The Void (14 page)

Brian snickers. "My parents met at a club?"

Jenny cackles. "Yes, we did."

"And you wouldn't even let me stay out past eleven until I was
seventeen!"

"Brian, we were adults, we were both in college when we met. It's
not the same."

"I'm just sayin'..." And another snicker.

"Anyway," she resumes, "at one, I head outside to meet him.
And I stand there, looking and feeling like an idiot, for about
twenty minutes. I thought about just leaving and heading home about
ten times, but each time I decided to wait just a little longer.

"Finally, your father comes out the front door, smiles at me, and
says 'let's go.' He grabs my arm, turns me to the left, and walks me
to an all-night coffee shop down the street. And we drank coffee and
talked and laughed all night long.

We even watched the sunrise together."

We watched the sunset the next night as well...

Please don't tell Brian that, though...

"It was... perfect..." She mumbles.

"Sounds like it was fun," Mary interrupts.

Mary is here?

I knew I heard too many footsteps.

How many people are in here right now?

"It was fun. It was... Well..." She's closer to me now, I can
hear her beside my ear. "...I knew I was going to marry him after
that night."

"Did you know he was going into the military when you met him?"
Brian asks.

No, she didn't...

I should have-

"Yes," she answers angrily.

Yes? Did you say yes?

"Did you ever worry about that?"

I didn't enlist until after I finished my bachelor's degree, how
could you have known? I never talked about it, I didn't want to worry
anyone until I knew what I was doing for graduate school, until I
knew whether I'd need the money...

"Of course I worried. But he was your father, he always knew what
he was doing, even when he didn't have a clue what he was doing,"
and another laugh.

I never knew what I was doing...

"I'm going to miss him so much," and suddenly she is sobbing,
violently, and rushing out of the room. I hear footsteps chase after
her, and in a moment the room is in absolute silence.

"You look good," my father says, handing me another mug full of
coffee, the two of us seated on deck chairs atop his newly redone
red-brick patio. A small, electric fountain is situated in the garden
before us; the sound of the water crashing into the small basin is
hypnotic and consistent.

"Thanks, dad," I grumble.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better," I admit. "Not perfect, but better."

"You're clean?"

"Completely," I retort forcefully.

"Good."

And then a long, slow silence.

I take a sip of my coffee, my eyes locked on the fountain. He takes
a sip of his, his eyes the same.

More silence.

I can hear Jenny and mom banging away in the kitchen, the window
over the sink just behind and above our heads. Dad turns quickly
toward the window, certainly wondering just what the hell they were
doing in there, before turning back to the fountain to resume sipping
the warm, blond drink.

"I've always been proud of you, Max," he says.

I break my fixed gaze and look at my dad, much older now, a
noticeable belly protruding from above his belt buckle. He has
glasses now; he never needed glasses when I was growing up.

He is still staring forward, trying not to meet my stare, although I
don't know why. I suspect now that he was near to tears, and had not
the desire to show that to me. I wouldn't have minded...

Or maybe I'm projecting.

"Thanks, dad," I mumble.

He says nothing further.

Soon, we'd be eating, for the last time.

"Good evening, Mr. Aaron," an unknown voice says to me, back in
the void. "How are you this fine night? Hopefully hanging around
just one more day."

Who are you?

But the man speaks no more.

Did he say it was night?

Where is Sarah?

Why isn't Sarah here with me?

Oh, Jesus, Sarah, no...

I hate this new voice. I don't know him, but I don't need to know
him. It isn't the man I hate; I'm sure he is a lovely man, having
dedicated his life to nursing, to care for the sick and dying in
their hours of greatest need... No, I hate his
voice
, the
change, so close to the end of everything, almost assuredly mere
hours left in which I can hear any voices at all.

Where is she?

And even still, I know I'll never know.

I don't even think I want to know.

Time marches on...

"He's at Ben's house," Jenny yells to me.

"Where's that?"

I never had a good mind for addresses...

"Off of Berch, heading toward downtown."

"Oh, right, okay," and I grabbed the car keys off the counter
and head for the door.

"What do you want for dinner?"

"Whatever," I call back and close the door.

I should have told her that I loved her...

Heading down the busy main street, I remember noticing just how
cloudy it was. Not the usual overcast, but a think, penetrating cloud
cover, the kind that usually causes fog, but for some reason didn't
that day.

It never rained though...

My memory gets weak for the rest of that day, and the days to
follow, but I remember a truck, a green truck, driving much too fast
and having trouble staying straight, barreling across the middle of
the lanes and colliding head first with my little sedan.

Thankfully, I don't remember any pain...

That was the first evening, the very first time, that I was in the
void. And as of now, I have never left it. I have changed beds,
changed hospitals, changed doctors; I've had surgeries, I've nearly
died, and I've had doctors tell me and my wife and my son that I
would be dead soon, yet live; I've listened to Jenny break down,
become hysterical, have to be restrained, drugged even, dragged from
the room.

I remember her word most of all...

"No!"

She shouted it, over and over, as though she believed that if she
said it loud enough and long enough that the sentiment behind it
would come to fruition, that I would awaken, suddenly, and be her
husband again. But I never did...

Eventually, her anguish dimmed, but the routine of daily visits
never ceased. Every day she came, at first never speaking at me
directly, only to the doctor, to Mary, to Brian, to my brother, to my
parents, never at me. But soon enough, she turned toward my body, and
spoke her first time to my mind only:

"I miss you."

She was crying as she said it.

I almost died a few days later. I don't remember what happened; in
my thoughts, it was a mere blip in experience, but there was much
panic in Jenny and Brian, their voices hysterical, doctors working on
me in furious fits, the squish of metal on flesh.

An odd sound, indeed.

It was weeks until I was relatively stable; stable enough, anyway,
to allow regular visits. I was then transferred to another
department- I remember the sound of the rolling bed wheels against
the hallway linoleum, the opening and closing of doors, and the inane
chatter of nurses, patients and doctors.

Jenny was always by my side.

Once in that new department, I changed rooms seven times, all within
the first few months. Time slowly lost all definition, and days began
to bunch together and string apart, losing shape and form. Often I
would find Jenny at my side, a flash of days that spanned weeks, even
months, but occupied only a fleeting moment of my thoughts. So odd to
have reality slip from it's usually solid foundation and yet still be
able to perceive my place in the universe, however small and wasteful
it may be.

Jenny is my constant.

She has always been there for me...

"What's happening?"

Oh, Jesus! What is- argh!

Something... hurts...

Oh, Jesus!

"His heart is severely weakened," my doctor mumbles, a hint of
sadness in his tone, surely aware that my end is now imminent.

My every instinct is to grip my chest, my throat, flail my arms at
an unknown enemy; I hurt thoroughly, down to my center and radiating
out. Everything burns, like matches are being struck against my skin,
in my joints, and allowed to singe my every nerve.

Oh,
goddamn it!

"He's..." Jenny starts to cry.

"Doctor," Brian whispers.

"Is he dying?" Jenny squeaks out.

"I'm afraid so," he answers.

"Oh, Max," and Jenny is beside me, and for surely the last time
I hear that familiar rustling of sheets as she comes to me. "Oh,
Max, oh, God," she babbles incoherently. She is searching for the
words, the final utterance to a man loved slipping from the world,
but there are no words. Nothing left.

"Mom," Brian cries.

He is crying...

I don't think I've ever heard my boy cry before.

It breaks my dying heart.

I hear sobbing.

Brian skinned his knee.

"Ouch!" He screams. His mangled bicycle is lying beside him in
the middle of the road, him laying beside it clutching his shins.
"Daddy!"

I rush over to him, yet smiling.

He'll be fine, it's just a scratch.

"What happened?" Jenny screams.

She's on the porch and can't see us.

"Nothing," I call out as I reach him, and bend down to scoop him
into my arms. "Everything is okay. Just a scraped up knee."

"Daddy, it hurts!"

"I know, buddy," and I wipe a tear that was on it's way down his
cheek. "But it will pass."

Machines beeping wildly, the sound of dials being turned. I wish I
could see what was happening, what changes were being made; or was my
doctor only observing? Was he using my final moments to take notes,
to watch my body convulse and stop, a morbid science experiment,
taking advantage of the moment.

Oh, Jesus, it's agony...

Is this what dying is? Moments of excruciating pain, the wailing of
family, the whir of machinery, and then... what? Nothing? The end of
consciousness, like slipping into sleep? Will the crippling pain
subside; can my final memory not be such horror.

"Oh, Max," Jenny squeaks.

Is that that the last sounds of my wife?

"Oh, God," she calls out, her fingers gripping my back, tearing
forward. It hurts, but I don't care.

My hands are cupped under her back, against the bed, pulling her
into me with each thrust forward, my lips pressed firmly to her neck,
her shoulder, her lips, her tits, her ear...

"Oh, God," and I feel her shudder against me.

"Oh!" I call out synchronously.

"Oh, God," and she shudders again.

"I love you," she whispers as we slowly calm.

"I love you," I return, smile, and kiss her neck.

"Oh, Max," I hear again.

No pleasure in those words...

"I love you, dad," Brian cries.

...the last sounds of my son?

When is my last moment?

I see colors; colors! Jesus,
colors!

Have I slipped away?

"Merry Christmas!"

Brian is jumping on the bed, he looks older. He must be at least
nine or ten. I blink, smile, and reach to the nightstand to get my
pill bottle.

"Good morning!"

"It's Christmas morning!" He shouts.

Jenny grunts beside me.

"Wake your mother," I snicker as I get out of bed and head to
the bathroom. I can hear him shouting to her as the door closes.

Goddamn it, this pain has to end!

"Just let go," Brian whispers.

Let go? Let go of what?

I can barely think...

All there is now is the pain, such pain...

I see purple!

Red!

"Oh, Max," Jenny repeats.

Orange!

A machine behind me makes a shrieking noise briefly but then
suddenly stops; was it silenced? Is that my heart giving out, is this
the end?

"Oh, God," Jenny shouts. "Don't leave me!"

Vicious crying, violent crumpling of sheets...

"Don't leave me!"

"Mom!" Brian shouts.

"Don't touch me!"

"Mom! Please!" They're both crying...

"Max! Don't die! Please!"

Jenny...
Jenny...

"Mom, stop!"

"Don't touch me! Don't touch me!"

Jenny...

She is in such pain...

I am causing my bride pain...

"Max," she whispers. I am awake, in a hospital bed, finally
feeling the ache in my leg over the all-body horror that had had been
the preceding several days.

"Hey," I mumble.

"I missed you," she smiles.

"My leg hurts," I grunt.

"I know, sweetheart," and she wipes my cheek.

"Can you talk to the doctor and-"

"No, Max. Never again."

"Jenny-"

"Max, you listen to me!" She sounds furious.

"What?" I shout defensively.

"I will never go through this again! Do you hear me? Never again!"

"Okay," I whisper, "never again."

"You will get clean, stay clean, and you will be the father and
the husband that we, and you, deserve. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," I breath.

"Okay," and she runs her fingers through my hair, around my ear
and down my cheek.

And she smiles.

"Max!" And now such pain...

I can't die... I can't die! I have to live!

I have to move!

Move, goddamn it,
move!

"Max, please! Please!"

Noises, scuffling...

Move!

Jesus, my chest!

Ugh!

They won't save me; the doctor, the nurse, they will let me die.
They won't help me, they'll let my body fail, my heart stop, my mind
wither and end...

They won't help me...

...unless I move!

If I move, they'll see it, they'll suddenly need to save me; I'm
alive, I'm conscious, I'm here and worth the effort... If I move,
they'll save me!