A/N: This is my first attempt at fanfiction. Any thoughts, ideas, or critiques are coveted and welcomed.
Anne and Gilbert are my favorite literary couple, and I find their relationship so beautiful. I hope this story reflects that, and the the sad nature of losing a love one emphasizes the intimacy they share. To quote Emily Dickinson, "I like a look of agony because I know it's true."
Credit to LMM for the AOGG world, and also to Donald Hall whose own poetry of loss has inspired every chapter.
Gilbert sat at the kitchen table, staring out at the early spring morning. The sun rose, enveloping the earth in bright gleaming light, penetrating his eyes. He turned, groggily bringing a wrinkled, shaky hand to rub his face wearily. He bumped his cup of coffee in the process, spilling it over his dingy white shirt. He continued to sit, hands to his face, undisturbed by the hot liquid.
Their cat came into the room, meowing chirpily, indicating he was present and ready for his daily breakfast. Gilbert put elbows on the table, staring numbly. He wondered when the cat would stop looking for her, stop expecting her to be here each morning. He dreaded that day. The day when life would move on.
He looked again at the rising sun, a golden mist descending upon the lush green budding life. How could spring go on when the very vision of spring was gone?
Weeks earlier
Anne lie in bed, her face pallid and brow heavy with perspiration, eyes turned toward the fading blues and yellows of the evening. Her hair stuck to the pillow above her as she slowly slipped to a slouch over the past hours. Gilbert sat beside her in a chair, hunched over and holding a tired limp hand, watching her as she thought.
"In all these years, in all the stories I wrote of others around us, why didn't I ever write our story?" Anne asked, turning her eyes to him.
He pondered, images of their life springing before him: her young wide smile accompanied by squinted, laughing eyes looking up at him. Afternoons in their later years when all was right and they would have tea upon their patio, overlooking the rolling hills, delighted that he could still make her laugh. Her shrill sobs, shrieking echoes through their hollow, empty house after losing a child. Sharing companionable silence lying in bed, their children asleep, holding each other as they drifted into exhausted slumber of early parenthood.
He looked at her with sad eyes but contented smile. "Because we were living the real thing. We didn't need a story."
They both gazed at one another, their eyes meeting, but their thoughts distant as they remembered the joys and sorrows that presented themselves over 30 years.
Her eyes focused upon him then. Her husband, her best friend.
She whispered, "I don't want to die."
They lie in bed together, touching, Gilbert's body turned and curled to hers, Anne laying on her back, head tilted against his.
"It's funny you know, planning your own death." She said simply, a thoughtful chuckle on her lips.
Gilbert lifted his head, looking at her.
"I always imagined it so romantically, me dying for a noble cause. I would heroically save a child from a flowing river, as her desperate mother crouches ashore, longing, hoping, willing her to come back. And I would jump in, using my momentum to usher the child to land, all the while drifting off myself." She laughed at the besotted ideals of her naive youth. "I supposed I thought I always was destined to be Elaine the lily maid, floating dreamily into the abyss. My funeral would brings hundreds together, pledging to live from then on cherishing all life's precious gifts. There would be much crying, of course, mourning that a heroine had gone from their midst."
Gilbert couldn't help thinking with a pang that's exactly what the funeral attendees will think and do, heroine or not.
She sighed, "But really, it's quite boring this dying business. Planning the ceremony, choosing what to wear. It's like planning for a church function I don't have to attend. What should I wear, do you think?"
Gilbert slowly placed his head back on her shoulder, trying to focus on the details of planning and not the event they were planning for. "Well, you know what I think."
Anne smiled. "Hmm, I can't think," she said playfully, for she loved when he adored her. "Why don't you remind me?"
He sat up, kissing her brow. "Your light green dress, of course."
It was this dress she had worn over the years dozens of times, for every anniversary, for special dates with just the two of them. Other evenings, before bed, in the solitude of their own bedroom, he'd ask her to try it on. It was Anne's Dress, the one that the matched her lively spirit so well. It was as old as their Redmond days, and he had urged her through the years to have in mended and tailored as life went on.
"I suppose I never did tell you the story that made me love it so much on you," he teased, smoothing her unbrushed damp hair away from her.
Her eyes twinkled through the sickness at him. She never did tire of the story. "I suppose you ought to, then."
Gilbert paced around his matchbox dorm room, checking his watch absentmindedly every few minutes. Only 5:45, he thought with a sigh. It wouldn't be until 7:00 that he'd make the walk to Patty's Place and escort Anne to Redmond's winter ball.
He saw Anne often, studying together, sharing glances and smirks in class, going on walks with their friends, debating in front of the fire. But something about getting dressed up and going to a dance together felt intimate, like it was just the two of them. It wasn't just any fellow that was escorting Anne, it was him. That meant he could claim more dances with her without worrying if he was being too imposing. It meant she would be on his arm, it meant that she would wear his flowers, and he would be the first and last to see her tonight.
No wonder he was giddy and nervous. He could almost pretend they were really together, and he could dote on her and show her love more freely than he usually allowed.
It was 6:00 now. Only one more hour, he thought with another rush of adrenaline. Needing to channel his energy somewhere, he decided a walk through the nearby park might be helpful. He skipped downstairs into the cool evening air.
Sleepy snow started lazily descending into the quiet air, as if the earth was dreamily and silently accepting winter with uplifted palms. Gilbert could hardly contain his excitement; there was always something magical about the year's first snow, especially on a night like tonight.
The path led into a clearing, surrounded with firs, an oasis in the city. A thin and delicate woman slowly twirled, arms outstretched, eyes closed and head upturned to the falling flakes.
Gilbert's heart stumbled along with his feet as he realized it was Anne—of course. He couldn't help but chuckle a murmured, "Oh Anne," as he watched her pure, unashamed and unaware bliss. She was like a fairy of the winter, her twirling arms commanding delightfully for the sky to sprinkle the earth.
She looked like a vision of life itself—cheeks aglow, lips red from the cold. Her bright hair contrasted with the white around her, reminiscent of fire and ice. But it was her dress that transformed her image from beautiful to radiant. The light green fabric made her like spring to winter's death. Gilbert had always thought her lovely, but with a burst of revelation, he realized this image was why he loved her: Her presence was abundant life to him, gracing the world with beauty and light. Without her would be a bleak, dark world, indeed.
Without thinking, he jogged over to her, taking her hands and twirling around with her. With a smile, her eyes opened, bright and radiant, as if she knew he was there all along. Their laughs filled the air as they linked arms, skipping together, until the crashed side by side on a bench.
Between laughs and gulps of fresh air, Gilbert looked at Anne.
"Anne!" He said, realizing at once with fear she might have forgotten the evening he had so painstakingly prepared for. "Aren't you supposed to be getting ready?"
She sighed delightfully, "Oh yes, and I am. Phil and the girls and I promised each other to get ready with one another, helping with dresses and hair and such, but then I saw the snow. It was calling to me," she chuckled. "As I rushed out the door I gave repeated apologies and they just laughed me off."
He shook his head, smiling, thankful she hadn't forgotten him but was simply overcome with joy. It was so like her.
"But Anne, we really should get back. You don't even have a coat!," giving him an excuse to take in her appearance again, marveling at the way the green complimented her slight creamy arms.
The snow started to fall faster, pelting against their faces as they ran back. Gilbert held his coat above them, gripping Anne's waist as she gripped his. They laughed as they ran, feeling like children again.
At the end of the night, Gilbert hovered with Anne on Patty's Place porch, extending their time together. The night with her was more of a dream than he had imagined, and he couldn't will himself to wake up just yet.
They talked of school, discussing assignments, sharing with earnest passion all they were learning and the dreams that were spurred on by their studies. They drank from each other like cisterns, and Gilbert wondered with hope if he could share soon his dream of a life with her.
A lull in the conversation came and they sat contently, staring into the winter air. Gilbert took in a breath, and with a rush, willed himself to speak his mind. "Well Anne, I should go. But I want you to know that-that, you look absolutely lovely tonight, and I think you should wear green always. It's so you."
He risked a glance at her, and was stunningly pleased to find she was smiling sweetly at him. She stood, extending her arm and pulling him up with her. "Thanks, Gil. It truly was a magical night." They held each others eyes, their hands still entwined. What would happen if I kissed her right now, he thought.
But she turned away from him, opening the front door. With a glance back, she wished him goodnight with a small smile and closed the door behind her. As he walked back, he clung to the vision of her twirling in her light green dress, the image of spring, his Anne full of life.
With the story ended, they held one another. "Oh Gil," Anne said, tears slipping from her eyes. "How you've delighted my life."
Gilbert realized with empty numbness the next time he'd see Anne in her light green dress, she would be gone.
Spring would be dead.
Hopefully not too morbid :)
