"The scar is healing quite nicely, it should completely heal in the next few weeks," the doctor explains to me while examining my ear after the surgery. I didn't want to get the surgery done and instead keep it as a reminder of my failure to protect my departed wife. But my mother and father insisted I get it done so my senses would still work properly. It's been nearly six months and I've become very isolated and reproachable. I haven't returned to my work and our apartment in New York has made things worse; since I haven't lived there either.
"The cast on your left arm should come off by next week, that should be some good news for you, I really was concerned when it didn't heal as quickly as everything else," the doctor says this in an attempt to cheer me up and fails because I already know that my left arm was nearly shattered, but was reconstructed with steel. The pain is nothing compared to the loss of my baby doll.
"You know, your network covers therapy for loss, it wouldn't be a bad idea to-,"
"Stop," I interrupt the doctor before he can finish, "I don't need any more lectures on my loss, I'm dealing with it my way." The doctor sighs and writes something on his clipboard, and hands me a prescription. I look up at him quizzically.
"For the pain, I know you're tolerating it, but it can't be easy, take it three times a day or as needed," the doctor explains then takes his leave. I grab my jacket and carefully put my arm through the armhole, doing my best not to move it too much, since the doctor is right, the pain is intense. But I refuse to let it take over my mind and body.
After Laurence delivered the news to me to confirm that Natalie was truly gone, I sought to find her mother, Elizabeth, and give her the sad news. However, when I found her, she was angry with me and only gave me the location of Natalie's grave. I immediately found the location near Syracuse and was beside myself, even though it was right in front of me, I couldn't except it. There lay my wife's grave, set in gold and inlaid ivory: Natalie Ramos, beloved wife and daughter. It's very isolated and lonely, I couldn't believe her mother did this without consulting me, even though I was in a coma for a month, she could have at least contacted my family. But this was Mrs. Blanche I was thinking about, in reality, I shouldn't be surprised.
Shortly after I was discharged from the hospital, my brother and mother took me to my apartment, but I couldn't bear the pain anymore and asked my brother to keep an eye on the place while I find residence elsewhere. I found a small house in the outer parts of New York city that suited me quite well. It wasn't too big so I was able to bring a few necessary items and settle in while I recovered. My mother checked on me every day and a nurse stayed with me for the duration of my recovery.
After seeing my wife's grave, I went to visit every other month, since the distance was too much for my body, and left her favorite-colored roses atop her gravestone. It was difficult going on without her. In the short time I knew her, I am still certain to this day that she was and always will be my true love.
Yet, I have this nagging feeling that won't settle, even though I've seen her grave and confirmed with her mother and my brother that she is gone; it's a feeling that she is still alive. Assuming it's a lingering feeling that most people feel when they have lost someone dear to them, I carry on with my life. Despite it all, it never went away.
Three years later...
"I don't understand why I have to wear that ugly thing, are you absolutely sure this is part of the ad?" the young model complains while shaking the mismatched and horrid clothing at the director. I hate to admit, it is very ugly, but this new generation of youngsters really have poor taste. The cloak the girl is complaining about is very sequenced and large. The silver metallic sheen makes it very unappealing and I can't defend the director because the girl won't allow me to get a word in edgewise.
"Please Miss Paige, your job isn't to criticize the clothing, you're only supposed to model it and-!"
"Shut up! I know what I'm supposed to do, but I'm not wearing that ugly thing! Don't you know what it will do to my reputation?!" the model shouts over the director. They continue to shout at each other as I pinch the bridge of my nose. I begin to question why I chose to return to this job and remember that it's a much better position for me than before. So, I take a deep breath and step forward towards the model. She stops yelling after my shadow covers her, and she looks up at me.
"You're worried about your reputation you say? But this won't do, a model who is too difficult to work with won't bode well for your reputation either," I explain as carefully as I can, "and if you insist on causing us trouble, we don't need to work with you."
Finally, the model has calmed down, and the director is now trying to calm me down, even though I'm not showing any anger or irritation.
"Hey! Who the hell are you anyway?" the model yells back at me after I turned my back to her. "You can't speak to me that way! Don't you know who I am?" the model continues. I snicker in spite of myself.
"You should be more concerned about who I am, Miss Paige Thatcher," I turn back to face her, "I'm Mr. Ramos, the proprietor of BabyDoll magazine, and your boss."
Paige is now in utter shock and fumbling over her words as she tries to apologize. But I've grown tired of dealing with her and call my assistant Kim to dismiss her.
"The client wants the photos in three days, Jacque! How will we find another model in such a short time?" Director Cho shouts at me, as if I haven't prepared for everything in all my years of experience.
"My assistant and I have it covered, don't worry," I calmly explain, "have the crew reset the stage and the lighting, we'll have a new model who won't give us so much trouble."
I look over to Kim, a small and meek looking young lady, with glasses as big as her confidence. Despite her mousy appearance, she is fierce and reliable. The main reason I hired her is because she was determined to work for my magazine company. I had her do an impossible errand and she managed to do it without flinching, but I digress. After I simply gesture to Kim to find another model, Miss Paige is walking out the door in tears.
"Alright Mr. Ramos," Kim says, "I've found a reputable model, the agency said she'll be here within the hour." Director Cho smiles and thanks Kim.
"Wonderful! How did you manage it? I've never seen such a great assistant before!" Director Cho shouts so ridiculously, "Who did you get if you don't mind me asking?"
"The agency owed us a favor, so they found a very reputable model who happened to be available today," Kim begins explaining, "they are sending Pamela Hart, the red headed beauty of New York City."
My eyes go wide after hearing the name, and I almost trip over myself walking to the water cooler to quench my thirst.
"Pamela Hart," I mutter to myself. In my busy work with managing the magazine, I rarely pay attention to up-and-coming models. My focus is centered more on clients and trends. I never imagined Pamela would make it this far because when I met her, she was so young. Or at least, I think she was young. I never asked her how old she was and now I wonder if she remembers me. I'm so lost in thought that I don't hear her enter, the crew is fussing loudly over her entrance and I awake from my deep thought.
"She's even prettier in person," Kim nudges me while blushing, "Don't you think Mr. Ra-"
"Mr. Ramos," I hear a soft voice clearly in front of me. Her eyes are the same crystal blue I remember, her red hair is wavy and softly resting on her shoulders. Her large pouty lips shine as her smile gently spreads across her face. Her figure is more matured and very womanly. I can't help the blush forming on my cheeks. Pamela has grown into quite the beauty, and although she is very attractive, my heart feels nothing.
"It's been a long time, Mr. Ramos" Pamela says very sweetly, "How is Mrs. Ramos?" she cheekily asks. Kim looks confused for the first time since I met her and doesn't know what to say.
"Mr. Ramos, you're married?" Kim asks me as quietly as she can.
"Oh yes, he keeps it a secret as to not discourage his models to take great pictures," Pamela explains it in almost the same way Natalie would have. My heart drops. And I feel like I'm about to collapse.
"Don't worry, I'm not here to try and steal you away, although I'm really happy to be working with you again," Pamela continues, "I'll make sure these pictures come out great!" As Pamela turns towards the makeup artists, I grab a hold of my chest, a feeling I have not felt in a while now is taking hold of my heart.
Grief.
I begin to walk back towards the restroom. Maybe flushing my face with cold water will calm me down.
"Mr. Ramos, you never mentioned a wife before, is what Miss Hart said true?" Kim asks just as I'm making my way to the restroom.
"I don't want to talk about it," I answer without looking in her direction. I leave her in a dumbfounded silence, knowing I will need to apologize to her after I've calmed down. I leave the crew and Pamela to take the pictures and take my time in the restroom. I haven't thought about Natalie in a while.
I didn't mean to forget, and I never wanted to, but two years ago, after I finally caved in to my grief, I went to therapy to help me heal from losing her. Taking small steps to heal and move on, because I promised her, I would carry on, just as she promised me. It was a trying time, and although I managed to grow my magazine and establish a new life, I never left the apartment. I refused to let anyone stay there. It was all I had left of our life together; however short it may have been.
I returned to the apartment after a year of not living there, cleaned everything up, and kept a memory box of all her possessions. If it wasn't for me going to therapy, I might have never gotten the courage to do any of it. It was difficult, but I managed to move on, and since then, I've become stronger.
I dry my face with paper towels and head back to the photoshoot. Pamela doesn't need to know about any of it, and I don't have to tell anyone. I'm simply not ready to share it, at least, not yet.