle.

"It's quite the foggy day," Ruth remarked. "It reminds me of the summers we spent in Maine when we were younger."

"Those were the most perfect days," Herman agreed. "Of course, there was nothing more beautiful than watching the blue sea and sky blend together, but the fog was special. It made me feel like there was nothing else in the world except for us and the crashing waves."

"Remember how we would read during those endless days? We devoured book after book. I miss that."

The whistling kettle pulled Herman and Ruth from their memories.

"Let's do it," Herman decided.

"What?"

"Spend the day like we did back when we were young, reading and carefree."

A slight smile crept across Ruth's face, but it quickly faded.

"But Herman, you know I can't do that anymore." Ruth gulped, then proceeded, "you must remember that I'm dying."

"That doesn't give you any permission to stop living, dear. I'll go to the library and find the most adventuress book we haven't read, and then I'll read it to you. It won't be the same as before, but it'll be better."

Herman placed the tea down beside Ruth's trembling hand, lightly kissed the top of her head and put on his coat by the door.

"I'll be back soon!" Herman called as he left.

In the halls, Herman heard the others murmuring about Ether Maitland's murder, but Herman was too preoccupied to gossip. In thirty minutes, he was back with the book.

Herman and Ruth read late into the night until they saw the fog clear and fell asleep.

The next morning, Herman awoke with Johnny by his side.

Blog #5 - A Wish

Herman regretted telling Lamar about Sayori Fuji creeping around outside of Mr. Evans' room. Now, anytime he ran into Lamar, he was interrogated about what he saw. As much as Herman wanted to find the killer, he was growing tired of the murder obsession. For weeks, the newspaper headlines were variations on the same tune: "New witnesses investigated in Evans murder," "New lead in Maitland tragedy," "Possible murder weapon identified," yet there were never any real updates. Even his children quizzed him each time he called and offered their own perspectives. He debated attending his appointments with Dr. Beal -- he felt remarkably less sore and more agile, but the waiting room debates about Mr. Evans were growing intolerable. Herman wanted to remember his quiet and caring friend, not hear conspiracy theories that gentle Mr. Evans was a leader in the mafia.

Luckily, Oliver was equally as uninterested in discussing Mr. Evans. Herman was also relieved to find that Oliver disdained the Savannah Silva movie, and the two instead discovered common ground in painting. Initially, Oliver came over a couple times a day to walk Johnny, but he was so interested in Herman's artwork and stories that he stayed for longer each visit. 

"If you want, I can give you painting lessons," Herman offered as Oliver was leaving to go home. 

"Really?" Oliver was amazed. He had never had much time to pursue hobbies; he had been working since he was able. "That would be incredible! I'll walk Johnny for free."

"No, of course I will still pay you," Herman laughed, as if the thought was hilarious. "You'll be doing me a favor. I can't paint anymore, but I'd love to teach you. It'll be better than painting myself. You can start tomorrow evening."

"That would be great. Thank you so much!" As Oliver left, he shook his head in wonder, surprised by his good fortune. 

Herman was struck by Oliver's raw talent. For a boy so toned and strong, he held the brush delicately, and his deft strokes across the canvas conveyed emotion it had taken Herman years to master. When Oliver left, he heard about the stargazing on the roof and went back for Herman. The crowd was hushed by the beautiful shooting star, but it was when Herman saw Oliver's twinkling eyes that he wished he would be a good enough teacher for his new protégé.