Learning To Lose at Scrabble / Sal Moriarty

“If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story.” Orson Welles

“My love, she's like some raven, at my window with a broken wing.” Love Minus Zero/No Limit (Bob Dylan)

My wife's mother had an incurable neurological disorder called Huntington's Disease. It killed her. If you mention it to those who know what it is, many will audibly gasp. It causes the mind and body to deteriorate irrevocably. In full bloom, it wreaks havoc on the mental health and finances of everyone close to it. It is hideous.

My girl was twenty-five years old when she found out she had a 50/50 chance of inheriting Huntington's Disease.

Twenty-five years old.

She decided not to be tested unless/until she exhibited symptoms. I agreed. If you test positive, with no symptoms, you go home and carry on with your life, knowing with certainty what awaits. No hope. Who needs that?

So, what we did, for about sixteen years, was write and paint and take photographs and make silly movies. We played guitars and wrote funny songs. We traveled (Hollywood, San Francisco, the Rocky Mountains, Monument Valley and, our favorite, Marfa, Texas – among many places). We ate seventy-five-dollar steaks and buck and a quarter tacos. We smoked and, yes, we drank. We were young and lived like we were young.

Regularly, we'd sneak off for long weekends and roam the halls of the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston. We went to the Rothko Chapel countless times. There were Astros games and trips to Austin to see the mighty Longhorns play football.

In 2014, I was offered a job in southeast Louisiana. Another adventure. The French Quarter half an hour away. Red beans and rice! Crawfish boils! Jazz!

We made friends on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain that are some of the bests of our lives. We were there nine years. It's difficult to think of that place and time now without fighting back tears.

Over the years, we played lots of Scrabble. Rob Zombie movies on television. We'd set the board up on a chair in front of the sofa, make cocktails and go. I usually lost. It was glorious.

My girl is ten times smarter than me and even more talented. Beautiful? Well, yeah. So how on earth did she wind up with me? They call what I'm doing, punching above your weight.

The best compliment I ever received? At a Christmas party, a woman I'd worked with for years, looking at us from across the table, said to the person beside her, “I wish I could find a man who loves me the way he loves her.”

Words like that can make your life.

Then, over time, my girl's speech started to slur. At night, in bed, she would repetitively tap one foot. Slightly, at first, then more pronounced as time passed. She developed problems with balance and memory. Sometimes she struggled with what was real and what was not. It was time to receive the diagnosis.

The neurologist and staff in New Orleans were taken aback by our calm demeanor when the official word came. We'd been preparing for it since the beginning of our lives together. After we left, we had oysters at Felix's on Iberville Street.

We still play Scrabble, but she struggles to spell words now. I fudge the results on occasion. I have to be careful not to be too obvious. She's still ten times smarter than me.

I can count on one hand the significant arguments my girl and I have had over the years. We knew what was headed our way. Her way. Only an idiot would call that a blessing, but the message was undeniable. Best get busy living, so we did.

Now, I live in a surrealistic netherworld. The inside of my head is not unlike a Twilight Zone episode, the proverbial nightmare you cannot wake from. Nothing can bring me joy now. Relief will only come when I die. But, for all that, I wouldn't trade places with any man on the planet.

So, why am I telling you this?

It's quite simple, really. There's no moral to our story. A moral implies a lesson about right and wrong. The lesson of our story concerns logic, and it carries with it a warning.

This is your life. It is not a dress rehearsal, no matter what anyone may tell you. And time grows short.