Authors: Bryan Healey
Warming me, me warming her...
"And when you're gone, it'll be just me and Brian- and now Julie-
and we'll just have to manage. I'll find a way to go on; I know
that's what you'd want me to do. But I'll never love someone else. I
hope you know, wherever you are, that you're the only man I'll ever
love, that will ever be in my heart. You're my everything. You're
taking my heart with you when you go, wherever you're going."
It's cruel that I cannot cry...
"I love you, Max..."
I love you, too, Jenny...
"...I love you so very much."
And then more ruffling, and the echo of shoes against tile, loud at
first and then muffling with time, slowly dimming and disappearing.
She is leaving the room!
No, Jenny! Come back!
I need her beside me, talking to me, telling me that everything is
going to be okay, that she'll be okay, that I'll be okay; I didn't
need to believe it...
It didn't need to make sense...
It didn't need to be truthful...
But I need to hear it! I need to lie to myself, I need to believe
that everything is going to be okay, that they'll be okay without me,
they won't be sad, they'll carry on and live their lives; I need to
know that my death won't hurt and that I'll just fade away.
I even want to believe I will see her again...
I can't imagine never hearing her voice again.
I can't imagine no longer being.
Jenny, please!
Come back!
Please...
Come back...
But she is gone.
Only silence...
Will this be what death is? Only silence, total silence... Nothing,
darkness, the void; pure emptiness. Or will it be even greater; truly
nothing, a complete lack of existence. What would it be like to not
exist? Of course it would be like nothing, I won't be able to
perceive it, to understand it. My mind will be going, disintegrating
in the ground, slowly turning into goo for the earth, food for
plants.
Trapped in a box...
Odd to consider a lack of thought, a lack of being, a lack of
existence. Having only ever perceived existence, I have no comparison
with which to think of, to compare my future to. But the future is
coming...
...looming large, like the brilliant orange glow before the cresting
of the morning sun...
...I'm so afraid...
"Max, can you hear me?"
Suddenly, my eyes are open, the pain furious and burning, deep in my
abdomen. I heave forward, my eyes locked on the sight of Jenny,
leaning against a glass door at the far corner of the room.
"What is wrong with me?"
"You're detoxing, Mr. Aaron."
"What?"
I can't comprehend; I only feel pain.
"You had an almost lethal amount of pain killers in your system.
We pumped your stomach, and you've been unconscious for two days. But
you're going into withdrawal, and you'll be feeling sick for a few
days more, I'm sure."
"It hurts! Oh Jesus, it hurts!"
"Are you going to vomit?"
"Yes," and I lurch to the side and heave.
Nothing comes...
"Nurse," was all the man says, and a woman, tall and attractive,
comes to me with a pink, kidney shaped bowl and place the object in
front of where my mouth now is. I heave once again, feeling the burn
in my stomach violently rise into my throat.
And I vomit, forcefully, back arching...
"Ugh," is all I manage as I lay back in the bed, the pain still
there, still furious, my stomach churning and bubbling. My head is
throbbing and my throat is dry and hoarse.
"Max, this is good!"
"No," I grumble.
"You need to get everything out of your system, Max, if you want
to be able to heal."
"No," I repeat.
"Max-"
"Please, give them," I squeak, never mentioning them by their
name or saying the words, but everyone knowing just the same what I
mean.
"You don't need them, sweetie."
That is Jenny, the first words she speaks.
She sounded almost... happy...
Why is she happy?
"You came back," I manage.
She looks perplexed.
"Came back? Came back from where?"
"You left me."
She looks at my father, who I finally notice beside her, leaning
against the wall perpendicular to the door that Jenny is against.
They share an awkward glance, both clearly confused.
"I never went anywhere, sweetie."
"Last month, I watched you leave." I wasn't sure of the
time-frame, but I feel it was a reasonable guess given what I can
remember.
"Last month?"
She walks up to me, puts her hands on my legs, which oddly feel
painful under her fingers. Why do my legs hurt? Why does everything
hurt?
"Yes, last month."
"Sweetheart, I didn't go anywhere last month."
"I
watched you leave!
"
I was suddenly angry, furious, and I didn't know why. She was
questioning, not just the time that I was saying, but that I saw it
at all. She was questioning my sanity, and I was not insane.
"Sweetie-"
"No! Stop it!"
And I pull forward, and find myself unmoved. I look left, right; my
hands are restrained by thick, brown cuffs that are chained to the
edges of the bed.
Why am I being restrained?
"Let go of me!"
"Max, please-"
"No! Let go!
Let go!
"
"Okay, everyone out! Right now!"
That was what I presume to be the doctor. Jenny gave him a long,
somber look, glanced at my father, and then slowly turned, opened the
door and left into the hallway and out of sight.
"Bring her back in here!"
"Max, calm down!"
"No! Bring my wife back in here!"
"No!"
And I stop struggling, silenced, shocked at the fury in his words.
He wasn't trying to be reserved, he was being forceful, letting me
know he was serious and not willing to bend at my insistence. Looking
left and right once again, I have a brief moment of clarity,
recognizing that I am going no where without this man's support, and
gently lay back down.
"Why?" I manage, suddenly starting to cry.
My stomach is raging...
I'm going to vomit again...
"Because you-"
And I heave, once, twice, then vomit all over my hospital garment.
The nurse rushes forward with a fresh kidney shaped dish, but it is
much too late.
"Oh, Max," the doctor whispers.
"I'm sorry," I squeak. "I hurt."
"I know, Max."
"Can you give me something?"
"No, Max."
"Please! I hurt so much!"
"Max, I want you to listen to me," he says, coming nearer my
face as the nurse begins to mop up the filth strewn across my body
with a thick cloth.
"I'm listening."
"I can't give you anything because we need to get your system
completely clean of drugs. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
I sigh, heave once more, but then settle back to the bed. "I
understand," I mutter, desperate for him to change his mind, to
knock me out, to take away the pain. I feel like hell...
Or how I imagined hell to be...
"Try to sleep. It will help pass the time."
And he leaves the room.
It is now only the nurse and I, who is still cleaning me. I am
embarrassed, in agony, and furious. I need to escape, to feel nothing
once again. I need to get out of this hospital.
But I can't.
And so I cry, suddenly and bitterly...
The nurse never looks up.
"Hello, Max," says Sarah.
Is it the same night? Have I missed a day?
Where is Jenny?
"I saw that your wife was here late tonight."
Is she gone now?
"She's beautiful."
Yes, she is... was... is...
"You two must have been very happy."
We were... often enough, anyway...
"I'm sure you had your problems, of course, everyone does, but she
seems to really love you."
Were you watching her talk to me?
"I wish I could have found someone for me."
You will, Sarah...
"I guess it's still
possible
, maybe, but I doubt it. I
don't have anything anyone would want, and I'm too shy to talk to
anyone, anyway."
Don't think like that, Sarah, you're a great girl and any man would
be lucky to have you!
"I saw your son, too," and the ruffling of sheets once again, as
always. I imagine she is changing them, or perhaps rearranging them
to be more neat and tidy.
Is Brian still here?
"He's a very handsome man, very polite. You should be very proud
of him."
I am very proud of him...
Very proud...
"He looks just like you, too. Much younger, of course, but the
same basic... look..."
I hope he is more handsome than me...
"You have a wonderful family, Max."
Thank you, Sarah. I will miss them...
"I envy you. I wish I had a family that would come see me if I was
sick, stay with me, even wait and be with me to watch me die.
"When Michael is gone, I'll have no one."
Oh, Sarah...
"When I die, no one will be around to wait with me and sit with me
and help me go in peace. I'll die alone, all by myself..."
Sarah, don't think like this! Don't focus on your death, that will
be one day in your life! Focus on what you have now, on Michael, on
your work and your friends, on living while you have time to live!
"I don't want to go out like that, all alone, strapped to a
hospital bed, waiting to die."
And you won't!
"I want to decide when I go, you know?"
Decide?
"I think that is the best way to die. On your own schedule, when
you choose."
No! I don't know that!
"I don't want to be old and miserable."
You won't be!
"And who knows, maybe I'll get mercy. Maybe I'll see you! I've
always wondered what it would be like to meet you. I've watched you
lay here for years."
I'd like to meet you, too!
But here, alive!
"I'll always think of you, Max... For however long I can, I'll
always think of you..."
Please, Sarah, enough of this!
"And I'll be here as long as you are..."
Sarah, please...
"I hope I'm something of a comfort to you."
You are! You most certainly are!
You give my nights sound, give my silence a break, a voice to the
void! I could not have kept my sanity, kept my mind, kept my peace,
without your songs of conversation!
You're my angel by night!
"You've certainly been a comfort to me..."
I'm glad...
"...as odd as that may sound." And she giggles ever so lightly,
and the ruffling of sheets ceases.
I don't find it odd...
...although, I
am
a vegetable...
I would laugh with her, if I could...
"I'll see you tomorrow, Max. Sleep well."
I will rest, at the very least... Sleep is something else entirely,
but rest for sure...
I always rest...
And then further silence...
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been many months
since my last confession."
"Tell me, child, what troubles you?"
I am in a church, somewhere downtown, having left work early and
having no reason to return home. Jenny is at some school function
with Brian, and I can't get in after it starts.
And I can't be home alone...
"I'm lonely, Father."
"Lonely?"
"Yes, Father, even at home."
"Are you unmarried?"
"No, I am. And a father."
"Then why do you feel lonely?"
"She can't understand me."
"Have you tried helping her understand?"
"No," I answer honestly.
"Why not?"
"Because she could never understand."
"What could she never understand?"
"How I feel, what I feel..."
The priest takes a breath, slowly exhaling. He seems frustrated with
me; or perhaps trying to figure me out... it was difficult to tell...
"Son," he began, slowly, carefully, "you can tell me in
confidence anything you wish. So tell me, what do you feel? What can
she never understand?"
I rub my chin, momentarily considering leaving the confessional and
disappearing; but I came here to talk, and so that's what I will
do...
"That I want the drugs."
"Drugs?"
"Yes, drugs."
"Why would you want drugs, my son?"
"I want to not feel, Father. I want to stop seeing the blood and
the sand and the face of the men who killed my friends. I'm just so
tired," and I begin to cry, gently, but noticeably, "tired of
everything, of feeling again, of the nightmares. I'm tired of
everything... everything..." I cough, rub my nose.
"I'm tired of living." I conclude.
"Of living?"
"Yes," I confess. "The only reason I'm here now is for my son,
for my wife. I couldn't hurt them like that. I couldn't leave them
like that," and I take a deep, slow breath, keeping my chest in
control.
"You must let go, my son."
"Let go?"
"Of the demons that haunt you. Of the pain in your soul, you must
surrender it to God and allow him to care for you. You can't do it
alone."
"I don't believe in God," I further confess.
"You don't?" He seems genuinely shocked.
"No, I don't. I don't know that I ever have."
"Then why, my son, do you come to His house and seek counsel with
His disciple? Why are you talking with with me, looking for the will
of the Lord?"
"I'm not looking for the will of the Lord."
"Then what do you seek?"
"I seek-" and I burst forth a momentary sob, my chest heaving
and my eyes leaking; I rub my cheeks vigorously and wipe my eyes,
circular, pressing until I can see spots flecked against the back of
my lids.
"Go on, my child..."
"I seek, I guess, compassion."
"Compassion?"