Concerning The One Incredibly True Tale from the Humdrum Life of Herbert Bloor

The only thing Herbert Bloor ever wanted in life was to fall in love. That's it. No more, no less.

Now, if you had asked Herbert's parents what they thought he wanted more than anything else, they would have said, "Herbert always wanted to be hired by a highly respected accounting firm. He was very practical in this way. At the age of 26 he was hired by Dixon Grant. He actually works on Park Avenue in NYC! We're very proud of him." If you had asked his co-workers what Herbert wanted more than anything else, they would have said, "Herbert always wanted to become a partner at Dixon Grant. It took him less than ten years to achieve his goal. That's very impressive." If you had asked his acquaintances, which were few, what Herbert wanted more than anything else, they would have said, "Herbert always wanted to learn to play the guitar and write songs. Sometimes we see him perform some of his original songs at open mic night Mondays at The Basement. Even though his songs are not particularly good, he plays the guitar well."

It should be noted, these were all true statements. Herbert had indeed wanted to be hired by a highly respected accounting firm, make partner at said firm, and learn how to play the guitar so he could write his own songs. However, he would have given up all three of those accomplishments, as well as every other, if he could have been assured that one day soon he would fall in love.

Unfortunately for Herbert Bloor, he wasn't a particularly interesting person. He woke up each morning at 5:30, exercised on his treadmill or his elliptical machine for half an hour, had a bowl of cereal with a banana and two pieces of whole wheat toast (buttered), used the bathroom and took a shower, got dressed, and then took the subway to work. He would generally arrive about ten minutes early to work and would use that time to read any e-mails he'd received either that morning or after he'd left work the previous day.

Herbert's after work routine consisted of one of two things. On Mondays (unless he was performing at The Basement open mic), Wednesdays, and Fridays, he would leave work sometime after 6, catch the train, stop off at one of the local shops for his dinner fixings, and return home. Once home he would prepare dinner, eat while watching and playing along with Jeopardy, and then either watch some of his favorite television shows or read a book. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Herbert would eat dinner at one of his many favorite eateries and then go to the cinema to watch a movie. Following the movie, Herbert would return home, take a leisurely stroll around his neighborhood (weather permitting), return home, practice his guitar, and then retire for the evening. Of course there were days when he would deviate from this pattern for one reason or another, but for the greater part of the last fifteen years, this had been Herbert's routine.

Tuesday, October 15th began like every other Tuesday of Herbert's adult life. He woke up at 5:30, opting for the treadmill over the elliptical. While eating his breakfast, he read a few articles from Monday's New York Times newspaper. He then finished his morning routine by using the bathroom, brushing his teeth, taking a shower, and getting dressed for work. Little did he know, this was going to be a day that would affect him for the rest of his life.

He walked down to the subway station and caught the Q train just as it pulled up to the platform. During his half hour on the Q, Herbert reminded himself of everything that had to be done for the day. He visualized his schedule in his mind and looked for any possible difficulties that might arise. Luckily, it appeared as if it would be a fairly uneventful day. 

When the train stopped at Herald Square Station, Herbert walked up and out of the underground and down W 34th St toward Park Ave. Stopping at the corner of W 34th St and 5th Ave, the Empire State Building looming above him, Herbert unconsciously scanned the other pedestrians who were waiting to cross the street and noticed a woman slightly ahead of him to his right. A few inches shorter than Herbert, she wore a dark green shirt under washed denim overalls, hair the color of light mahogany falling below her shoulder blades. Yet, it wasn't her understated appearance which drew his attention, but her posture. She was slightly hunched over, her breathing quick and shallow. Herbert glanced around at the others, surprised nobody else had taken notice of this peculiarity. When the WALK sign appeared, Herbert, the woman, and all those around them moved forward as one.

As they walked from 5th Ave toward Madison Ave, Herbert kept his eye on the woman. She was doing her best to appear normal, but he could tell she was in some distress. He increased his pace and tried to maneuver himself behind her. Herbert caught up to her and matched her pace just as she stepped off the curb at the intersection of 5th and Madison. She took three steps into the street, hesitated briefly, and collapsed. In one fluid motion, Herbert dropped his briefcase and caught the woman in his arms. He picked her up, returned to the sidewalk they'd just vacated, and set her gently on the ground, supporting her head with his left hand. With his right hand he reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, took out his cell phone, and dialed 9-1-1.

Samantha Madsen woke up in a hospital room tethered to a heart monitor, an IV in her arm. The room was the sterile white of all hospital rooms. Directly opposite her, attached high up on the wall, was a television. The wall on Samantha’s right housed the window and to the left of the window hung a nondescript painting of an empty beach. Below the painting was a chair and in the chair sat an unfamiliar man. He was dressed in a finely tailored suit and was looking down at his hands which sat quietly in his lap. Though he wasn't a handsome man, he had a peaceful, dignified look about him. His hair was combed from right to left, while everything else was neatly trimmed. Though he certainly didn't look the part, Samantha assumed he was employed in some capacity, by the hospital. Thinking it would be awkward if he caught her staring at him, she coughed quietly to garner his attention.

The man nearly jumped out of his skin. He sprang to his feet, knocking the chair over in the process. Struggling to right the chair while keeping eye contact with her, he stammered, "I-I-I'm sorry. I hope I didn't...I hope I didn't wake you." The chair fell over again and she heard him whisper "shit". He stooped down quickly, picked up the chair, and deliberately righted it.

After collecting himself, he looked back at Samantha and she asked, "Do you work for the hospital?"

"No Miss, I do not. My name is Herbert Bloor. I'm the person who caught you when you fainted and waited with you after calling for an ambulance."

For a moment, Samantha was unsure how to respond. Regardless of his appearance, she had expected him to say he worked at the hospital, either as a doctor, an administrator, or a consultant of some kind. She searched for something to say.

"Um, I guess I should say thank you then. That was awfully kind of you."

"No need to thank me. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. I apologize for waiting in your room. The nurses said I could stick around for a while to see if you were okay. How are you feeling?"

"I feel, well, not good exactly. I guess I would say I don't feel horribly."

"That's...good to hear. I, um, I'm quite happy to know that you don't feel horribly." He gave a weak smile and looked around. "Well, okay, good. I should probably leave you alone now. It was nice meeting you…”

"Samantha."

"Samantha. I wish it had been under better circumstances. I'm just happy to know that you're not...doing horribly. I wish you a speedy recovery from whatever it is that ails you."

The man looked at her one more time, nodded his head, picked up a briefcase she hadn't previously noticed, and turned to go. Before he was out the door, Samantha asked, "What was your name again?"

He stopped and looked over his shoulder. He said, "Herbert Bloor,” and walked out.

Herbert stared into the darkness. When he'd left Mount Sinai Beth Israel Hospital he'd had every intention of going back to work. However, he'd called in sick, returned home, taken a shower, changed into some comfortable clothing, and planted himself in his recliner. He'd now been there for nearly four hours, unable to organize all of the thoughts going through his head.

Images of Samantha kept scrolling through his mind. The picture of her when he first laid eyes on her under the shadow of the Empire State Building. A slow motion replay of her falling into his arms. Her flawless complexion as he held her head while waiting for the ambulance. The silhouette of her body under the sheet as she lie unmoving in her hospital bed. No matter how he tried to steer his thoughts in a different direction, the Samantha montage would return a few moments later, causing his chest, lungs, and stomach to tighten.

Herbert stood up from the chair. He started doing laps around his apartment, looking for something with which he could distract himself. In his bedroom, he picked up a book but couldn't manage a single page without his thoughts wandering back to her. In the kitchen, he took out some pots and pans and promptly returned each one to its proper place when he realized he wasn't the least bit hungry. He went to the mailbox hoping to find something of interest, but no luck. He scaled the stairs leading to the roof of his building, thinking he might be able to spy on someone else's life for a while, but was up there for no more than five minutes when he heard a siren. Though it was undoubtedly the wailing of a police car, a vision of the ambulance from earlier in the day materialized, with Samantha, lying on a gurney, being slid quickly and carefully into the back. Finally, Herbert returned to the living room. He turned on the television only to be assaulted by the famous scene from Casablanca where Sam plays As Time Goes By and Rick and Ilsa meet again for the first time in years.

Herbert mashed the power button on the remote control and flung it violently at the couch. It rebounded off the cushions and crashed to the floor, dislodging the battery cover. The cover and the batteries scattered in various directions, coming to rest under separate pieces of furniture. Frustrated, Herbert collapsed resignedly into his recliner once again, sighed heavily, and made a decision. He would return to the hospital tomorrow and see if Samantha was still there.

Samantha was lying uncomfortably in her bed, staring out the window. She was cycling through the myriad decisions she was now facing when she heard someone clear their throat, quietly but purposefully. She turned her head, and standing meekly in the doorway was Herbert Bloor. Dressed similarly to the day before, he looked around nervously, whispered, "I'm sorry" then turned to leave.

Before he was out the door, Samantha spoke. "Herbert, was it?"

Herbert turned around. "Yes. Herbert Bloor."

"Is that what people call you? Herbert?"

"Yes. When I was in high school, a few people called me Bert, but only because they knew I hated it. Sometimes people think it appropriate to call me Herb, but I don't like that either. To be honest, I don't like my name in any of its manifestations. Herbert, Herbie, Herb, Bert. They are such old-fashioned names. Honestly, I’ve always disliked my name."

"I’m sorry to hear that. Granted, Herbert is a bit outdated, but I also think it's distinguished. I think if you owned it, it could really work in your favor."

Samantha's conversational tone put Herbert at ease. "That's very kind of you to say. I suppose in a way, it has benefited me at times. It does feel like people take me more seriously at work because of my name. When someone hears the name Herbert, they tend to believe work is all you have."

"Is that so? What kind of work do you do?”

"I'm an accountant. I'm a partner at Dixon Grant."

Samantha let out a small laugh. "I have to agree. Accountancy definitely fits the profile of someone named Herbert. So tell me Herbert, Dixon Grant doesn't mind one of their partners gallivanting around the city, visiting damsels in distress during office hours?"

Herbert's face blanched, his nervousness returning immediately. "I-I'm sorry. I, um, you're not, I mean, that's not why. You see, my office isn't far from here and--"

Seeing the anxiety in his eyes, Samantha tried to rescue him. "It's okay Herbert. I didn't mean to imply anything. I have a habit of using sarcasm when it's not appropriate."

After a few moments of awkward silence, Samantha said, “Where are my manners? There's no need for you to stand in the doorway. You can come in and take a seat if you'd like."

"I really shouldn't."

"It's up to you."

"I only stopped in to see how you were feeling."

"That's really kind of you. Well, at the moment I'm managing. The doctors are running some tests and I'm patiently waiting for the results. It was a bit of a surprise to wake up in the hospital and learn I'd passed out in the middle of the street. I didn't realize my situation--"

She was cut off by someone who wasn't Herbert. "Samantha?"

Herbert jumped. The voice came from behind him. He turned around and standing very close to him was a woman of approximately 60 years of age. She was a handsome woman, approximately 5'4", with a stern look on her face.

Herbert stepped aside as she walked in and smiled sheepishly when she glanced in his direction. She went directly to Samantha's bed, leaned over, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. Herbert heard Samantha say, "Hi Mom." When she stood back up, Samantha introduced them.

"Herbert, this is my mother, Wendy. Mom, this is Herbert Bloor. He's the gentleman who helped me out yesterday."

Wendy smiled at him. "Nice to meet you Herbert. Thank you for helping my daughter. It's nice to know chivalry is not dead."

"You're welcome," Herbert said. "I'm sure others would have done the same. I just happened to be nearest.” Herbert looked down at his watch. “It's nice to meet you, Wendy, but I must get back to work. Samantha, I'm happy to know you're still okay. I hope you're out of the hospital soon. Sorry for bothering you."

Once again, before he could turn and leave, Samantha spoke. "Thank you for checking on me. I don't think I’ve thanked you properly for everything you did for me yesterday, so here it is...thank you, Herbert Bloor, for coming to my aid."

Herbert smiled, nodded, and walked out of the room.

What on Earth had he been thinking? There had been no logical reason for him to have returned to the hospital. He was a moron. For the rest of the day the only thing Herbert could focus on was what an ass he'd made of himself. It was embarrassing. He was so bothered by his level of embarrassment that he was unable to do any work. Claiming he still wasn't feeling well, he left early. He returned to Brooklyn but instead of going home he went to the movies. Watching a movie was one of the few things that could get him out of his mind for a while. He decided to make it a double feature. The first film was a tale about an Irish immigrant family that moved to New York City during the 1970's. The story centered around the two daughters who were forced into prostitution to help support the family. Eventually the father discovers what they're doing and has to help rescue them. The second film was a sci-fi film noir. A string of murders occur across a faraway galaxy and a rogue private detective is called in to track down the killer.

The movies were successful in distracting Herbert for most of the day but as soon as he returned to his empty apartment, loneliness set in and thoughts of Samantha resurfaced. After spending a few hours similar to those of the evening before, Herbert came to the same irrational decision. He would visit Samantha again.

Samantha was sweating, her breathing was erratic, and the pain in her abdomen wouldn't relent. The only reason it was tolerable was because the nurse had given her some pain medication about 30 minutes prior. She tried to watch the evening news, hoping to hear some stories that might put her misery in perspective, but it wasn't working. She shut the television off and closed her eyes. She lie there for nearly ten minutes, trying to ignore the pain so she could fall asleep, when she heard a faint knock on the door. When she opened her eyes, there stood Herbert Bloor. A part of her knew she should be annoyed that this stranger kept arriving unannounced in her hospital room and yet a part of her was glad for the company. So she just smiled at him and motioned with her head toward the chair near the windows.

Once again he was dressed in a suit. In his left hand he held his briefcase and in his right, a flat cap. Herbert quickly walked to the chair and took a seat. He smiled shyly at Samantha. Nervous, he spoke quickly.

"Good evening Samantha. I hope I'm not intruding. I just thought I would stop on my way home from work and inquire about your health."

Samantha looked at Herbert for a moment, trying to determine which tact she should take, and decided to respond truthfully. "To be honest Herbert, I'm not feeling very well today."

Herbert was taken aback. He'd been envisioning his visit all day and this response had never been part of the script. He had assumed he would ask how she was doing, and no matter how she was actually feeling, she would reply that she was doing well. From there they might exchange a few banal pleasantries but after that he would leave. Instead she'd responded frankly and he was surprised to realize it cut him to the quick. For whatever reason, her discomfort upset him and for a moment he was unsure what he should do. Of course, it only took a moment for him to decide to resort to his normal course of action when feeling uncomfortable. He would leave.

"Samantha, please forgive me. I really shouldn't have come." He rose and started toward the door.

To her own surprise, Samantha said forcefully, "Herbert, sit down." He looked at her with incredulity and turned around. She watched him walk back to the chair and sit down tentatively. "Herbert, although it was a bit strange you stuck around the day I was brought in, I didn't think too much of it. And I understand why you would stop in yesterday to check on me. But why are you here again today?"

Herbert looked down at his hands as he fidgeted with his cap. What was he going to say? He didn't really know himself why he was here. He looked up at Samantha, and for the first time since seeing her two days ago, took a moment to look at her. He guessed she was around 35 years old. Her maple syrup colored eyes (set slightly too far apart) complemented her mahogany hair perfectly. A short scar above her left eyebrow (which was quite bushy) stood out against the paleness of her skin. The bridge of her nose contained a small bump and was slightly crooked. In his eyes, she was perfect. Then he realized he'd been staring at her too long without speaking, and in a rare moment of spontaneity, improvised.

"I wish I could tell you why I came today but I'm not really sure. I certainly wanted to see how you were feeling, but I don't think that was the only reason. I'm just not sure what the other reason might be."

Just as Herbert had done a moment before, Samantha took a really good look at the stranger sitting opposite her. Herbert looked to be in his early forties. He was not a handsome man per se, but his face was kind, his eyes gentle. He wore his dark brown hair straight, combed over to one side. His face was clean-shaven. He was obviously uncomfortable in his own skin yet had an air of dignity about him that made Samantha think, when he was in his natural habitat, he could comport himself quite successfully. Realizing he was starting to squirm under her scrutiny, she decided to say something completely off kilter.

"Herbert, what's your favorite movie of all time?"

Herbert's face changed dramatically. His eyes lit up and the corners of his mouth curled upward. Samantha knew she'd hit upon a topic Herbert was interested in.

"It's a movie called The 10th Dimension."

"I don't think I've ever heard of that."

"It's a small, independent science fiction movie. The story involves a physicist who develops a method to extract radio signals from an alternate dimension. She discovers that the Earth in that dimension is completely different than the one we live on, though their timelines are the same. More importantly, she learns that every single person exists on both Earths, only under completely different circumstances."

"Wow. That sounds really interesting."

"The story can be a bit difficult to follow at times but the script is amazing and the acting is superb. What about you? What is your favorite movie?"

"A Federation of Imbeciles."

"I love that movie! If you asked me to list my favorite comedies, it would be in the top five. Why is it your favorite?"

"Because it's a sincere examination of the tragedy of the human condition and yet, by the time it's over, your stomach hurts from laughing. But I also like it because it reminds me that sometimes the insurmountable can be surmounted. Why do you like The 10th Dimension so much?"

Herbert stood up from his chair and took the few short steps over to the window. He looked at her quickly and gave a little smile. Then he turned away from her and stared through the glass at the world outside. For a moment Samantha wasn't sure if he was going to answer her question. Then he sighed and said, "I don't know. I guess I just like the idea that there might be a different me out there. One not making the mistakes I've made, taking the risks I didn't take, accomplishing the things I didn't accomplish."

Samantha watched Herbert as he stared out the window. In one sentence, this man whom she didn't know, had bared himself completely. She guessed (correctly) that as much as she was hurting physically, he was hurting emotionally. Samantha didn't know why he'd opened himself up to her, especially since he barely knew her. He didn't strike her as the type of person to do something like that.

The fact that he had shared something so personal made her feel the need to reciprocate. She decided to tell him what most of the people in her life were yet to know. "Herbert, I have something I want to tell you."

When Herbert turned around Samantha could see he'd been holding back some emotion. His eyes glistened with moisture. He composed himself and she looked him in the eye.

"Herbert, I'm dying. Not long ago, I had a serious case of pneumonia. I had only been out of the hospital for two days when you saw me collapse in the street. The doctors have determined that while I was in the hospital, I contracted septicemia. Though they are trying to reverse the course of things, they believe I might already have multiple organ dysfunction syndrome. Right now my lungs and kidneys are beginning to fail and it's quite possible my brain might as well."

Herbert stared at her, unable to speak. Why was she telling him this? And why was it affecting him to such an extent that it felt as if his own organ systems were shutting down? He felt behind him and sat down on the window sill. He didn't know what to do or say. He just sat there, looking at the perfectly imperfect face of the woman before him, the silence like a wall between them.

"Mommy!"

The word, and the squeal of excitement that accompanied it, obliterated the silence. Utterly startled, Herbert shot to a standing position, and looked around confused, until he saw a child dashing across the room toward Samantha. The little girl skidded to a halt when a stern voice behind her said "Nina". Herbert hadn't noticed, but Samantha's mother also stood in the room. Looking at her granddaughter, she mouthed the word "Easy." Nina nodded, took the last two steps over to her mother's bed, and careful to avoid the various tubes and wires, climbed up beside her. The two embraced, Samantha's face beaming with joy. When she was done loving on her mother, Nina sat up and noticed Herbert standing by the window. She eyed him suspiciously for a second or two, turned her head toward her mother, and asked in a whisper, "Who's that?"

Samantha smoothed Nina's hair and said, "His name is Herbert. He's the man who helped me when I fell down in the street the other day." Samantha looked over at Herbert. "Herbert, this is my daughter, Nina."

"Hi Nina," he said.

A shy "Hi" came from Nina and then she stretched out next to Samantha, laying her head on her mother's shoulder. Herbert went to the chair and picked up his hat and his briefcase. He tucked the hat under his arm and stepped over to the foot of the bed. He looked down at Nina snuggled safely against her mother and when she looked in his direction he said, "It was very nice meeting you Nina. Take care of your Mom." Nina nodded and hugged her mother tightly once again.

When he looked at Samantha, his chest tightened. He knew this was most likely the last time he would see her. He couldn't continue to visit this woman. It would be inappropriate. So he steeled himself to say his final goodbye and when he opened his mouth, it was Samantha's voice he heard, not his own.

"Herbert, thank you for stopping by again today. I would really like to finish the conversation we were having. Is there any chance you can stop by during lunch tomorrow?"

Not believing he was hearing the words she was saying, Herbert replied, "I'm sure I can get away from the office for a bit. Until tomorrow then." He waved at Nina as he turned to go and nodded hello and goodbye to Wendy as he walked by her and out the door.

Wendy walked over to the bed and placed her hand on Samantha's head. "You've a fever."

"I know, it's only just started."

"I was surprised to see Herbert here again today."

"Me too."

"Don't you find it a little strange him coming by here each day? It's odd. Kinda creepy."

"Maybe. But to be honest, I think he's just being kind."

"It still seems weird. Why did you ask him to come back?"

"Just to have someone to talk to. It feels like something we both could use."

Herbert was simultaneously elated and devastated. He knew he would return to see her tomorrow during his lunch hour and yet she'd nearly destroyed him with her revelation of impending death. All the way home he asked himself, "why did that solitary sentence affect me so deeply?" He knew he wasn't falling in love. Love like that only happened in the movies. Fate and destiny were bunk. But what could it be? He was definitely attracted to her, but he knew nothing about her. And then it hit him. It was the Florence Nightingale Effect. He was developing feelings for her because he'd saved her. It was a psychological phenomenon. This made sense. And now that he was aware of it, he could control it.

For the next six weeks, as Samantha's body started to break down more and more, Herbert tried to visit each day. Most times he would spend his lunch hour in Samantha's room. On the days when he couldn't leave the office for lunch, Herbert would try and stop by in the evening, if only for a few minutes. He did his best to avoid the times when Wendy and Nina (and other visitors) would be there, so they too, could have their own time to spend with Samantha. During their time together, Herbert and Samantha would take it in turns to tell the other about their life. Herbert learned that Nina's father lived in New Mexico. Samantha and he had been married for a short time but had struggled from the very beginning. Their troubles multiplied after Nina's birth and they divorced when Nina was two. Herbert also discovered that Samantha worked at a chocolatier by day and was an artist by night. She explained to him how surprised she'd been when she realized how artistic she could be working with chocolate. One day, on a whim, Herbert purchased Samantha a sketchbook and pencils, and presented them to her as a gift. Though it became increasingly difficult to hold the pencils, Samantha would sketch in it almost daily. Herbert heard all about Samantha's childhood, her years growing up, her experiences in college. She told him everything he wanted to know. And, of course, she told him about Nina.

Herbert collected every word that came out of her mouth and stored them away. They became his greatest treasures and each night he would polish them and place them in a golden chest in his mind.

When Samantha grew weary, or was too tired to talk upon his arrival, Herbert detailed his own life. Of course, Herbert believed it all to be tremendously mundane, yet Samantha was fascinated by his love of numbers, music, movies, food, and trivia. She would question him on each topic, amazed by his ability to do large mental calculations, to recall the actors in almost any movie she named, and to explain to her how to make the most delicious meals. Though it took her nearly two weeks of begging, she convinced him to bring his guitar with him one day and sing her a few of his songs. Though the songs weren't great, they were romantic, and she could tell Herbert meant every word that passed his lips. And his voice was soothing. A few times she fell asleep listening and was worried he would be angry. He never was and said he knew she'd been listening while she slept. Herbert also told Samantha things he'd never told anyone else. He told her about his brother James. They had been two years apart in age and grew up best friends. But when Herbert was eleven and James was nine, James was diagnosed with leukemia and died eight months later. Herbert also told her about winning a Fulbright scholarship to study in China and how he'd turned it down simply because he was too chicken to go.

But they didn't talk only about their lives. They discussed other things as well. Politics, philosophy, social problems. Traveling, entertainment, morality. Things that mattered to them and things that didn't. They just luxuriated in each other's presence, in each other's stories.

All the while Samantha's condition continued to decline. During this time Samantha was placed on dialysis and was told she would soon need a ventilator. Her brain was also beginning to deteriorate. She would forget things, speak incoherently for short stretches, or become easily confused. And yet, Herbert would come and speak with her, or to her, and it meant the world to the both of them. And though Herbert wouldn't have believed it, it was just like a movie.

The week of Thanksgiving, after more than a month spent becoming friends, Samantha and Herbert came to an agreement. Either when Samantha needed to be placed on a ventilator, or when she came to the realization her body was entering its final decline, Herbert would stop visiting her. Not that either really wanted it this way, but they both wanted to be able to properly say goodbye to each other. Neither knew exactly what that would entail, and neither really knew if it was the right decision, but it was a decision, one made mutually, and they promised to abide by it.

The Friday before Christmas, Herbert arrived at 7 pm, rather than midday, per Samantha's request. There was a winter chill in the air when he entered Mount Sinai Beth Israel Hospital that evening. He took the elevator to the fourth floor, as he'd been doing almost daily for the last two months. He stepped off the elevator and walked down the corridor toward Samantha's room, saying "Good evening" to each of the nurses whom he'd come to know as a frequent visitor to their wing. They noticed there was both a joy and a sadness in his voice on this particular evening and wondered if it was a portent of some kind. He stopped at Samantha's door, as he always did, even if he was expected, and knocked lightly. He didn't receive an invitation to enter but entered anyway. Samantha was asleep, her hair disheveled, numerous loose strands stuck to her fevered brow. He crept over to the table beside her bed where flowers, balloons, cards, and other gifts resided and placed an elegantly wrapped box amid the various items.

As had become his custom, Herbert took the chair by the window and placed it near Samantha's bed. He took off his coat, lay it over the back of the chair, and sat down. He watched her sleep for a while, trying to commit her every detail to memory. He studied the scar above her eye, which he now knew she'd gotten as a child when she was hit with a stone an older cousin was trying to skip across the pond she was swimming in. From the scar, he followed the angle of her crooked nose down to her mouth, and tried to recall each smile and frown formed by those lips. Then he closed his eyes and imagined the sound of her voice speaking his name. She was the only person to ever speak his name and not make him hate the sound of it.

Though he would have sat watching her indefinitely, he knew it was creepy, so he reached across the space between them and laid his hand upon hers.

Samantha opened her eyes slowly. It was strange to Herbert how a touch could wake her but most noises would not. He took his hand away and once she realized Herbert was in the room with her, she struggled, with much discomfort, to sit up. He would have assisted her but she always refused his attempts to help, insisting she wanted to do it herself, regardless of the pain it caused her. When she was finally settled, she looked at him and smiled.

"I'm sorry I was asleep," she said.

"It's quite all right. I should be apologizing to you. I'm a few minutes late."

"That's okay. Turns out, I'm not going anywhere this evening."

Herbert chuckled. "Really? I heard through the grapevine you had a date this evening."

"That's true. But I think I've decided not to go. I'm not sure if he's my type. He tends to show up late to important appointments."

They each laughed, and in that moment, an awkwardness they hadn't felt since their first few meetings, settled in. It was Samantha who broke the silence.

"Herbert, I think it would be best if you didn't stay too long this evening. I'm feeling quite weak and my mother is bringing Nina by soon."

"I understand. I would hate to impose. Is there anything I can do for you while I'm here?"

"No, no. I'll be okay until my mother arrives. I do have something for you though, it almost being Christmas and all. Hidden behind the flowers on the table is a gift for you."

Herbert stepped over to the table, reached around behind the flowers, and found the object she was referring to. He returned to his chair and made as if to open it.

"Please, don't open it here," Samantha pleaded. "I'm not sure I could handle the look of disappointment on your face if you didn't like it."

"I'm sure I would--," Samantha cut him off.

"I know, but still. If you wouldn't mind holding off until later?"

He nodded. "Of course not." He looked down at the gift in his hands and sighed. "Well, I suppose I should be going." He stood up, replaced the chair in its proper place near the window, draped his jacket over his arm, and walked back to Samantha's bed. They looked at each other for the briefest of moments and then Herbert leaned over. They kissed each other platonically on the cheek and just before Herbert stood up, Samantha whispered in his ear, "Thank you." He stood up, looked into her eyes one last time and said, "No. Thank you." Then, as stoically as he could, knowing it would be the last time they saw each other, he strode across the room and into the hallway.

Herbert exited out the front doors of the hospital and took a right onto E 16th St. He walked four blocks to Union Square. He found the subway entrance and quickly descended the steps to the tunnels below. He hadn't noticed how beautiful the city looked, the first snowflakes drifting lazily down, illuminated by the multitude of colored lights shining in the night.

While Herbert was getting on his train, Wendy and Nina arrived to see Samantha. Nina hugged, kissed, and talked at Samantha while Wendy busied herself looking at the things on the bedside table. It was her habit to make a mental note any time something new appeared so she could send a thank you note to whomever had sent it. After reading a couple of the cards, she spotted the gift Herbert had left behind. She picked up the small box and was examining it when she heard her daughter ask, "What's that?"

"You didn't know it was here?"

"No. Who's it from?"

"It's from Herbert. Do you want to open it?"

"Not right now."

Later that evening, after Herbert returned home, made himself dinner, and had eaten, and after Wendy and Nina had left Samantha for the night, the two friends sat alone, in their respective places, their gifts from one another on their laps. Unbeknownst to them, and regardless of the distance between them, they opened their gifts together. Each opened their present with care, not wanting to tear the paper in the process. With the paper removed, a box sat before each of them, Samantha's quite a bit smaller than Herbert's. Magically synchronizing their movements across space and time, they opened their boxes simultaneously.

Inside Herbert's box was the sketchbook he'd purchased for Samantha nearly a month and a half ago. He flipped through it, and contained within, were at least 40 sketches. She must have drawn in it at least once a day since he'd given it to her. On the back of the front cover of the sketchbook was a note written to him in Samantha's shaky but determined script.

Inside Samantha's box was a ring. It looked to be a round cut sapphire, surrounded by a halo of small diamonds, set in white gold. It was absolutely stunning. It was unlike any piece of jewelry she'd ever owned. As she stared at it, radiating in its sparkling beauty, she noticed something neatly tucked into the upper part of the ring box. It was a piece of stationery, folded many times – a handwritten letter from Herbert.

They read their letters silently. Hers told him how much it had meant to her that he had taken the time to sit with and talk to a sickly woman he hardly knew, and his detailed the importance of her kindness toward him. Hers informed him how each drawing in the sketchbook had been done with him in mind, and how each picture was meant to represent a different aspect of Herbert that she found appealing. His explained the significance of the ring, which was tanzanite, not sapphire. It was one of the most beautiful and rare gemstones in the world. He'd chosen it, not because it was expensive, but because he considered Samantha to be one of the most beautiful and rare people in the world. And though he knew she wouldn't have it for long, he wanted her to pass it on to Nina, explaining to her that it was a token of the greatest love in the world, like that found between a mother and daughter.

As they read each other's letters, tears of joy and sadness mingled as they cascaded over and down their cheeks. Both their hearts were brimming with immense gratitude and the overwhelming pain of separation. They cried for themselves and they cried for one another. When each of them finally stopped crying, it was because they knew it was what the other would have wanted. And that night, as they lie in their separate beds, Herbert looking at the sketches Samantha had drawn him, and Samantha watching the hallway light dance off the ring on her finger, they sent each other, through the ether of the New York City night, sorry they hadn't said it aloud, an identical message: I love you.