Today is Agnes’s Birthday
~An hour before her death, Agnes Miller was watching television. Bundled in two warm blankets, Agnes had herself propped up on her recliner, listening as contestants won and lost, as they guessed and were wrong, and, most frustratingly, when they were too afraid to wager enough to win. I would never be so timid, Agnes thought. But she remembered a time when she had been.
The episode ended, and Agnes decided that it was time for lunch. She shuffled to her kitchen, a small, cramped corner of her apartment. The stovetop was sparkling from lack of use. She pulled open the refrigerator and took out a container of soup she had left from the day before, which she warmed in the microwave. Agnes gingerly picked up a spoon, scooped out a carrot, and brought it to her lips. If she had made it, Agnes thought, the carrots would have been softer.
~Thirty minutes before her death, Agnes climbed off the bus and showed her pass to the Amber Animal Sanctuary ticket attendant. Jen was running the ticket booth that day. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Miller”, she said with her usual wide grin. Agnes simply nodded at her before walking through the gates. Jen always bothered Agnes. She was in her thirties, at least. When Agnes was in her thirties, she had already been to the war. She had saved countless lives. And this woman was selling strips of paper to people wishing to see animals.
Agnes took the zoo’s train. It was packed that day, as it was many days. But Agnes, like the rest of the world, didn’t know the emergency brakes were malfunctioning. She got off and walked past the chimpanzees to her booth. She was selling stuffed versions of the ape, occasionally giving visitors a bit of information about them before they moved on to gorillas. The children loved Agnes, though, especially when she stepped out of her booth to sell popsicles. Teenagers, however, and kids who ran aimlessly through the zoo found her to be annoying. She berated them for getting too close to the enclosure. For sticking their fingers in the cage. Parents, she thought, should keep a closer eye on their kids. At least once a month, a child would try to squeeze between the enclosure bars and play with the chimps. Each time, it was little old Agnes who pulled them out.
It wasn’t the retirement she had planned.
~Ten minutes to her death, Agnes flipped the sign on her booth to ‘closed’. Under the counter was a safe and a photograph. The latter showed a young man in an army uniform, giving the camera a lopsided grin. Agnes stared at the photo for a moment. It was the last time she would ever get to look at it.
On her last break ever, Agnes decided to watch the penguin feeding. The Arctic section of the zoo was across the park from Africa. She needed to take the train. Agnes passed Sam, who ran a balloon animal stand next to the giraffe enclosure. Sam, a feeble man barely able to walk, raised his hand to wave. Agnes waved back. Sam may have been old, but he could make anything out of a balloon. To the children, it was magic. “Happy birthday!” He called to her. Agnes thanked him and walked on. This was the 20th birthday she’d celebrated while employed at the zoo. Well, it wasn’t truly a zoo.
Amber Animal Sanctuary was a 120 acre stretch of land, outlined by the train. It was built in 1904 as an aviary for endangered avian creatures. Other than that, Agnes didn’t know much about the place other than it was filled with a lot of elderly volunteers that used to have much bigger, better jobs. For Sam, it was carpentry, where his hands had become skilled. For Agnes, it was the hospital that she learned about anatomy. For both, those days had come and gone.
~Five minutes to her death, the train station was packed. There was a couple on the bench beside Agnes, holding hands. Agnes looked away. Once she had love like that. Sometimes she still believed she did. Standing at her booth on slow days, Agnes found herself mumbling to him about the smallest details. Maybe she was crazy. Old age and all.
It was her husband she was thinking of when she saw the little boy. Sucking a lollipop and holding one of her chimpanzee stuffed animals, he crawled unbeknownst to his mother under the guard rail and onto the train tracks. Agnes’s heart pounded, but she remained calm, moving to the rail. She was just feet away.
“Stop the train,” she said into the walkie-talkie.
“What?” someone on the other line asked frantically. The boy’s mother was yelling something.
“There’s a child on the tracks.” Agnes stated. But the train was coming closer and closer, and not slowing down.
Without thinking, Agnes ducked under the guard rail and slid gracefully onto the tracks. The little boy was bouncing his chimp on the rusted steel. She called to him, and he looked up at her with an innocent smile.
Agnes grabbed him under the armpits and, using all of her strength, spun to hand him off to the mother, who was reaching for her son through the bars.
She felt his little hands in hers, her blood racing much too fast for an old woman, and then, nothing.
Today is Agnes’s Birthday
She is staring out her bedroom window, at the narrow street that is just waking up. The clock reads 6:00 am, but she’s been up for quite a while now. Agnes couldn’t sleep for the excitement.
Finally she can’t stand the wait, so she throws back the thin blanket, hopping down from her bed with a loud crash.
“Agnes!” a teenager grumbles from his bed on the other side of the room. “Go to bed!”
She ignores him and rushes out their bedroom door into the narrow hallway, which she shuffles down until she reaches a closed door. The knob has fallen off, so Agnes simply pushes it open. This room is dark but for the streams of light pouring through the moth-eaten drapes. The floor creaks much to Agnes’s dismay as she tiptoes to the bed. She can’t climb up, but she is just tall enough to tap the shoulder nearest to her. A woman groans.
“Mama!” Agnes says excitedly.
“Who is it,” her mother mutters.
“It’s me,” Agnes cries, trying to leap onto the bed.
“Agnes? What are you doing up on a Saturday?”
“It’s my-”
“Are you sick?” Her mom asks playfully.
“No! It’s my birt-”
“Did you have a nightmare?” Her mom interrupts again.
“What’s all that talking about?” grumbles someone from behind Agnes’s mother, where she cannot see.
“Nothing,” Agnes’s mom whispers, and quietly slips off of the bed. She grabs Agnes’s hand and steers her out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, where a cake sits on the table. It is iced haphazardly, with a large, squiggly 7 drawn in pink. Agnes can care less. She beams at her mother and wraps her arms around her middle. It is perfect.
The First Person Agnes Meets
Agnes can hear the leaves rustling in the wind before she realizes that she is perched in a tree. It is a beautiful, thick-trunked Weeping Willow, with a vine-like crown. The slender leaves tickled the old woman’s skin, and she laughed a clear, crisp laugh, a noise she hadn’t produced in years.
Suddenly, Agnes is fueled with the desire to run. She slides soundlessly from the low brach she had been sitting on and touched her bare feet to soft, vibrantly green grass. An entire field stretches out in front of her. Wind in her hair, Agnes sprints, care-free, until the aching in her bones reminds her of her age. The cracking of her joints brings back the memories of that day. Agnes has the urgent need for answers. Without any other options, she makes her way back to the willow for shade, only to discover someone else resting on the lowest branch.
“Join me,” he says, offering her his hand. Agnes takes it gingerly and is lifted onto the branch. A moment passes as Agnes studies her new associate. He has shining grey eyes and flaming red hair. His skin is pale and unblemished but for a long scar running down the left side of his face, from the temple to his chin. The stranger smiles at Agnes, and simply states, “You do not know.”
“I do not know what?” Agnes asks. She recognized the grace of his speech to be a British accent.
“Who I am,” he answers. There is a hint of amusement in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Agnes admits, bothered by the fun he seems to be having, “I have never met you before.”
“That is true,” the man says, sighing as he leans his back against the trunk, “You only saw me. You probably never knew my name.”
“What is your name?” Agnes asks, curious. She feels angry at first that he refuses to explain himself, but her interest gets the best of her.
“My name is Alexander Norrington,” he replies, “You killed me.”
Agnes gapes at him and gives him a stern gaze. She searches her memories for a time where she committed any crime close to murder and comes up empty. “There must be some mistake. I haven’t killed anyone!”
“Not purposely,” Alexander tells her, shaking his head, “but all the same, it is because of you that I died.”
“So we are dead?” Agnes inquires. Her heart drops as she thinks of the little boy.
“Yes.”
“Did I save him?” She demands. The last thing she remembers of him is the weight of his little hands in hers. Had the onlookers been able to take him from her?
“I cannot tell you. Later on, you will learn the truth. But my lesson is different.”
“What do you mean?” Agnes says, “Where are we?”
“I am but the first person you will meet here. And my purpose is to reveal to you something unique,” Alexander explains. “My life and yours were connected, as they were to our families, colleagues, and friends. We never spoke, but your existence changed my life forever.”
“How? I don’t even know you! How dare you accuse me of harming you?”
Alexander just shook his head. “I grew up in a wealthy area of London. My father was a banker, and my mother knew how to save money. We were never short of food, and we wore the latest fashions. But I was a crazed child, hungry for adventure and the unknown. When I was eleven, my father sent me to a boarding school in America where I met a beautiful girl named Molly. She was in my classes, but she was much brighter than me, and calmer too. For the first time, I wanted to settle down and have a family,” Alexander began. His eyes got a far-off look in them as he mentioned his wife. Agnes curls her lip. She wasn’t so soft about her husband. But she can also see the sadness in his expression, a feeling she knows too well, and the jealous knot in her chest loosens slightly.
“What happened?” Agnes prompts Alexander.
“We became close friends. Eventually, we became a couple. I told her that I would give her anything in the whole world, but she only asked for a ring. It took me weeks to find the perfect diamond for her. I bought it at a shop near my family’s summer home in Virginia. We had planned have an estate of our own, you see. She loved the plantations there. My father promised to buy us one. It was an ideal lifestyle for us. Me, finding freedom and adventure in the fields and her, teaching school-children down the road. We would not have been as rich as we were in London, but we would have been happier.”
“You would have?” Agnes asks. He blinks back to reality and takes a deep breath.
“I was supposed to meet her in New York to propose. I was driving to the port when I got lost. I stopped some children playing to ask for directions. A little girl told me to keep heading straight.. I listened, and drove into a dangerous section of the city. She had been wrong about where the port was. As I was driving past a bar, another automobile came flying around the corner. I woke up here, with this scar.” Alexander turns his head and runs a finger over the left side of his face.
“I do remember,” Agnes whispers, “My father had been yelling at me, for not being responsible enough. I wanted to prove him wrong. I didn’t know where you wanted to go, so I said the first direction that popped into my head. When I told my mother about it, she sewed me a stuffed toy as a reward. I never gave it a second thought.”
“I do not know what happened to Molly. I resented the man that was driving the other automobile for taking me away from her. But it was not in my future to have that life.” Alexander shrugs and gives Agnes a small grin. She shakes her head as a tear falls to the ground.
“I am so sorry,” she apologizes, “that I ruined your chance at a good life.”
“You did not know,” Alexander comforts her, meeting her gaze, “There is much you still have to learn.”
“But it was unfair! That you suffered because of a choice I made when I was a child!”
“Perhaps not. I like to think that Molly had a better life without me. Or maybe there was someone I would have hurt in my future that was saved when I died. I will never be certain why I had to die that day. But even though you didn’t remember me, you were very instrumental in my death.”
“Is that your lesson for me?” Agnes asks as she fiercely wipes her eyes.
Alexander leaps down from the branch, leaving her alone in the tree. He backs away, and Agnes can see part of his scar disappearing. “If that is what you learned.”
Agnes blinks, and in a burst of soft yellow light, Alexander is gone.
Today is Agnes’ Birthday
“Father-” Agnes begins.
“Not now, Agnes!” He yells.
“Your glasses, sir,” she presses on weakly. The old, bald man snatches the eyewear out of her hand and slams the door shut. A young man comes hurtling down the steps into the kitchen. His blonde hair is messily crammed into a newsboy’s cap, and his freckled cheeks are red with anger.
“You’d think at age 60 he’d stop going to gamble every day, ” Agnes’ brother mutters, opening the cupboard and withdrawing two small glasses, “It’s bad enough we have to live with him. It’s a miracle my wife allows it.”
“Where would he go then, Charlie?” Agnes asks, “Would he live on the streets? As a beggar?”
“I’d think of something,” Charlie says as he fills the cups with the last of the milk, “He’s useless anyways. Never has a good thing to say. Fannie wants to start a family, and I don’t want him under our roof when we have one.
“Really?” Agnes squeals, “Do you want to have kids?”
“I’m not sure, Aggie,” Charlie answers, sliding one of the glasses over to her. She sits down and takes a sip.
“It’s spoiled,” Agnes coughs, sour-faced.
“Sorry. We can’t have more until my next paycheck. I’m using my week’s salary to buy your present.”
“Awe, Charlie,” Agnes groans, “I told you not to waste it on me.”
“Hey, my little sister only turns twenty once!”
“But I’ll turn twenty one next year, and twenty two the next year,” protests Agnes.
“Wow, so you know how birthdays work. Impressive,” Charlie jests.
“Please don’t get me anything, Charlie. Father won’t. It’ll just make him mad. Mother…” She trails off.
“Mother would have wanted you to have a gift. She always made our birthdays special, you know that. Even when-”
“I know,” Agnes cuts across her brother, “Even when she was sick.”
Charlie pours the soured milk into the sink, and said nothing.
“I was thinking…they’re saying that the war is about to start in Korea. Maybe.. maybe I should volunteer to be a nurse.” It was the first time Agnes had said her plan aloud. Charlie spun around in shock.
“What? Aggie, war is dangerous! Men die in wars. I don’t want you to be there, if a war happens at all,” Charlie says angrily.
Agnes glances at the clock, embarrassed. “You should go.”
“I supported you when you said you wanted to help sick people like mother. But this is different. You could be hurt. Please, don’t join that- Nurse Force or whatever they call it . Stay here, at home.”
“It’s my choice. I only have a few more years of school left. If they need me like they needed nurses in the last war-” Agnes argues.
“They need nurses, but not you. You can’t put yourself in danger like that,” Charlie declares. His cheeks are flushed further. Then, with a quick hug, he walks out the door.
On her way to class, Agnes signs up for the U.S. Army Nurse Corps. Charlie gifts her a new nurse’s uniform when she arrives home. Agnes bites her lip. Charlie was sure to be angry at her. He had raised her after their mother died. He is more of a parent than their father ever was.
“Agnes, what is wrong?” Fannie asks.
“I… I volunteered to be a nurse for the Army,” Agnes blurts out.
Fannie smiles gently and tucks a chocolatey curl behind her ear. “Charles knew you would. He just doesn’t want to lose you, too.”
“He has you,” Agnes points out.
“I’m his wife. He has lived without me. But you, Agnes, are his world. Your mother told him to protect you, though I know he’d never tell you that.”
“From what?” Agnes asks, insulted, “I can protect myself!”
“Probably from your father,” Fannie says quietly, “who you’ll notice hasn’t made it for dinner again.”
“Charles wants to throw him out.”
“He may be a drunken fool, but he is your father. He wouldn’t last a week alone,” Fannie says somberly.
“I can’t see why my mother ever loved him,” Agnes huffs.
“We all make mistakes. Find yourself a nice man, Agnes. You’ll see a lot of handsome soldiers in that war,” Fannie tells her with a laugh.
“Or doctors.”
“Or Koreans,” Fannie jokes. The girls laugh in the candlelight, and Agnes can almost remember what it is like to have a real family.
The Second Person Agnes Meets
When Agnes opens her eyes, she is sitting at a familiar wooden table. It is long and wooden, worn from years of being eaten on and dragged from place to place. Green canvas forms a tent around her. Agnes stands and walks through an opening. She feels the same desire to run, so she starts a lap on the circular path that outlines her camp. Her joints are less stiff, her skin less wrinkled and worn. As she nears the mess tent again, she spots a figure sitting in a Jeep.
“Sit, Nurse Anderson,” the woman barks. Agnes opens the door and slides in. Unlike her last visitor, this person was not a stranger.
“Major Marshall,” Agnes realizes. From her stiff brown locks to her perfectly ironed slacks, the Major gives off an air of pride and leadership.
“Finally come to it, have you?” the Major snarls.
“You’re supposed to teach me something too?” Agnes wonders.
“From the moment you flew over to Korea and landed in my unit I taught you. Why should this be any different?”
“Did the little boy survive?” Agnes asks, ignoring the question.
“Always impatient,” Major Marshall tuts, “Never willing to take no for an answer. Well I don’t know, so don’t ask again.”
Agnes’ face fell. “Oh.”
“Chin up, Anderson- or Miller- whichever you ended on. I have a story to tell you.”
“Miller,” Agnes corrects, “What’s the story?”
“It’s about you,” Major Marshall states.
“Did I kill you, too?” Agnes mumbles.
“What? No,” The Major denies confusedly, “Do you recall a the first Korean that came into our MASH unit?”
Agnes nods. She couldn’t forget it.
“He was bleeding out. Shrapnel was lodged all over his body. You were working on him, trying to suction out his chest cavity before it got worse. I was with you, and so was Dr. Grant. He was a bit of a fool, if you recall. Anyways, the poor boy wasn’t getting any better, and we were swamped with casualties they’d just brought in off the ambulance. But you stubborn girl wouldn’t accept defeat. I watched as you dug each piece of metal out of his heart, as if that could save him.”
“I thought it would get his heart pumping again,” Agnes admits, “He was so young. He wasn’t even fighting. I couldn’t let him die.”
“You spent hours working on him. Everyone but you realized that the cause was lost, but you refused to obey the order to pronounce him deceased,” Major Marshall declares, “There were more wounded of our own men coming in need of treatment. Soldiers we could save.”
“But this was a kid! He had a long life ahead of him. I wanted to give him a chance,” Agnes protests, “I remember asking for more stitches. You and I were busy trying to repair the damage to his heart.”
“That’s when he died,” Major Marshall adds, “The stitching had done nothing.”
“I had put in the thread wrong,” Agnes spits, “It was too lose. It should have held, but it didn’t. I was responsible for his death.”
“No,” the Major says, “It was me. While you were busy trying to find more sutures, I cut a few of the stitches open. It was the only way to assure that you didn’t waste the whole day on a useless case. You saved ten other lives that day. You could have saved more if you had let the boy go before.”
Agnes’ jaw drops. “You… after all this time, it was your fault and not mine? I was crushed by his death! I mourned for him! And after I got home I swore never to practice medicine on children again. I thought I had failed!”
“You needed the push. No one could convince you. Maybe if Henry had been there at that time, he could have persuaded you. It was a decision I made privately. If I had told anyone, I could have been discharged.”
“I was afraid of being discharged too! But you…” Agnes closes her eyes as realization dawns on her, “You didn’t file a report on me.”
“I was not going to let you fall for it. Besides, you were the best nurse I had. And if I had, you would never have met Henry.” The Major turns her head and Agnes is shocked to see tears glistening in her eyes.
“I carried that blame with me every day,” Agnes states, jaw clenched. She wants to be angry at the Major for letting her live with grief. But she had carried it too.
“Forgive me,” Major Marshall says, “I was trying to save more lives. Try to understand that.”
“I spent the rest of my life wondering what I could have done differently. It almost drove me insane. I don’t want you to have that blame too.”
“Thank you,” Major Marshall says.
Agnes looked down at her lap. She felt as though a great pressure had been lifted off her shoulders. “I did not want to have children after that. We never had a family.”
“You would have been a great mother. I know I never let it show, but I cared for all of my nurses. I was very glad to see that Henry was able to bring you some peace.”
“He was always the best person to talk to,” Agnes agrees,“It came with being the psychologist,” Agnes says, smiling. After a few minutes of silence, Major Marshall turns the keys in the ignition and the engine roars to life.
“You might want to hop out, Miller,” the Major tells Agnes, who complies, “You’ve got a few more people to talk to.”
“And then what?” Agnes calls out, but the Jeep is already gone.
Today is Agnes’s Birthday
“Sponge!” The doctor cries. Agnes picks one up and places it in his open hand.
“Anderson, we could use you over here to close,” the Major calls. Agnes obeys, navigating between patients until she got to where Major Marshall was standing.
“Here.” Cold metal is thrust into her hand, and Agnes quickly stitches up the soldier.
“Take a break, Agnes,” the Major orders. Agnes opens her mouth to protest, but the Major’s stern gaze shuts it.
Agnes shuffles out of the operating room and washes her hands. She takes off her mask and changes out of her scrubs into her uniform. The drab green pants and beige shirt are far from fashionable, but Agnes feels at home in them. Even the dog tags have become a normal part of her outfits.
Post-op only has a few men. Agnes passes through to check on one of her patients. Sitting on a stool at his bedside is a curly haired, blue-eyed man with a clipboard. He’s asking the patient questions and jotting down the replies in sloppy cursive.
“Are you having regrets about joining the army?” The man asks.
“Well, I guess a little. I just really wanted to serve my country. Ever since I was a little kid, I knew I wanted to be a soldier.”
“Now that you are hurt, how do you feel about those dreams?”
“I suppose they’re still my dreams, but I’m not so eager to go back out there. Is that wrong?” The young man asks, concerned.
“Absolutely not. It’s natural to feel hesitant to go back to where you were hurt. But I just wanted to know that you are comfortable returning home,” the man soothes him, sweeping aside his mop of auburn curls.
“I am. I’ve got a girl back home, doc. She’s going to be so happy that I’m shipping out,” the soldier says with a grin. Agnes smiles with him as she checks his wound. “Do you have someone waiting for you, Doctor Miller?”
“No.” The man laughs, “She’s here.”
Agnes blushes. “Dr. Miller!”
“What am I supposed to do? Lie to him?” Henry shrugs, “I’m dating the best nurse in this MASH unit.”
“Henry, stop,” Agnes snaps, “It’s not professional to discuss personal affairs with patients.”
“Yes ma’am,” Henry replies.
“You’ll be home in two weeks, lieutenant,” Agnes addresses the soldier. She redresses his wound and walks out of the tent, Henry on her heels. They make it to the entrance of Agnes’s tent before she turns to face him.
“What was that about?” He asks.
“It was about being discrete, Henry. I don’t want the whole unit to know that… that we are anything more than colleagues.”
“I like to think we are at least friends,” Henry jokes.
“Oh shush.”
“Seriously, Agnes,” he says, hands on his hips, “It’s been two years. All of our friends know, which means all the doctors and nurses. I’d like to have at least two more years to tell everyone else.”
“Only two more?” Agnes smiles, “What if the war is over then?”
“Then… I guess I’ll have to find you a ring,” Henry suggests, giving Agnes his wide, crooked smile.
“Oh,” Agnes sighs, cheeks red.
“Or…” he begins, digging around in his pocket, “I could give you one now. As a birthday gift.”
Agnes gasps. In his hand is a red velvet box. He opens it to reveal a sparkling diamond ring. A passerby pauses, her hands flying to her mouth. Soon, a crowd is gathered around the pair. “You’re doing this now? Here?”
“There’s no time like the present! Agnes, I love you. We met here, in this MASH, and I fell for you here. So, I’m asking you right here, right now. Will you marry me?” Henry asks. His expression is confident, as usual, but Agnes can see the uncertainty in his eyes as they search her face for a reaction.
“Yes,” she answers immediately.
“Oh good,” Henry says as he slides the ring onto her finger. The small crowd that accumulated around them claps, and Agnes is too shocked to even blush. Henry jumps up and draws Agnes close to him. For a split second, she thinks he isn’t going to do anything else. But then, with sudden strength, Henry dips her into a long, gentle kiss. “Happy Birthday, Agnes.”
The Third Person Agnes Meets
Without opening her eyes, Agnes knows where she is. The crashing of the waves, the salty smell in the cool breeze, the soft sand under her bare feet all comfort her. When she does open them, she sees the ocean, a perfectly clear teal, stretching out a few yards in front of her.
That isn’t the only thing Agnes sees.
Standing with his back to the sea, dressed from his cap to his boots in his army uniform, metals glinting in the sun, is Henry.
Her legs, itching to run as they had the other two times she had woken, found a purpose. She sprints to him, sand flying in the air as she lifted her feet, no longer aching or wrinkled at all. The pair collides, and Agnes is lifted off the ground as they are spinning, her arms around his neck and his face buried in her shoulder.
“I missed you,” she says finally.
“Me too,” he tells her. They break apart. Henry slips his hand into hers and they walk down the beach, feet barely washed by the tide.
“You look exactly like I remember,” Agnes says, combing the messy flop of hair out of his eyes tenderly.
“I’m not any older, that’s for sure,” Henry jokes. “Tell me how you got here.”
Agnes recites her story, starting with the little boy. She tells him about the stranger named Alexander and the Major. Henry listens intently.
“I had people too. Everyone gets to speak with three or more people whose lives were touched by their own. One day, you’ll have people to talk to too.”
“Then what?” Agnes asks.
“You don’t know until you get there, dear,” he answers.
“We would never have met if I didn’t volunteer for the Nurse Corps, and of you weren’t transfered to my MASH unit. How could something like that be a coincidence?” Agnes wonders.
“Coincidence? I wouldn’t call it that. More like… fate.”
“You always were a theorist. Trying to have bigger, better, explanations for everything.”
“And you always wanted all the answers. Now I think I have some of them,” Henry says.
“The little boy- did I save him?” Agnes blurts out, “I could feel his hands in mine when my vision went dark. Is he alive?”
Henry does not directly answer her question. Insted, he gestures to a child sitting in the waves up ahead. Agnes’ heart drops. She hadn’t saved him.
As Agnes and Henry draw closer, the boy turns to face them. His hair is black, his eyes brown. He is wearing Korean robes. This is not the boy from the zoo.
“You’re the child I couldn’t rescue,” Agnes realizes, “The boy I operated on for hours back in Korea.”
The child nods. Agnes looks at Henry in awe and kneels in front of the little boy. She takes his hands. There is something familiar about their weight and softness. The child opens his mouth and confirms what Agnes suspects. “It was my hands that guided you here.”
“But why?” Agnes asks, “Why you? What happened to the other boy?”
“His mother took him from your arms just before the train came in,” The child explains. Agnes collapses on the sand in relief. It hadn’t been for nothing.
“Thank you,” she breathes, “Thank you.”
“Do not thank me,” the little boy tells her, “It was you who rescued him.”
“He’s right, Agnes,” Henry agrees, “All of those years you were stuck at the Animal Sanctuary, you were protecting the children. That’s why we never travelled the world like we said, or had a family. That little boy needed you to be there to save him. And you did. I know how miserable it was for you to spend your retired years alone, Agnes. I wish I was there with you.”
“So all this time, I had to be there? Even after you were gone? To make sure the children were safe?” Agnes tries to comprehend.
“Yes,” Henry confirms, “It wasn’t the life we had planned. But then again, that’s part of the adventure of life, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t have planned for you to die first,” She states. Henry lifts his hand and tucks a piece of Agnes’s hair behind her ear.
“I was old, Aggie, and worn. But you were still so beautiful.”
Agnes stands and hugs her husband. “I have to leave you, don’t I?” she guesses.
“I’m always with you, Agnes,” Henry replies, “We will be together again.”
Agnes takes the hands of the little boy and Henry puts his hands on her shoulders. The resentment Agnes had for her life, for the plans that never happened, and for herself fade away.
“I am ready,” Agnes tells the boy, and as she closes her eyes, he leads her into the unknown once more.
