The Void (5 page)

"Keep
the pressure!"

Jason
is at the now shattered window, weapon aimed, tat-tat-tat-ing bullets
in a slow and methodical sequence, eye focused on something, but I
don't know what... My shoulder really fucking hurts...

"Max?"

"You
still with me?"

"Max?"

He
keeps his focus.

I
wish I had his focus.

"Max?"

Why
am I not talking?

"Corporal
Aaron!"

"Where
is Frank?"

He
doesn't answer me;

I
hear men shouting, closer...

Closer...

"Oh,
Max," a softer voice, into the void.

My
heart should be pounding; is it pounding?

I
listen for the rhythm in my ears...

It's
not pounding...

It
should be pounding...

I
can still smell the dust and the sweat...

"I'm
going to miss you."

Sarah;
Sarah is here...

Where
is Jenny?

Must
be night.

Why
can't I keep track of time anymore?

"I
don't know how I'll manage without you."

Without
me...

A
world without me...

"I'll
have no one-" and her voice breaks...

You
must be so heartbroken over Michael...

"I'll
have no one left," she completes.

Oh,
don't say that, Sarah! That's not true!

"No
one..."

You
know that's not true...

"I
don't know what to do."

Just
carry on, Sarah. That's what you do, what you always do; you carry
on. There is always more for you waiting in the aftermath of tragedy.
It's the only comfort in life; it
always
gets better, at least
until there is no more life left to live. And when that moment comes,
there is no reason left to worry on it, because you have no means to
care.

So,
always carry on...

"I
don't think I can handle this."

You
can! You most certainly can!

I
have faith in you...

"I
can't sleep. I work all night, I go home and he wakes up and I have
to be with him. I can't sleep. I need to stay awake. And we talk, and
it's
so
great, and then he sleeps and I go to work and it's
hell. I can't keep doing this. I need some sleep."

Get
some sleep. I won't tell anyone.

I'd
laugh, nervously, if I could...

"I
should just sleep right here," and she giggles.

Be
my guest! I won't feel anything...

But
then she's silent...

So
very silent...

Are
you in the room still?

I
hear nothing. I should have heard her leave.

She
must be here...

Sarah?

"I-"
and then a cough, a sob, another cough.

She's
trying not to cry...

"I-"
she starts again, and further silence.

My
heart is breaking for her. All the times she bragged over her
brother, over his rising career, his jokes, his fancy education, his
dashing good looks; he was training for a marathon; how does a man
who is training for a marathon now die of cancer?

Life
is too cruel, disinterested.

And
then she let go...

At
first it was a gentle, almost serene whimper, a somber cry, but then
devolved, brutalized, and she shrieks. I can feel all her pain and
anger and horror spill forth in a single deluge, no dam to contain
it, her world crumbling; and only I am around to hear it.

A
heart shatters in the night...

"Max!"

And
the air is hot again, dusty again, the vocal fury now decidedly male
and purely anger. The sun is directly in my eyes as I sit, hand
clutching my shoulder as blood pours between my fingers. I feel
tired, sweaty, and withdrawn, further so with each passing moment.

"Max!"

Jason
was no longer standing at the window.

"Oh,
Christ..."

Where
is he?

Jason?

Where
could he be?

Are
my eyes even open?

No,
they're not...

I
need to open my eyes...

Another
bell rings out.

What
was that?

Open
your eyes!

I
force one lid up. Quickly scanning, I see Jason, in the corner, head
down, arms at his side, a deep red streak across the side of his
head, down his shirt, and across the floor. The back of his head
looks... wrong, shredded, like hamburger.

More
shouting...

I
look up, and a man is there, a man I don't know, wearing clothes I
don't recognize, shouting in a language I don't know. A weapon in his
hands, a gun I can't, yet should, recognize, the barrel pointed at
me, he thrusting it forward and back as though he believes he was
stabbing me with it.

Two
worlds collide...

A
blitz of coherence and I roll to the right, my hand at my jacket, my
handgun suddenly in my right hand and I raise and release as many
rounds as my finger can trigger. I don't know how many, but it seems
enough as the man crumples away, the sun back in my face suddenly,
and a fresh spray of red is across my shoes and pants.

With
all the energy I have left, the gun plops onto the floor and I slide
across the wall until my face touches the dust and blood, and I fall
effortlessly, gently, seamlessly into the void...

"Good
morning, Max," and I hear my doctor.

My
doctor never says good morning.

Why
is he saying good morning?

"I'm
afraid it's just me this morning."

Where
is Jenny?

"You're
still looking good, as always."

Why
isn't she here?

It's
morning...

He
said it's morning...

"You
have at least a few weeks left with us."

She
should be here!

"We'll
disconnect you in a few days, once all the paperwork and whatnot is
taken care of."

This
isn't right!

"Odd
how much paperwork it takes to die."

I
need her...

"Anyway,
until the plug is pulled, we'll keep on checking up on you, keeping
you stable."

I
miss her...

"Your
nurse will be in in a few moments." And the sound of his steps rise
and fall, followed by silence.

I
love her...

Divine
punishment can hold no horror greater than the fury of my inability
to cry...

"Is
he going to be alright?"

A
new doctor, looking stern and serious, stands before me, Jenny, our
son behind glass, being watched carefully and treated gingerly by
equally stern and serious looking nurses. He has some device over his
mouth; I was told it helps his breathing.

"We're
monitoring him. His lungs weren't fully developed, so he'll need to
be here for a few weeks."

"Is
he going to be alright?" I repeat.

He
sighs.

"Well-"
and he pauses, fingers now fixed to his chin. "His lungs should be
fine. We just have to keep his oxygen levels high enough until he can
breath on his own. It's mostly a waiting game now."

"I
don't like waiting," Jenny says.

"I
understand," he answers, with an awkward, mostly out of place
smile. I imagine he was trying to calm Jenny, but it assuredly
failed.

"Is
there anything we can do?"

"You
two should go home. Your son will be here for a while, and he is in
excellent hands. You two need some rest. We will call you if anything
changes."

"I'm
not leaving."

"I
would strongly-"

"I'm
not leaving.
"

The
doctor says nothing further. He locks eyes with Jenny, keeps even
with her gaze for several uncomfortable seconds, and then nods, turns
and walks back down the hall; I assume he is off to do more doctoring
of some kind.

The
two of us turn back to the glass, our son clearly visible; he is the
only one that appears machine like, surrounded by technical
equipment. He looks so small and frail and about to break. He barely
moves; on occasion, his arm will move up, ever so gently, shaking and
shivering, and then back in place.

I
have never heard him cry.

I
need to hear him cry.

When
Jenny became pregnant, a million fears and scenarios flashed through
my mind, racing, racing, almost all day long. College; teaching him
to ride a bike; his first girlfriend; what if I'm not a good father?;
when he gets his license; I need life insurance!; I wonder how old
he'll be when he learns to walk... On and on and on the thoughts came
and went, no pattern, no predictability, random.

But
I had never considered this.

I
never thought I might have to watch him die.

And
now, it is all I can think of.

I
fear every morning. What if I came to find a somber nurse, reluctant
to break to me the terrible news? How would I be able to handle it?
How would Jenny cope? How could I help her? What would we do? Would
we have a funeral for him? He's so young; do you hold funerals for
little boys?

It's
not fair; he should be allowed to live.

He
should taste air, learn to talk, learn to sing, admire the world,
find true love, bury his parents and live the life we gave him. I
shouldn't have to be here, watching him struggle for a chance to live
in the world. I should be holding my son, smiling brilliantly with my
wife, arguing over who gets to hold him next; I should be watching
him breastfeed, listening to our parents swoon over his beauty,
waiting anxiously for the return to home, to no sleep, to late, dark
nights pacing across the living room, trying desperately to get my
son back to sleep so my wife can get just a bit more rest...

I
need to turn my mind off.

But
I can't...

And
so we stand, motionless, appearing devoid of perceptible thought but
raging inside, watching our son, waiting for a change, waiting for
the doctor, waiting for anything... waiting...

waiting...

"Hey
dad."

And
I hear him! My boy!

He
sounds sad...

"How
are you?"

"He
looks good." That's Jenny. I missed hearing her voice; my heart
leaps at it's melody.

"Yes,
he does." I hear footsteps. "It doesn't seem fair that he looks
that good."

"Yeah,"
Jenny sighs.

"I'm
sorry I haven't been around more, dad."

You don't need to apologize to me,
Brian.

"I missed you."

I missed you, as well.

"I'll always miss you."

I don't know what to think of that...

"Mom hates to see you like this."

I hate not seeing her
at all...

"Tell
him about Julie."

Oh,
Julie... Yes, please!

"You'd love Julie!"

I'm sure I would!

"She's beautiful and smart and funny. You'd love her. She's a
civil engineering major, finishing the same time as me. She's
planning to move here when we graduate, maybe build a house
together."

Graduation...

Another thing I will miss...

"I think I might love her, dad."

My boy, in love...

"I wish she could meet you."

I wish I could meet her, as well...

"You could bring her here, Brian."

"No, I don't want to freak her out."

"She won't freak out-"

"Mom, don't push it."

"Okay," and Jenny sighs. It sounds as though they had discussed
this before...

"Anyway," he grumbles, "you'd love her."

If she loves you, then that's all that matters.

"She's studying for a mid-term now."

Mid-terms? Which class?

A fatherly thought, for sure.

"I finished my last mid-term yesterday."

I hope you did well!

Another fatherly thought...

"I've been thinking about you a lot lately, dad."

I love when he calls me dad...

"You used to be so big. So strong."

I used to run daily, long before my foray into combat. I was always
lean, tall and fast. The military bulked me up, gave me rows of
muscles, a physique I was proud of. I kept that body through
everything; not sure how I did so when the worst of it came, but
somehow I never shriveled and shrank.

I must look a waste now...

"It's okay, Brian." Jenny sounds desperate.

I hear a sniffle.

Oh, Jesus, he's crying...

"I'll miss you so much, dad. You'd think all these years with
you... like... this... I'd get used to the idea of you being gone,
but... this... is different. This is truly gone. I guess..." and
his voice breaks, a pregnant pause, then a fitful start, stop and
start- "... I can't stand the thought of you not... being there...
anymore."

"Brian..." Jenny whispers.

"I know I don't visit enough."

I'm in agony...

"I know everyone dies," and the ruffling of sheets, furious; was
he changing my sheets? Is my nurse in the room? "I knew that, as
your son, I was going to bury you someday," and an end to the
ruffling.

"Brian..." an even softer whisper.

"But not yet. Not now. Not so soon."

Brian...

"I love you..."

I love you, too...

And then a sudden, unexpected giggle. "At least you can see grampy
soon."

I can... Wait-

"Say hello from me, I guess."

I can see grampy soon?

"When you get there, I mean."

What
happened to my father?

"I'm sure he misses you.

What happened to
my father?

"It's okay, Brian..." Then silence.

Such silence...

Please, oh God, please, tell me more about my father! What happened
to him? Did he die? How did he die? When did he die?

What about my mom; is she still alive?

Why did no one tell me any of this?

Oh, God...

"It's snowing again."

The great tragedy of my life now is that I can only know, only
learn, of that which is said around me, to me, near me. I don't know
why Jenny had never mentioned my father passing, but she never did,
and I want to scream.