Mr. Benz

My wife came home that first evening with a note.

 Dear Karen,

I seem to be lying here more and more thinking about how grateful I am to you, and what a special person you are.  I don’t know what I would do without you.  Probably you are the only thing keeping me going, although I know what you would say to that, you’d say I’m flying in the face of Western science.  It’s a strange metaphor, now that I think about it.  How can one fly in the face of Western science?  How can one fly in the face of anything?  I’m pretty sure the next flight I take will be to the big casino in the sky.  There I go again!  I’m insufferable (but hopefully not incurable).  And I care about what you are doing for me and who you are very much.  I wanted to say that.

                        Richard

He had slipped the note inside a card, and on the front was a photograph of an old man sitting on a bench in a park, with pigeons flocked before him.  The man’s chin rested on the top of a cane and his small, wrinkled eyes looked off into the distance.  Inside the card read

THINKING OF YOU

 “He’s got a crush on you,” I said. 

“He’s dying,” Karen replied.

 Read the complete story in Literal Latté.