Together We Will Go

by J. Michael Straczynski

  “Help me with this!” he said and I think I yelled louder than I’ve ever yelled before when I saw what he was pushing out the door of a stationery store: a wheeled counter with row after row of greeting cards.

  God, I’ve always hated those fucking things.

  I ran up beside him and we were pushing and laughing and tripping and we got to the third-floor railing and Mark yelled “Fire in the hole!” and it crashed through the railing and bounced down two floors BAM-BAM-BAM and when it hit the bottom it EXPLODED in a cloud of colored paper, all red and blue and puppies and rabbits and glitter-glued red lips, WHAM!

  “Avengers, assemble!” he yelled and we raced down the escalator, leftover cards snowstorming down from the upper floors as we attacked the mothership. Fuck you, Get well soon! Fuck you, Condolences on your loss! Fuck you, Deepest Sympathies and Life Goes On and Forgive and Forget and Life Is Too Short to Be Unhappy, even though technically I agree with you and fuck you, Smile When You’re Sad, and fuck you twice, Serenity Prayer and Congratulations Graduate the Future Is Yours!

  Mark jumped on the counter like a caveman bringing down a bear and Karen joined in, and Tyler and Shanelle and Peter and even Vaughn, which surprised the shit out of me, and we were fucking warriors, man, shredding Hope you’re having a great day and Just a thought into confetti, no, a cardfetti of hearts and flowers and bees and mountains and rainbows and fragments of One Day at a Time and Let God Do It and Surrender to Gratitude and Be Awesome, which I personally tore up because I hate that lie the most out of all the lies they feed us to make us feel we’re special for doing nothing so they can keep us quiet and controlled and guilty and stupid! We were paying them all back, and the music was rocking and it was beautiful and everybody was laughing and snowball fighting with envelopes and ribbons and bows and throwing torn paper in the air.

  And of course Theresa had to ruin the whole thing.

  And I finally fucking lost it.

  * * *

  Hi, I’m Audio Recorder!

  Tap the icon to start recording.

  TYLER: Okay, recording because shit’s going down.

  THERESA: I’m just saying—

  LISA: Yes, you are, and nobody gives a fuck.

  THERESA: We could get in trouble.

  LISA: Who cares, we’re here to kill ourselves and you’re talking about getting in trouble for littering.

  THERESA: We could be arrested before we get a chance to—

  LISA: Not a problem, bitch. Cops show up, as a personal favor I will totally beat your ass to death with this.

  JIM: That’s an ugly thing to say.

  LISA: Like gets like, babe.

  THERESA: When I signed on for this trip, I thought it would be something beautiful.

  LISA: And it was right up until you opened your mouth because everything you say is all about you and just about you and you don’t even belong here! You’re just pissed off at your daddy and acting out and I’m sorry, Miss Fucking Entitlement, but we’re here for the real deal, not because we need a time-out.

  THERESA: You don’t know me.

  LISA: I know a fake and a liar when I see one and you need to get the fuck out of my face and off the bus.

  ZEKE: I don’t mean to jump in but—

  LISA: You’re a pretender same as you’ve probably been your whole life, and you and your fuck-buddy here should—

  ZEKE: If I can just, I’m sorry—

  MARK: Zeke, what is it, man, what’s wrong?

  ZEKE: I’ve been trying to feed Soldier, but he’s not eating and he hasn’t eaten in days and now he’s giving me the look, I mean that look, you know, and I think he’s gonna go soon, like fast, and I just, I just, ah, shit—

  THEO: Oh, Zeke, I’m sorry.

  ZEKE: Can we go somewhere, I don’t know, somewhere pretty? Maybe by the water? So we can say goodbye. I don’t want him to, you know, not in a shopping mall, someplace quiet with tree smells and…

  MARK: Yeah, we can do that, let me check the map.

  PETER ROUTH: It’s okay, I know a place.

  MARK: All right then, everybody back in the—

  END RECORDING

  * * *

  AdminMark

  With Peter giving directions, D drove north to the Platte River and looked for a spot to pull over where we wouldn’t be too exposed. About two miles from the nearest house we found a road that led down past a bunch of cottonwood trees to a cutout beside the river. I was nervous about getting stuck in the mud, but we pushed on a little farther and parked under a train bridge. There was no way we could be seen from the road, and the other side of the river was just empty land thick with weeds. D said they were bluestem and switchgrass, but they looked like weeds to me, and honestly who gives a shit what they’re called, the important thing was that we could park there for a week without being seen, and from the collection of torn blankets, fast-food containers, and beer cans under the bridge, we weren’t the first people to figure that out. There was also an old, low-slung rowboat that had been dragged up the incline and tucked under some concrete pilings to keep it safe from the elements until whoever owned it came back to do some fishing.

  The Platte drained south to the Mississippi, and where we’d parked it was about half a mile across. It was one of those slow, shallow rivers that sneak up on the land by inches; you could walk five feet into it before hitting any real depth. The sun was getting low, red light ribboning up the water until it faded out where we were standing. Not a bad place for last looks.

  While the rest of us stretched our legs, Tyler dug a pit for a fire (I offered to help, but he insisted on doing it himself) and Zeke walked down to the edge of the river and sat on the ground, Soldier cradled in his arms, wrapped in one of his shirts. He nuzzled Soldier’s face up alongside his own so they could look out at the water together and started talking to him, real low and soft. From where I was I could make out a few words—pal said several times, I love you, and It’s okay, you can let go, I’ll be right here to catch you—then I moved off. Some conversations aren’t meant for other people to hear.

  While everyone else was taking in the view or walking along the river, I took advantage of the momentary quiet to pull D aside so we could go over the next few stops. Driving this far north had pulled us way off course, and this was our second unplanned stop. We’d already been in Nebraska too long (and I bet all kinds of people have said that before), and I was worried that we might have to reschedule the rest of the appointments. But D said we could make up the time by taking the 30 nonstop until we hit the I-80. We could then stop for the night in Kearney and be back on schedule for the next pickup at eight in Lexington, our last stop before crossing into Colorado.

  We’d just finished working this out when I saw Jim standing behind me. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

  “You already are,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “What happened back at the mall, that wasn’t right, man.”

  “I agree. We can’t have that kind of infighting going on.”

  He nodded for a moment, then glanced over his shoulder to where Theresa was standing by the river. She put him up to this. Doesn’t want to do her own dirty work.

  “Yeah,” he said, “and that’s why we think you need to choose whether you want Lisa to stay on the bus or us.”

  Even Dylan looked surprised. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, look, there’s just one of her and two of us, so we kind of outvote her, and we bring a lot to the table. Theresa’s got tons of credit cards if we get in trouble, I’m good with repairs… from what we can see, all Lisa does is yell and make trouble.”

  “She was here first.”

  “Yes, she was,” Jim said like it shouldn’t matter. “Meanwhile, Theresa’s tired and upset, so we’re gonna wait in the bus while the rest of you do whatever you’re gonna do because it’s best to keep Lisa and us apart at this point.”

  “Okay,” I said, “let me think it over and get back to you when we’re not in the midd
le of things.”

  “I appreciate that, because it’s real important to keep Theresa on the bus because—”

  Whatever he said after that got lost because at that moment all I could hear was Zeke.

  I’ve never heard any man cry out like that. Not even my grandfather when his brother died. There was just this awful sound coming from way down deep inside him, loss and pain and anguish and sadness, and he was rocking back and forth, his face pressed into Soldier’s fur. Ever since he’d gotten on the bus, he’d always been smiling, just goofy Zeke and his secret cat, and now he was broken right down the middle and no one knew what to do about it. Then Karen knelt down next to him and put an arm around his shoulders. Theo was next, then Lisa and me and the rest. Zeke was quiet-crying now, but once in a while a sharp Ah! slipped out, like his soul was trying to catch its breath.

  Everyone was crying. It didn’t make any sense. We came on this trip to die, we’re okay with dying. But there we were, crying with a guy we barely knew, because something he loved more than anything else in the world had just died, leaving him alone in ways all of us could understand.

  * * *

  VaughnR

  When Soldier passed, I suggested we give Zeke some space to get himself together, and he seemed to appreciate that. After a few minutes he stood and came over to us, carrying Soldier wrapped in one of his shirts. “Thanks for getting us here,” he said, and his breath kept catching in his throat. “You can go on now. We’ll be all right.”

  Mark started to say okay, like he was ready to go, when Tyler asked, “So what’re you going to do?” All of us knew what he was really asking. How are you gonna do it, and do you need any help doing it?

  “Speedball,” he said. “I’ll get my stuff.”

  As he headed for the bus, Shanelle must’ve seen my expression and realized that I had no idea what a speedball was because she said, “Heroin plus coke equals goodbye.”

  “But what about—” I couldn’t bring myself to say his body.

  “Not our problem,” Mark said. “We should get back on the bus and head out so he can do what he needs to do.”

  “Seriously?” Tyler said. “We’re just gonna leave him like this?”

  “Everyone agreed when they signed on that if one of us decided to check out early, it’s their business and nobody else’s.”

  “We can’t just drive off and let him kill himself and lie under the bridge like a dead animal,” Theo said. “That’s not right.”

  “I agree,” Peter said. Then he glanced over at the pilings under the bridge and I saw an idea come to him. “Give me a hand, Vaughn?”

  I knew immediately what he had in mind. “Sure thing.”

  Before Mark could object, we went up the slope to the rowboat that had been tucked up under the bridge and dragged it down to the waterline. It was pretty old and not in the best shape, but there wasn’t much leakage.

  It’d do.

  “Viking funeral,” Theo said, and nodded approval.

  When Zeke came back with his bag, we explained what we had in mind. He nodded for a minute, then said “Yeah, cool, I get it,” and started pulling out his kit.

  “You don’t have to rush,” Lisa said, and her voice was softer than I’d ever heard from her. “How about we walk you to the door? We won’t go through, but we can at least see you out.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah,” Karen said, “we’re sure.”

  Now it was Lisa’s turn to retrieve her bag. When she came back, she walked over to each of us, handing out pills like it was Holy Communion.

  She stopped in front of me, held out the bag, and gave it a shake. “Your turn.”

  Inside were what looked like dried mushrooms and a pharmacy’s worth of pills in little plastic bags tied with rubber bands. I picked up one that was filled with pink, blue, orange, and green pills, round with stars or words etched on them. “Don’t know what I’m looking at,” I said. “I don’t think the pharmacy in Alexandria carried anything like this. Pretty colors, though.”

  “Molly,” she said, and handed me one of them. “MDMA. Ecstasy. The lady and I go way back. Good choice.”

  I started to ask Is it safe? and flinched inwardly at the old-man thought behind it. I could imagine Carolyn saying, You shouldn’t take pills from someone else if you don’t know what it is or what it does, it’s much too dangerous.

  Is it safe? Look at where you are, why you’re here, and what you’re doing. Does safe really matter?

  No, it doesn’t, I decided, and dry-swallowed the pill.

  We hadn’t heard any traffic from the road in a while, so Dylan figured it was okay to run some music from the bus. As the last of the sun disappeared, Karen and Lisa sat on either side of Zeke, their faces cradled against his chest, with the rest in a tight circle around them. Nobody spoke. There was just the music and the moment.

  And me, feeling stupid.

  I wasn’t part of their tribe. It wasn’t my “scene,” my demographic, or my music. Not by a long shot. Seeing them clustered together, I felt a million miles away and a thousand years old, once more on the outside looking in.

  Then just as suddenly, I wasn’t.

  I don’t know if it was the Molly or the Moment, but it felt like I was seeing their faces for the first time. Their voices were warmer, their looks in my direction an invitation. Why are you sitting so far away?

  I felt a sting of tears at the joy of being connected to these strange but beautiful people who had accepted me as one of their own. And I could feel every thought behind Zeke’s decision to go out tonight, his profound loss but also the love that looked back at him from the other side of the infinite. I’m waiting for you, I’m here, I’ll always be here.

  We’ll walk you to the door.

  Now I understood what that actually meant.

  As if watching myself from somewhere outside, I leaned in and wrapped myself into the cluster. Someone took my hand and I didn’t know who it was and it didn’t matter because we were all the same person, joined by the music and stars that were peeking out overhead. I’d never felt that close to anyone before. They were me and I was them and we were us.

  And we were beautiful.

  We held on for a long time, not speaking, until I felt Zeke say It’s time before he actually spoke the words. We sat back to give him room as he pulled out a small plastic bag containing a yellow-white ball the consistency of chalk. Being new to these things, I didn’t know what constituted a fatal dose, but when Lisa saw it, her eyes went soft and wide. “Yeah, that’ll do it,” she said.

  He cooked the speedball over a small fire, mixing it with water and lemon juice until it became liquid, then drew it into a syringe that glittered with the moonlight.

  Then he found a vein and pushed.

  “Boat’s ready,” Dylan said. I hadn’t noticed he was gone until he came back. “I took a road flare from the bus and put it in the boat along with the sheets. When you start to feel the fall, light up the flare and hold it up as long as you can. When it goes down, we’ll know you’re gone.”

  Zeke nodded and Dylan hugged him. They all hugged him, and he let them pet Soldier to say goodbye. I stood back a bit to let them have their moment, but then Zeke came over and stood in front of me. In the dim light his tired eyes looked like black basketballs, but his face was luminous as he stared past me to his intent. Then he pulled me close.

  “Be good, man,” he said, his voice lower than before and distant, like a part of him was already gone. “They need you more than you know. And thanks. Wish I could’ve known you better. Next time, right?”

  “Yeah, next time.”

  “Say goodbye, pal,” he said, and I petted Soldier’s sleeping face.

  “Okay,” Zeke said, forcing his voice back up, loud and strong and defiant. The deep breath before the plunge. “Where’s my ride? Who’s got my wheels?”

  Dylan and Tyler pushed the boat forward until it touched the water and bobbed slightly. “Right here, Zeke.”
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  He started toward them, then wobbled somewhat and stumbled. Theo and Peter moved to help him, but he waved them off, determined to make it on his own.

  Hands shaking from the speedball, Zeke settled into the boat and tried to figure out where the oars went and which end to use. “Don’t worry about it,” Tyler said. “The current’s slow but strong. Once you’re in the middle of the river, it’ll take you where you want to go.”

  “All the way down the Mississippi,” Peter said.

  “Beauty,” Zeke said, and they helped him push off. He didn’t look or call back to us. He’d said everything that needed to be said in this life.

  We watched in silence as the current caught the boat and it began drifting slowly downstream, barely visible in the moonlight. The only sound was the slow lapping of the river and our breathing as we strained to see into the night.

  Just as the boat was about to pass from view, a bright red flash lit up the night and I could see Zeke holding the flare high, Soldier cradled in his arms, the sight brave and noble and sad and glorious.

  Then the flare guttered low for a second and we thought that might be it, but he raised it high again. Like you told Soldier, it’s okay, just let go.

  Then the flare dropped out of sight and the river was dark.

  “He’s gone,” Karen said, her voice a hoarse whisper.

  Then with a sudden WHOMPH! the gas-soaked sheets in the boat ignited. Flames rose into the sky, red light reflecting in the water like a second sunset.

  The boat receded into the darkness until the fire dimmed and disappeared from sight, taking with it everything Zeke had ever said or done, and everything he might’ve said or done in all the years he might have had left. And that’s when this whole thing finally hit me.