Authors: Bryan Healey

The Void (12 page)

Six years?

Such a great time wasted...

"That's a long time."

Certainly is...

"But I don't
really
know you. I wonder what you were like,
what kind of man you were."

I hope I was a good man, mostly.

"I do know that you were in the war."

That I was.

"I wonder what that was like."

You do?

It was war! How do you think it was?

"If only I was able to really talk with you."

What would we talk about?

"I told Michael about you. He laughed. He said it sounds just like
me to fall in love with a man who is brain dead. And married. He
asked to see you."

Fall in love?

"I wish I could bring him in here, but I don't think they would
let him in."

Did you say you were in
love
with me?

"And if I snuck him in, I'm sure I'd get fired."

How can you be in love with me?

"Although that might not be so bad."

You don't even know me, Sarah!

"I'm so sick of this job. You're the only reason I come back these
days. Working at night sucks, and I don't really like working around
sick people."

She laughs.

"Listen to me," she mumbles.

You really need to find someone, someone who is unmarried and is
able to talk and walk and take you out to dinner and treat you
well...

"Maybe it'll help me to get away."

I think it would.

"But what am I going to do? A nursing degree is really only useful
to a nurse. And what good is a nurse that doesn't like being around
sick people?"

Did you always want to be a nurse?

"I should have changed my major. I wanted to. I was going to study
journalism. I wanted to travel, see the world, report on injustice
and violence and try to bring it to an end, to help people. I even
talked to an advisor about switching majors, but he told me not to."

Why would he do that?

"He said there was no money in journalism and that I should stick
to nursing. He said there was always a demand for nurses and that I'd
always have work."

Your
counselor
said that?

"And I guess he was right. What good is taking on all that college
debt if you can't make good money."

That's absurd!

Life should
not
be all about how to get the most money! What
a waste that would be! What good is money if you're not happy? I
understand a need to make a living, to be able to afford food,
shelter, a little fun, but all of it is meaningless without giving
your life the peace you need.

Happiness should be priority number one...

"I guess I could go back to school."

That's a great idea!

"We'll see what happens."

No, don't see what happens! Make it happen!

"I'll see you tomorrow, Max," and I hear her footsteps dim and
disappear...

"Good to see you, Max," says a woman whose name I know only by
writing strewn across her door: Dr. Lisa Trevor. "How are you?"

"Okay," I mutter, closing the door behind me as I walk into the
room, searching for a suitable place to sit down. "How are you?"

"I'm very well, thank you for asking!"

"Where should I sit?" I finally ask.

"Right there is fine," and she motions at a blue chair across
from her desk. It is big and cushioned and looks extremely
comfortable for office furniture.

I sit.

"So, tell me a little about why you're here?"

"I don't know," I whisper.

She looks confused.

"You don't know?"

"No." I truly don't...

"Then what brings you to my office?"

She is tapping a pen on her cheek.

"I guess I just wanted to talk."

"What would you like to talk about?"

"I don't know," and suddenly I feel quite silly.

I should know...

"Then let's start by talking a little about your home life. Are
you married?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Fourteen years, this winter."

"That's a long time."

"Not long enough," with a quick smile, then no more, my eyes on
the floor. She makes me nervous.

"Are you happy?"

"Are we happy?" I echo her.

"Yes, are you happy, with her, with each other?"

"Yes, very. She's a perfect wife."

The tapping stops. "Perfect?"

I nod, softly, continuously. "Perfect."

"Well, you must be a lucky man!"

"I certainly am," my eyes still on the ground.

"Do you have any children?"

More nodding. "A son. Brian."

"How old?"

"He's..." I pause, doing quick math. "Nine."

"That's a good-"

"No, wait..." My hand up, my head shaking out the cobwebs. "Ten.
He's ten."

She nods.

"He's ten," I repeat.

"How is he?"

"He's..." I smirk, shake my head. "He's a much smarter boy
than I ever was. So very smart."

"You seem very proud."

"I am. Very proud."

I'm still smiling.

"Okay," and she wipes a strand of hair behind her ears. "What
do you do for a living?"

"I'm... in between jobs now," I admit.

"Were you laid off?"

"Not exactly," I confess.

"What happened?"

"Well," I grumble, not wanting to admit the truth, to anyone,
much less a stranger. "I just..."

"It's okay, Max."

"What?" I finally catch my eyes to hers.

"Whatever it is, it's okay."

"How can you know that?"

"Because you can tell me anything."

"Can I? Are you sure of that?"

"I am." She sounds so very confident.

I sigh, rub my chin, run my fingers through my hair, cupping my
ears. "Well," I start, taking another deep breath. "I was
caught by my manager under the influence... on the job."

"Oh, I see," and she stops tapping and starts writing on
something laying across her desk, furiously. "What were you under
the influence of?"

"Pain killers."

"Why were you on pain killers?"

"Originally, for a broken leg."

"Why didn't you stop?"

I shrug. "It hurt."

"Your leg? Does it hurt now?"

"Sometimes," I lie.

"Are you still on pain killers?"

"No."

"How did you get clean?"

"I just... stopped..." And I shrug.

"Cold turkey?"

"Yep," and I nod, slowly, bobbing up and down.

"That's impressive!"

"I suppose."

"How did you do it?"

I cough, adjust in my seat. "I... had an incident. I ended up in
the emergency room, almost dead."

"What happened?"

"I just... took way too much, and then I couldn't remember how
much I'd taken, and took more. I passed out and woke up to my
father."

"Your father?"

"I don't know why he was there."

I'm now looking to the left, very left, avoiding her eyes as
fiercely and deliberately as possible.

"Why did you take so much?"

"To kill the pain."

She shakes her head. "The pain would be long gone by the time you
took enough to overdose. You were killing another pain, weren't you?"

I chortle. "You mean emotional pain?"

"Yes, I do."

I stop chuckling, sniffle, rub my cheeks. Eyes back to the floor, I
run my fingers through my hair again and rub the back of my head
vigorously. "I liked feeling numb, yes."

"What were you numbing?"

"I don't know."

"What is inside that hurts you, Max?"

"Nothing hurts me."

"Max," she sits forward, stands from her chair, walks around her
desk, rests her ass on the edge of her desk, hands folded in her lap.
She is staring directly at me, nostrils flared. "Tell me."

"The memories, I guess," and slap my knees.

"Memories of what?"

"Of the war." I blink, tap my cheeks. "Death."

"Of war? Are you a veteran?" Her hand comes to her chin, her
eyes questioning, curious.

"I am," I cough.

"What happened to you? What death?"

"I was in combat, a friend of mine died."

"What was his name?"

"Frank." I shook my head. "And Jason."

"What happened to them?"

"They
died
." A smack of my lips.

"How did they die, Max," and I see her atop of me, looking
anxious but caring, her hand now on my knees, which I notice had been
bouncing furiously.

"I..." I refuse to cry. "We were ambushed. An IED was attached
underneath a vehicle along the road our convoy was traveling on and
detonated one car ahead of ours. I don't remember much, and I don't
know at all how Frank died. We ended up in a building on the street,
waiting for help."

"Were you injured?"

I nod. "I don't remember how, but my chest was bleeding. I wasn't
shot, and I didn't have any shrapnel in the wound. I might have just
bumped into something sharp, who knows."

"What happened to you once you were inside the building?"

"I..." I sniffle, rub my chin. "It was just me and Jason. We
were just waiting for help."

"And then what happened? Did help come?"

"I don't really want to talk about this," and I adjust in my
seat, put my hands to my pockets. "It was war, people die. It
doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters, Max."

"No," I shout, my eyes aflame. "It doesn't."

"Okay," she nods, removing her hand from my knee. "Okay, Max,
if you don't want to talk about it, then we won't talk about it,
okay?"

"Okay," I agree, nodding.

"But I will say this..."

I keep my eyes locked to hers. "What?"

"...it
matters
."

I say nothing.

"His heart is showing signs of weakening."

My doctor, near the window...

"What does that mean?"

I feel horrendous, every inch aching, burning, searing. If ever I
were to wish to not be able to feel, this would be the only moment of
weakness in which I would take that wish...

"His pulse is weak, he has a fever and he's pale. I think we're
coming up to the end, Mrs. Aaron."

"No, don't tell me that... he... he..."

"Mom," Brian whispers, reassuringly.

There is a long, painful silence...

"When?" Jenny finally says.

"No more than a day or two, I'd say."

"That seems so... so fast," Jenny mumbles. "He looked healthy
just yesterday."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Aaron," says the doctor.

"Mom, let's go get some coffee."

Don't leave, Jenny...

Not now...

"Can you all leave?" She asks. "Please."

"Mom, I-"

"Brian, it's okay, just for a moment. Please..."

"Okay," says the doctor.

"Okay," Brian echoes. And footsteps, a closing door and then
silence, such silence.

Ever silent, only the agony...

"Max," she finally says, immediately at my ear.

Yes, my love?

"I don't know what to say, Max."

There isn't anything to say, is there?

"The doctor... he tells me that in a day, maybe two, I won't be
able to talk to you anymore. He says that you're coming to the end."

The end of life...

"All that means to me is, I don't know which of my visits will be
the last. I don't know which talk with you will be my last. This
could be the last time I ever say anything to you, the last time I
hold your hand..." a pause; is she holding my hand? "...and it's
warm. The last time I can see you breathing, feel your heart beating,
feel your skin, soft, smooth.

Goddamnit, Max, you'll be
leaving
me soon!"

I don't want to leave, Jenny!

"What the hell am I going to do?"

She is crying, sobbing...

"What the hell am I going to do?" She repeats.

Oh, Jenny, please don't cry...

"I don't want to watch you die, Max. I don't want to watch your
heart stop beating."

I don't want you to watch that, either!

"But... but..." She coughs, still sobbing, crying, desperate.
Anxious and furious. "...I just... can't leave you to die alone,
Max. I have to be here with you."

Oh, Jenny...

"I will be here, Max. Okay?"

Okay, my love...

"I don't think you can hear me, I don't think you're in there,
or... or..." A brief silence; she never finishes her sentence.
"But, I'll be here. I won't leave until the very end. I will never
leave you..."

I love you, Jenny...

My word, how I love you...

"Hey, sweetheart!"

Jenny is sitting on the couch, reading. A cute little white cup
filled with tea is clutched in her right hand, her left in between
the pages of her book.

She doesn't look up.

I sit in the deep red cushioned chair, falling into it with a grunt.
I place my arms on the inside of the arm rests and hang my head, my
eyes on the floor.

"You okay?" She asks.

I look up and see her looking at me, smiling.

I smile back. "I'm okay."

"You look sad."

"I'm okay, baby," I reassure.

She keeps at me, then takes a slow sip of tea before turning back to
her book. A few moments of pregnant silence, and, "how's your leg?"

"It's okay."

"No pain?"

"No pain," I reassure.

She is probing, looking for something...

"How was your session?"

"Good," I snort.