#majali

He lost her. Crude tiny microscopic cells invaded her body, overnight. Colonies took abode in her lungs, left kidney and half a liver. Cancer - the big C word ravaging the body, yet retaining the mind and soul.

They were one. A unit. In the summer of ‘71. A pair of shiny Harley Davidsons on Route 66. Holding hands on an empty stretch before a setting sun. Wild hair, Indian shirts, leather gear. A strand of blond hair escaping the helmet, blowing in the wind.

Young and in love. They continued on that highway till the end. Till the Harleys become heavy with life’s responsibilities; children, a career, cash. They stored them in the shed under a tarp. Oiled and majestic yet in exile.

Their children became adults, got married, did all the proper things. Weddings, bells, cards, dresses, another stretch of the highway.

Old age crept under the wooden blocks. Passed through thick socks and boots. Resided in cold chests under knitted sweaters. Separated them in bed, yet made the summer of ‘71 more memorable.

The end came, a pain in the arm, ache in the leg, a cough, fever. Reaper ready to sough the seed of life. The blonde hair became snow, the face shrinked, the smile didn’t fade.

The last kiss on a white starchy hospital bed. Under florescent lights. The same old thin lips. She battled silently with her eyes - her books, her silence and pride. She was his unknown legend.

Somewhere on a desert highway She rides a Harley-Davidson Her long blonde hair Flyin’ in the wind She’s been runnin’ half her life The chrome and steel she rides Collidin’ with The very air she breathes The air she breathes.

You know it ain’t easy You got to hold on She was an unknown legend In her time    - Unknown Legend, Neil Young