March 26, 2003 "It's my birthday today." "Your birthday?" "...Yes." He's got this big W carved on his back, says it's from the war. Spells his first initial. "William's birthday." "Yes." "How old are you, William? Twenty seven? Twenty eight?" He laughs, this man that I have always loved. "No, no. It's my eighty-third. Eighty three birthdays. I've had eighty three of them, and they're all mine." "Wow! You look pretty good for eighty three. Could have surprised me any day." "Well, I'm eighty three today," he smiles. His brain's shot. Doc said he wouldn't last. Doc always says they won't last. But William is eighty three today. He was a good one. "Hey, Trudy? What are we gonna do today? How're we gonna celebrate my eighty threes?" "Well, we're going to do lots of things, William." "Like what? What are we gonna do, Trudy?" His face glows. "Well, first we're going to go dancing." "Dancing." "Right down at that place we used to always go to. Swing dance, you know, with that red dress that I keep in the closet. The one that always flies out when I spin." He quiets. William and I were the best dancers in town. Won all the competitions. We were wild. "That place. I love that dress, Trudy." "And then we're going to go to Emma's down the street and order the same thing we always get on your birthday." "Pork and green beans." There are some things he'll never forget. The important things. "Yes, William. Pork and green beans. All juicy and fresh. You'll love it." "Fresh." "And then after that, we're going to come home and get busy." William always laughs there, he rocks back and forth and wheezes out a chuckle, lips stretched and smiling. He knows that we’ll never have that birthday dinner. He couldn’t force it down for the life of him. But we could use a little joke to remind us of the good old days. "Baby baby. All for my eighty three?" "Of course. It's a big occasion. Eighty three years isn't just nothing, you know." "I know, I know." His smile is like summer. "Eighty three years and you just keep going." "Going, going. I'm the, that bunny. I'm going, going, going, going, going." "Yes, you are." He's satisfied with that and leans against me to rest his head. "Eighty three years," he mumbles. "Yes, Wiliam. You're eighty three years old today."