When I first pulled it from the mailbox, I smiled.

Marriage

That was Larry.

The man couldn’t accept a cup of  coffee without thanking me three times.

I assumed he’d written some final goodbye because he knew I’d spend the next several months wondering whether I’d done enough for him.

Magazines

Then I read the second sentence.

“Nobody was going to bury me as a John Doe.”

I stopped.

The kitchen suddenly felt too quiet.

Dictionaries & Encyclopedias

“No.”

I sat down.

For several seconds, I stared at those words.

Because that was the reason I’d  married him.

Funeral & Bereavement

Or at least, that was the reason he’d given me.

Less than a month earlier, Larry had been sitting outside my subway station holding a piece of cardboard across his knees.

MARRY ME. I HAVE ONE MONTH LEFT TO LIVE.

I’d known Larry for almost two years by then.

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Every weekday morning, I bought two  coffees from the kiosk beside the station.

Mine with cream.

His black.

Health

I don’t remember exactly when it became our routine.

At first, I’d simply noticed him sitting near the entrance.The next morning, he was there again.

Coffee

Eventually, two coffees became automatic.

Larry never begged me for money.

Sometimes we’d talk about the weather.

Sometimes politics.

Once, he stared at my shoes for several seconds and said:

“Those were clearly designed by somebody who hates feet.”

I laughed all the way to work.

Dictionaries & Encyclopedias

Most mornings, I stayed five minutes.

Then I disappeared into the subway while Larry remained behind.

That Tuesday was different.

He looked terrible.

His skin had a yellowish color.

Coffee

His hands shook as he took the coffee.

Then I noticed the sign.

MARRY ME. I HAVE ONE MONTH LEFT TO LIVE.

“What is this?”

Larr