Eighty

The doctor says it is arthritis. In the dead of night, we go to the observatory to look at the sky as she pretends to play the violin. 

He sings, but she cries and pleads for him to stop. The day after, she dies in her sleep. Tears, mourning, no more tears, no more mourning. In the dead of night, he takes me to the observatory and shows Elaine’s violin to the sky.

In the dead of night, the sky.