By Jason Geary

Lester closed the door on the porter who was waiting at the threshold for a tip. He couldn’t afford a tip; the aged pension didn’t offer him such luxuries.  He’d eaten nothing but noodles with veggies for four weeks just so he could afford to be here tonight.

In its day The Plaza Hotel was unsurpassed, that’s why he’d chosen it for their wedding night. However, Lester and the Plaza had aged horribly, time had not been kind to either of them. The hotel extension had turned this once grand room into a standard room, though the fixtures were in the same place.  When he closed his eyes he could see the room as it once was. Grand.

Lester placed his bag on the floor, opened it and removed a woman’s sweater. It was knitted with the softest wool, aqua blue and was unmistakably made in the 1950’s.  The only thing that mattered to Lester that it still smelled like Emily. He placed it to his face and drew a deep breath. Right away he swept back through time to holding her in his arms, on this very spot, his chin resting on her shoulder his nose nestled into the nape of her neck. Not a care in the world, resting perfectly together.

Resting. Damn.

That ruined the moment.

He cursed himself. He was back in the hotel room again. Alone. He should’ve known better than to be taken away so quickly. She was becoming harder and harder to recall, even more difficult to hang onto for any length of time.

Lester fell onto the bed and looked at the roof. The cornices and ceiling rose were still the same, albeit chipped and mouldy. He focused on them and sniffed his wife’s sweater again. They seemed to colour themselves with gold leaf, just how he remembered them. He let his head roll to the side and saw the beautiful wife lying by his side. “Happy anniversary, Les.” She said.

“It will be.” Lester smiled.

A