See You In Montevideo – Quick & Tested

He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. He handed it to her. She unfolded it and saw the words: Prognosis: Advanced. Six months, perhaps less. Recommend palliative care.

She looked at Mateo. At his grey beard, his tired eyes, his hands folded in his lap. At the bench on the rambla, the sun sinking into the river, the city of Montevideo glowing around them. See You in Montevideo

So this is me, finally showing up. Late. Too late, probably. But I’ll be here. At the bench on the rambla, the one just past the old pier, every evening until the end of the month. I’ll be the old man with the grey beard and the bad leg, staring at the water like he’s waiting for a ghost. He reached into his coat and pulled out

I know I have no right to write to you. I’ve told myself that a thousand times over the years, and each time I put the pen down, I thought that would be the end of it. But I’m old now, and a man nearing the end has fewer reasons to be proud. Or maybe he just runs out of time to be a coward. Six months, perhaps less

He closed his eyes. “I can imagine.”

She looked up at him. His face was calm, almost peaceful, in a way that made her heart break all over again.