Matt waited for his wife, Jamie, to fix the tea. It seemed like an hour ago, perhaps longer, since Janie had entered the kitchen to prepare the orange pekoe. Still, Matt was nervous when she came shuffling out of the kitchen without her walker. She appeared so fragile.

Jamie served him a sugar cookie and his favorite enamel tea cup decorated with a little ring of roses.

Matt wasn’t sure how old he was, but someone told him he had turned one hundred two weeks ago. One hundred, he thought with some surprise. How did I ever live so long? He used to remember names, faces, and appointments without writing them down. But now, he sometimes forgot Jamie’s name, where he lived, or sometimes—his name.

Matt took another sip of tea, a tiny bite from the cookie, and placed the cup back on the saucer. An unsatisfied look crept over his face as he felt his bony shoulders against the back of his chair. He looked befuddled. His brow wrinkled and eyebrows pinned together. When Matt was younger, he knew exactly what to do. He rose from bed at 5 a.m., had a cup of coffee, and was raring to go. As a young man, he fixed faulty water heaters, collected rent from his tenants, and managed the landscaping with a power mower and a hedge trimmer.

In his younger years, Matt worked at several jobs. He was a highway supervisor in charge of thirty men on the interstate. As a teenager, he picked tomatoes off the vines and worked at a packing plant to earn a few extra dollars. He only needed four hours of sleep a night—now, he sleeps most of the day and is still tired.

While sitting in the recliner, Matt felt a jolt like a heavy object had landed on his back. This happened often, and he didn’t know when it was coming. Flashbacks of the war came over him in bits and pieces. A faceless marine is shooting a rifle. There is the booming sound of exploding grenades and dirt flying in his face. One explosion was so loud it knocked him off his chair. When Jamie heard the thump in the living room, she rushed over and struggled to help him from the floor.

“Are you okay, Matt? Do you want me to call for an ambulance?”

“No, I’m fine. It’s one of those nightmares again.”

“Nightmare? It’s three in the afternoon?”

“Jamie, it’s the God’s truth—I get nightmares.”

“Oh, I believe you, Matt. But you can’t be falling off the chair. I have a weak heart and not strong enough to keep helping you off the floor.”

Matt took another sip of tea as the memories of the war receded like waves moving back to the sea. Some days, he can barely taste the lemon in the tea, or it needs more sugar. On other days, the tea is either too hot or too cold.

A blue jay landed on the bird feeder, and a frenetic hummingbird splashed in the birdbath. The sky changed from bright yellow to orange to cloudy gray. Time slowly moved, transforming the pale sky, as the colors ebbed and flowed and soon evaporated.

Matt’s parents and all of his brothers and sisters had passed. Most of his original neighbors are gone. New people, along with modern cars and kids who ride e-bikes and scooters, are his neighbors.

“Jamie!” Matt yelled. “I’m getting pins and needles again.”

This time, she came out of the kitchen with her walker and tennis balls stuck to its legs. As Jamie bent over, her long white hair fell in her face. She rubbed Matt’s legs briskly to get the blood circulating, riding her thumbs along his hamstrings. She loved touching Matt, but she felt dizzy. Her doctor told her to rest, but how could she when she needed to care for Matt?

While Jamie massaged Matt’s forearms, she thought about their wedding. They wed in the Santa Barbara courthouse with about thirty friends and family. That night, they celebrated by having ribeyes and baked potatoes at a local steakhouse. But now, they eat very little. Most of the time, it’s cottage cheese and Ritz crackers.

Matt dreaded Jamie leaving the room. He was afraid of what the next moment would bring. He could hear her washing dishes and banging pots and pans in the kitchen. There was so much noise: cars passing on the street, crows chattering, and someone talking on the phone too loud.

“Matt!” Jamie yelled from the kitchen. “I have your medication.”

She put the pills into the white plastic medication organizer and set it on the dining room table.

“Why can’t you bring the medicine into the living room?” asked Matt.

“There’s better light in here,” she said.

The round pill was for blood pressure, the square one for gout, the large oval one for high cholesterol, the blue one for the kidney, and the tiny pink one for nerves. The other four were supplements.

Matt got off the recliner with a forceful grunt. He had little strength in his legs and barely reached the dining room, which was only a few feet away. But he didn’t fall, which was a major victory.

“Hard work, huh?” Jamie asked.

He nodded.

“Take one at a time, Matt, and drink some water.”

Jamie handed him the medication. Matt put each tablet at the bottom of his tongue and washed it down with water. He always made a face when he swallowed them. He didn’t know why he took so much medication, but he was told they were necessary, so he complied.

***

The following morning, Matt thought he was forty years old. While Jamie was sleeping, he shuffled his feet to the closet and searched for his work clothes. Piled in the corner were an old pair of jeans and a khaki shirt. His muscles ached and toes cramped as he balanced long enough to get his last pant leg on. He wondered why his clothes were so baggy and tightened his belt to the last hole. When he finished dressing, he was exhausted and considered returning to bed.

Jamie rolled over and saw Matt standing in the dark.

“Where are you going, Matt? It’s too early. Come back to bed.”

“Jamie, you know I have a highway job on US-60.”

“What highway job?”

“Don’t kid around, Jamie. I’m late already.”

"This isn’t Arizona, Matt. It’s Rancho Mirage, California—and you’re a hundred years old. Why don’t you come back to bed?”

Matt’s confusion made him angry.

“Matt. Please.”

By the time Matt made it to the living room, he forgot where he was going. He sat in his favorite chair. His memory slipped off the face of a cliff so quickly that he didn’t realize the sun had come up. He sat in a stupor, with his bottom lip hanging off his face.

“What a beautiful garden,” Jamie said, coming from the bedroom.

“That’s our garden, Jamie? We did that?”

“Yes, we did. I remember when you planted all the seeds.”

“What are those yellow ones called?”

“Sunflowers.”

Sunflowers, Matt kept muttering so he wouldn’t forget. Sunflowers.

***

Matt sat in his chair until he got restless, then grabbed his cane. He put on his tattered marine cap and headed outside. Even with a cane, he was unsteady. Matt’s knees buckled, sinking lower with each step. He moved purely by instinct, unsure where his legs were taking him.

Matt twisted the silver garage door handle and raised it a few feet. The door automatically sprung up, barely missing his face. He went to his work desk, which was dusty and cluttered with tools rusted from disuse. He took a pair of pliers, held them to the light, and opened and closed them several times. He banged a hammer on the wooden worktable and watched some loose nails vibrate. He looked at the shelves on the wall and marveled at how well-organized they were, little boxes with screws and glass jars labeled with nails and bolts.

Matt imagined hearing the hum of a power drill, the grinding teeth of a handsaw going back and forth. He imagined sawing through a block of wood and feeling a sense of accomplishment for building a desk for his grandson. Matt imagined installing a door frame, hammering in nails, and ensuring the door opened and closed easily. He saw himself climbing a ladder to the roof, installing new shingles, and feeling the sweat pouring from his brow. Matt looked at the old, rusted paint cans in the corner. He imagined painting a room with big brush strokes. He loved opening a fresh can of paint and stirring it.

Matt found an old dusty childhood picture in the drawer. He recalled his silly outfits at the holiday parties in Santa Barbara and the giant oak tree where he played with his cousins. There was so much food and laughter–the best of times. As Matt was in a fanciful reverie, the floor shook, and there was a loud rumble overhead. The noise felt like a plane dropped a bomb and exploded in the garage. He imagined the ceiling collapsing on top of him. Matt staggered, wobbly for a few seconds, then fell, hitting his head on something sharp. He wanted to call for help, but he couldn’t speak. It felt like something was wrapped around his throat, and there was a sharp pain at the back of his head.

Matt imagined his mother standing over him with hands on her hips. She chastised him for not playing with the other kids and going off alone without telling anyone. He always snuck away from the group.

“I thought you were dead, Mom?”

“Why are you lying on the floor, Matthew?” his mother scolded. “Come join us. Your cousins have come all the way from Bakersfield to see you.”

***

Jamie was finishing dinner when she felt the floor shaking from an earthquake. She put down a plate and grabbed the sink to hold on. She felt dizzy as the room swayed, but she did not fall. In a few seconds, it was over. After she regained her breath, she cried, “Matt! Did you feel that?”

When Matt didn’t respond, Jamie looked for him in all the rooms.

She called out, “Matt! Matt!”

The last time Matt wandered off, the police brought him back in a patrol car. He thought he was arrested, and he cried like a child. It took an hour for Jamie to convince Matt he wasn’t going to jail.

Jamie looked out the window, opened the front door, and called for Matt again. There was no answer. She walked to the sidewalk and scanned the block. The pain in her joints hurt so badly that she wanted to sit down, but she had to find her husband. She couldn’t deal with anything else until she knew he was safe.

Jamie noticed the open garage door.

“Matt!” she called.

When she found him lying on the floor in the dark, his head was bleeding. She leaned over and gently shook him. But when he wasn’t responsive, panic set in.

They were together for over seventy years, raising two children and celebrating all their birthdays and holidays. Now Jamie’s husband was dead, and she was alive. She knew she would lose him, but his death felt like a betrayal. He wasn’t supposed to go before her. They were to die together.

Jamie went back to the house and returned with sleeping pills. Her doctor warned her about taking too many at one time. “Only take what’s prescribed,” he said. She stood by her dead husband, swallowed the entire bottle, washed it down with several gulps of water, and rested on the floor with the only man she had ever known intimately and the man who promised he’d never leave her. Matt built their home, planted the seeds in their garden, and never disappointed her as a husband or a father.

A few hours later, a neighbor walking her dog saw two pairs of legs on the garage floor. The neighbor went closer and saw it was Matt and Jamie. They were in an embrace. Both had contented looks on their faces and were dead.

The sky changed from bright yellow to orange to cloudy gray. Time slowly moved, transforming the pale sky as the colors ebbed and flowed, casting shadows on Jamie and Matt’s sunflower garden.