I Love You Forever

“Her dad died.”

I stared at Liz. My mind froze. Anne Ambrose’s father? This was sudden. Unexpected. One question managed to form.

“How?”

My brain slowly regained its capacity. Must have been a car crash or something like that. I didn’t recall Mr. Ambrose having any kind of illness. Jarring flashbacks sped through my mind.

Liz said three words. The tornado of thoughts froze.



Lynn Ambrose sighed as she opened the car door. She hated long days, but they came with the profession. At least she was home now, just her and John, since the girls were at a sleepover. She got her briefcase and paper-filled bag from the passenger seat and walked to the front door.

She noticed the Post-It note as she fumbled with her keys:

FOLLOW THE CLUES

Lynn immediately recognized John’s neat handwriting. Intrigued, she opened the door. A heart-shaped box of chocolates greeted her. She laughed, the stress and weariness of the day forgotten. “Oh, John,” she whispered.

She picked up the box and went to the kitchen. The chocolates were food, so that’s where the next clue must be. She noticed an odd, low rumble somewhere in the background when she got there, but she put it out of her mind, instead reading the next note.

MY LOVE=MY LIFE=LYNN



It was bitterly cold the night of the visitation, and my dad and I had to wait for my mom to arrive from work. She had been sorting out tests and homeworks for Mrs. Ambrose, her coworker, as the substitute teacher covering the new widow was somewhat useless, as subs are prone to be.

As we waited for her, I saw Christopher Ling walk by. “Hey, Christopher!” I called. I hadn’t expected to see him here.

“Andrew,” he said in surprise as I walked over. “How’ve you been? I didn’t know you knew the Ambroses well.”

“Pretty good, you?” I lied. Two days later and I was still processing Mr. Ambroses’ death. “Yeah, he used to drive me to school. I didn’t know you knew them either.”

Christopher nodded. “We were neighbors for years,” he explained. He sighed and shook his head in disbelief. “Been a long time since we played in the same band, old friend.”

I nodded, glad he had changed the subject. Then I winced as I realized he hadn’t.



Lynn stepped into the study, where John did most of his accounting work. This must be the next place, she thought, since the last clue was an equation. And indeed, a bouquet of roses awaited her. “They’re beautiful, John,” she whispered.

She took them and the accompanying note into the dining room, pulling a vase out as she read the next clue.

MY HEART IS YOURS FOREVER

She smiled. Their bedroom. He would be waiting for her there. It never crossed her mind that the note was slightly damp.

Lynn opened the door to the bedroom, the floor under her feet vibrating slightly from that low rumble.



"Thank you, thank you.” The applause had subsided. “Now, you may have noticed there’s only one song left on the program. However, I’d like to ask Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose to come to the front first.” Slowly, the did as told, confusion on their faces.

From the flute section, Anne Ambrose had beamed mischievously. Liz Green had whispered something in her ear and Anne had giggled. “Seventh graders,” Christopher Ling had muttered next to me. “Flutes,” I had replied just as derisively, checking the tuning slides on my trumpet.

“Now,” Mr. Ray had said to the Ambroses, “if you can please dance on the cue.”

We had started playing. Anne had looked delighted; this had been, after all, her idea. Liz had had that funny little expression she always wore while playing. Christopher had looked sad and excited at the same time; this had been our last middle school concert ever, and likely our last concert together since we were going to different high schools.

And Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose had been comically frozen with their mouths hanging open. It took them a few moments to start dancing to their wedding song.

They danced, delighted, and swept the audience with them. Everyone was dancing. Even Anne, doing a little victory jig in her seat as she played.

Applause at the end, of course, as Mr. Ray had put his baton down and congratulated John and Lynn Ambrose on their twentieth wedding anniversary.

The penultimate piece I played in middle school band. Yes, I remembered that night well.



John wasn’t in the bedroom. Only a red paper heart covered in wet splotches and an arrow through the middle, lying on the bed. Were those from tears? But why would he be crying?

Lynn put those questions out of her mind and looked at the writing on the heart.
REMEMBER HOW WE MET?

Lynn laughed. She had been a cook at McDonald’s the summer before her last year of college when he pulled up to the drive through window. She had spilled his drink when she saw him. He’d dropped his change. Somehow, things had taken off from there.

She thought for a moment. Drive-through.... Her stomach lurched. He was in the car in the garage. The rumble she had heard earlier. The tears. She shook her head and flew downstairs. He was just waiting for her, just waiting. He loved her.



Mom finally arrived, half an hour after we did, and we walked into the funeral home.

“You remember John?” she asked me. I nodded.

“He used to drive you and Anne to school.”

I nodded again. I remembered him, even if his face refused to form in my mind. We stepped through the doorway.

“Mrs. Bowman!” In an instant, Mom was surrounded by her former students.

“Hey Liz,” I said as I saw her face in the throng. Cory was there too. And Aniekan. Christopher Ling, of course, and his sister Daniella. And right up at the front, Anne and Susan Ambrose, hugging Mom just as tightly as she was hugging them. My dad laughed as he recognized the parents of some of the children. He struck up conversations with them.

And Mr. Ray was there! I walked up to him. “Hey Mr. Ray!”

“Hey, Andrew, how’ve you been? Still in music?”

Of course I was, how could I not? Most of that was his fault, really, and I didn’t hesitate to blame him. He found that funny, but quickly sobered up.

“Remember that last concert?” he asked.

Christopher Ling came up. “We were just talking about that,” he said. “Hey Mr. Ray.”



She knocked the vase of roses over by accident as she ran through the living room, the decorated glass shattering on the hard floor. She paused in front of the garage door, hesitant to open it.



I let Christopher talk to Mr. Ray, interjecting here and there, until I caught sight of my fifth-grade English teacher. “Mrs. Stevens,” I exclaimed, “how are you?”



Lynn closed her eyes and calmed herself as much as she could. She put her hand on the cold doorknob, twisted, and pulled open.



It suddenly struck me that this was a visitation. A sad occasion, I had thought previously. But there was so much laughter! So many meetings of old friends come together! A pity it took a death for that to happen.



Hot, foul air rushed out of the garage and Lynn felt suddenly sleepy. She coughed a few times and cleared her head despite a growing stuffiness. The rumble. The car was on. The garage closed.



I saw Mrs. Ambrose out of the corner of my eye. She wasn’t laughing. She was talking, yes, even smiling at brief moments, but no laughter. And her eyes. The pain!



No. He couldn’t have. No. There was no reason. Yet there he was, slumped over the steering wheel, the car on, the door slightly open. Not breathing. Gone. A sob caught in her throat.



Her eyes were red, bloodshot from obvious crying. But it looked like she could cry no more. Her eyes cried out, but no tears came out, and their clarion call was a single word. A single name.



“John!” she screamed, running to the door. She reached over him and turned the car off.



“John!” they cried for all to see. And though there were pictures of him on nearby tables, the most crisp and clear was in her eyes.



“John, no, please!” Lynn clutched the corpse and sobbed hysterically. She noticed a crumpled piece of paper in his slack hand.



“Andrew! My goodness you’ve grown!” My attention turned back to Mrs. Stevens. She was smiling. But now I could see that although it was in fact a happy time, it was just as mournful as joyous. John’s name still echoed in my head.



“Why?” she whispered as she unfolded the note. “Please, why?”



Lynn touched my shoulder. “Thank you for coming.” I nodded slowly. What else could I do?



I LOVE YOU FOREVER LYNN.




[WC:1499]


NOTE: This is strongly based on a true story. Names are for the most part changed, some people were combined into single characters, and some events are constructed from several other events that actually happened. For example, "Christopher Ling" has a slightly different name, was not my mom's student, is actually a year older than me, and neither he nor me played trumpet, although we are fairly good friends, went to the same middle school, and have played in the same bands (with other instruments) many times before, including under "Mr. Ray". He also knows my mom well, and I think his sister might have been her student, though I'm not positive about this. Just as an example.