Celia called suggesting we go for a swim. It was about a hundred degrees in the shade, but the water was cold and soon we were splashing around havin... a good time. Celia walked up to me as I stood in waist deep water and we wrapped our arms around each other and began to kiss. I have no idea how long we stayed like that but even in the cold water I was hard as a rock. I realized we were both shivering as she suggested we spread our blanket on a small sandbar and warm up in the sun. Celia lay. Her memory was a game of chance, the biochemical sequencing of the flow of memory altered by her disease. Her conscious mind commanded one note while memory served up another, so she had to relearn all she’d learned and lost. Then one evening he’d come home to Chopin’s Nocturnes and her smile was an impossibly radiant thing to behold. They moved to a house he had built north of the city, a large room overlooking the river below held her piano and she lived there, there in that room with her. More

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