The dark ink bled onto his hands, as the newspaper put up its final defenses in a last chance to withstand the pouring rain. Deiderich strolled quietly along the street giving away his presence with only the occasional rasping cough. The years shown on his face as he approached the beacon of lights that read “Jon’s Bierkeller”. As the lights gently painted his face, he extended his weak and tainted hand in an effort to grasp the handle. Startled by the strong fight of the door, far too heavy for its looks, he was caught with memories. As he entered the bar he was swallowed as warm lights and sounds surrounded him. Removing his coat and discarding his brave newspaper he took in his surroundings, the smells of cigars, the sounds of soft laughter and loving whispers, and the sights of the young couples dancing to the sweets sounds of long forgotten music.

Ladies were lifted and spun, their blue and white dresses flooding the wooden dance floor in a sea of silk and satin. He watched as the men led the ladies as they would delicate flowers, conforming to the demands of the music. Deiderich slowly became aware of himself, a large oak tree among the saplings; his roots ran deep into the foundation, feeling every movement. There was a time when his roots barely penetrated the surface; a long ago time when his feet met the floor with the eagerness to dance as he gracefully led his love along the path paved by the sweet music. As he stood by the door, trying to gather himself from his thoughts, the light hid in the harsh cracks his memories had left on his face. His mind came back to him, willing his feet to carry him to his weathered seat at the bar.
Sliding gracefully across the room he found himself exactly where he needed to be, facing a very familiar face, Jon. Jon studied Deiderich’s face, his age was beginning to show. At last, Jon lead his eyes to the deep blue eyes on his customer’s face, overwhelmed by the stories they held he understood; with a raise of his eyebrow, he turned on his heels to begin fixing the drink. The shake that had grown with age vanished as instinct and experience drenched Jon. His eyes twinkled with knowledge as he used all of the required instruments with thoughtful grace. His act came to a close as the ice plunked into the glass. He took his bow and slid the drink across the counter before cleaning up a mess never made. The auburn liquid, cradled in its short crystal glass, reached its desired recipient. Deiderich took his artfully crafted drink, replacing its empty space on the bar with a single shining coin.
“Danke.”

The glass then began its ascent toward lips that held stories just as deep as the eyes it accompanied. The glass had barely been introduced to its long awaited mate when the trombone player took to the stage. The musician walked with such certainty, resting his golden instrument upon its stand. The instrument began to show its mystery as it changed from gold to shimmering exotic greens and purples, glorious blues and reds. The musician did not wait to watch his instrument strip itself out of its golden shell, not even a curious pause was paid as he slunk off the stage once again for his last minute preparations. Deiderich’s mind was lost, tangled in the colors of the glorious entertainer’s tool, trying to read into the new personality shining upon the stage.

The musician took his rightful place on the stage, his body already feeling the music he had yet to share with the patrons; he picked up the instrument Deiderich had been so desperately trying to understand. Deiderich continued to watch as the instrument was cradled in the musician’s arms before lifting the instrument to his lips. The coolness of the mouthpiece sent familiar chills up his spine as he led the music around bends and turns, leading it hopefully churning to the bell of his intricate device. F, G, A, C… The notes danced through the smoke laden air, the music making its way through the fog to Deiderich. Every music phrase prompted Deiderich to bring the crystal chalice to his lips; closing his eyes in response to the amber’s familiar burn, he lost himself in the song.

He was back.
November 1943. Berlin, Germany. Jon’s Bierkeller.
The most remarkable sight was before him. She stood as a rose amongst the other wallflowers; her emerald eyes twinkled with fascination as she watched the feet of all the couples dancing, lost in the stories of love each step relayed. He was captivated. He could not take his eyes off of her, nor did he want to. He was drawn to her and like a moth falls victim to an unsuspecting flame, she had caught him. He mustered all of his strength to keep his once cold feet from racing to her side; he was surer now than he had ever been. With his mind lost in thought, his heart took advantage of the break in enemy lines, willing his feet to carry him across the room until his gaze locked into those beautiful emeralds filled with the hope the war had robbed from him. He paused. There she stood before him. He tried to take in all of her, every inch. Her hair; no strands out of place, it flowed, like a golden sea of wheat in the fields of an American valley. Her eyes; seas of green, her eyes held all of the memories they had shared. Her dress; hugging all of her curves, the red dress made her stand out just as he thought it would when he bought it. She tried to hide her eagerness by adjusting the buttons that punctuated his uniform, knowing only seconds separated her from writing her own love story on the dance floor. Tonight. He was sure. He broke from his gaze; taken aback by her innocent smile, his instincts began to take over for his captivated mind his hand thrust itself forward.
A gesture invented with time asked a silent question that never waited for its answer, a silent answer given without even a whisper. He started to write the story of her dreams as he whisked her out into the sea of dancers she had been admiring just moments before. She had given him all of the words without even knowing it. The words from her letters, from the nights before he left, they filled his heart, whispering soft instruction as he guided her across the dance floor. Tonight. He was sure. They danced in a world of their own with only the music to keep them tied to reality. They danced as the other dancers, once captivating muses of their own were captivated by a story of love that is only written of, introduced with the words once upon a time, never seen until tonight. The music slowed to its final harmony, pulling them from their trance, breathless; their last wisps of were air lost in innocent laughter, as their audience applauded.
The music stopped. The audience applauded. Deiderich was back. He looked around, his stiff neck confirming what he already knew, once again he found himself tattered with age. He caught sight of the seat he had sat in every year on this day. The stiff pain he had become familiar with clung to him as he slowly crossed the room. There it was; a white chair, cushioned, sat waiting for him. He slunk into his throne. The chair reminded him of his own situation, as it sat alone, the white covering slowly cracking to give way to the age beneath. He settled into his chair, as a new pain came over him. Every day brought new pains to his aging body, but he knew he could handle whatever he was given, at least that is what she always told him. The musician released the remaining spit from his instrument and with a deep breath once again he filled the room with his song. F, G, A, C… Every music phrase prompted Deiderich to bring the crystal chalice to his lips; closing his eyes in response to the amber’s familiar burn, he lost himself in the song.

He was back.
November 1943. Berlin, Germany. Zelrin Allee.
The streets never seemed to lose their sheen in the night when she was there. Her smile had not faltered since their illustrious story telling at the bar. She turned to him. Her letters had often told of her longing and misery with his departure, her heart breaking with every mission he took on the front lines. All of that was gone now, as her smile refused to surrender to the cold that made its mark on her nose and cheeks. He leaned down to kiss her cheek. She did not miss a beat, turning to meet his gaze, her smile growing. He had never thought she could be more beautiful than their wedding night, he was wrong. They talked about everything and seemed to mention nothing.
He had waited for this moment for two years. Long ago he had proposed in a panic, knowing he wanted her to be his before the war took him away. He had never been able to give the ring of her dreams, until now. She had always said having him was enough but he knew. He fumbled with the ring in his pocket; overcome by the ever so familiar feelings that had plagued the young boy he was the first time. She smiled at him, humming the soft tune from their wedding, F, G, A, C… The notes sound much more beautiful from her lips than the any musician could have ever played them. He stopped mid stride, turning to look into her emerald eyes once more; he did not want the moment to end. He could see their home in the distance; it was now or never. He leaned forward, kissing her lips as he had years before, trying to transfer all of the love he could straight into her heart. He took a deep breath, riding on the hope he could see in her eyes he mustered the strength to begin.
“Liebling, Ich…”
Sirens rang out and for the first time all evening her smile vanished. He grabbed her and tried to lead her to the bomb shelter in front of their home but she broke free.
“Das Foto!”
The music stopped. The audience applauded. Deiderich was back. He felt the warm tears had left their mark on his face. The pain was putting up a stronger fight now, as he began to struggle to bring his glass to his lips. He looked up to the musician on the stage. He was turned to his band, mumbling quick instructions before turning back to center stage. Deiderich wiped his eyes and settled back into his seat, preparing for the last song of the evening. He slipped his hand into his pocket and the familiar circle that had always been there greeted his hand. The musician took a deep breath and began again F, G, A, C… Every music phrase prompted Deiderich to bring the crystal chalice to his lips; closing his eyes in response to the amber’s familiar burn, he lost himself in the song.

He was back.
November 1943. Berlin, Germany. 913 Freiden Allee.
Before he could process what was before him, she had run into their home. He ran as fast as he could after her, but she seemed to be getting farther away. It was impossible. Time froze. He blinked over and over again, hoping his eyes were deceiving him. No. He forced himself to see. The two story home she had picked out was reduced to a rubble of its former glory. His heart tried to fight the scene before him, forcing his eyes to see the moment they had first arrived. He carried her through the grand entrance of their first home. The smile she had on that day was frighteningly similar to the very smile she shared tonight. He broke from his mirage as tears uncontrollably flowed from his eyes. Snapping himself back into action he called out to her, and without waiting for an answer he ran. He remembered what she had said; he knew exactly where she went. He ran to the rubble that was once their fireplace falling to his knees, his emotions forced him to dig frantically. Finally, he revealed what he feared most. He fell back as all of the vigor left is body.
He could not believe his eyes. The life seemed to leave his body as he blankly stared at the hand in front of him. Covered in the rubble of a fireplace that once brought him warmth, the scene froze his heart. In her hand she held the very picture he knew she wanted. He picked it up gently from her hand, and turning it over in his hand his heart once again tried to shield him from the pain he was facing. She had stepped out of the picture, her white dress hugging her body all the way to the floor. It was her mother’s. She had been so worried it was not going to look good on her; she was never more wrong about anything. The red roses in her bouquet fit her perfectly. She looked at him with hopeful eyes as she waited for his response and with shaking knees he gave her what she wanted. She did not waste a single second as she leapt into his arms. That was what he always loved about her. His heart had failed once more and he found himself staring at the captured memory in his hand. He was lost. Sirens broke him from his trance, as the ambulance rushed towards him; hands shook him and moved him from the biggest heartbreak of his life.
The music stopped. There was a panic in the bar. Jon was by Deiderich’s side trying to wake the man who had fallen from his throne of white. The musician had left his pedestal to hold the man’s head. Jon knew from the moment he grasped Deiderich’s hand the man had moved on; he reassured himself when he looked at Deiderich’s face and all of the trials and pain had been replaced with peace. Deiderich was slowly wheeled out of the bar as Jon cleaned up the broken chalice that covered the floor, mopping up the amber liquid that had brought his dear friend so much peace. He went back to the bar and poured his own drink. After a few sips he could not stop the thoughts of his friend from wondering to him. Deiderich had made it.
He was here.
There was no time. There was no place.
He could not believe his eyes. He could not believe his body. There she was. Smiling brighter than he had ever seen. He did not even pause to contemplate where he was, or why she was there; he ran. He did not even take the time to acknowledge the absence of the pain he had become so accustomed to; this time he would catch her. He whisked her through the air. Her laugh rang out; oh how he missed that laugh. He gave her a kiss filled with the love he had been holding for nearly seven decades; finally he simply held her in his arms. He vowed to never again let her go. It was after he was sure she would never slip away that he finally took a look at his surroundings; the house was restored to all it was before. He looked down at himself as he held her. Her red dress had always been the best compliment he could find for his grungy old green uniform.
He jumped to action. She slowly turned to watch as he frantically felt through his pockets. He was not going to miss his opportunity again. His fingers found the circle that had brought him so much comfort for the past seventy years. In one fluid moment he ripped the ring from his pocket and fell to his knee.
“Rose…”
“Ja.” She did not even have to wait for the question. She grabbed the ring from him, slid it on her finger, and once again found herself at home in his arms. He would have never wished it any other way. That was the way his Rose always was; soft, gentle, and the definition of love.