by Bill Pottle
piece was missing. In frustration, I took another Red Bull and did a hundred jumping jacks to get my blood flowing again.
I spent the rest of the night thumbing through our old picture albums, forgotten times locked forever in the past. I laughed scornfully at the bravado in my graduation picture. I thought that the world was mine for the taking. Fifteen years later, I certainly hadn’t managed to take very much of it. I never really had the job that I wanted, or traveled to the places I wanted to visit, or even learned how to properly do a backflip. Yet, flipping through page after page of instantaneous memories set under their glossy plastic covers, I knew I had been blessed. When I looked into my newborn son’s eyes, how could I question the existence of God? What further proof was there than knowing that my wife and I could each contribute a cell, and that was the beginning of the beautiful creature that was my daughter? Her cells divided, she grew rapidly inside of Jamie, was born, soon learned to crawl, later learned to walk and then run, and now could dribble around me with her soccer ball! Sure, it was biology— but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a miracle too.
I had breakfast ready by the time they came downstairs. Eggs sizzled in the frying pan. They were the good kind, with potatoes and salsa and even a bit of the leftover salmon.
“This is a pleasant surprise,” Jamie said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. I had already had mine. The way that she pushed her eyebrows down into a point showed me that she was once again considering the possibility that she had forgotten some special occasion.
“I had some trouble sleeping, so I decided I might as well make myself useful.”
She brought the plate to her nose and inhaled the aroma. “This day has already started off so much better than yesterday.”
I hoped she was right.
I had thought about spending the day with them. I was already tired, and I wasn’t sure if I could stand another sleepless night. Even with my body overloaded on caffeine, the stress was getting to me, eating its way through my defenses like ravenous acid. But I had to bargain with the gnome. There was only one hope after that.
I said my goodbyes, certain that they wouldn’t be the last ones. But I do confess that I held them all just a little tighter. I left quickly, bringing the engine to life and speeding down the street. If I stayed around Jamie much longer, I was sure she would notice something was wrong.
I hurried down the path, unsure exactly where I had picked the forbidden rose. I did not know how to summon the gnome, but hoped that he would come upon seeing my desperation. The forest was empty. Even the animals could sense what my family only felt at the edge of their consciousness. They knew I was doomed and avoided me, only watching in curiosity from far away.
I was about to give up the futile search when I saw a lone green stem peaking through the ground. The faint silver mist had dissipated, but I knew I had found the spot. I reverently removed the rose from the inside of my jacket and touched it to the broken stem. I rotated the flower and the two pieces fit perfectly.
I’m not really sure what I expected to happen. Until the day before, I didn’t even believe in gnomes. I guess I was hoping that when I put the stem back together the flower would burst back into life, and the little gnome would jump out and forgive me.
Maybe if I had sewn it together with microneedles, reconnecting the xylem and phloem tubes, it might have worked. I’m not sure how long I waited there, refusing to believe the inevitable.
I had tears in my eyes when I got up, tucked the rose back in my pocket, and set off.
There was one, final hope that I had. Perhaps the gnome’s curse wasn’t spiritual, but physical. Perhaps he had used tiny needles to inject some toxin in my blood, or added a bubble of air into my bloodstream. If the problem was physical, then a doctor could cure it— if he could find it in time.
I headed off to my physician, Dr. Cho. After waiting while ‘more serious’ cases went through, I finally got to see him. He looked me over completely, and took some blood for analysis. He went outside to confer with his associates, and then entered, looking cheerful.
My spirits fell as his rose. I would have rejoiced if he told me that I had suddenly acquired AIDS, or cancer, or something that gave me ‘only’ years to live. I knew I was approaching my last hours, and that would have multiplied my lifespan a thousand fold.
“Well, we’ll have to wait a few days for your bloodwork to come in, but aside from some symptoms of caffeine overdose, you seem to be in perfect health.”
I raised my eyebrows skeptically. “If there any way to hurry up the bloodwork? Are you sure there is nothing else wrong?”
He took a deep breath in and let it out his nose. “Have you ever heard of a condition called hypochondria?”
“You think this is all in my head?” My eyes bored into him. “You don’t know how much I hope you’re right, doctor.”
There was going to be no help here. I pushed past him and hurriedly scribbled a check to the receptionist before heading out the door.
“It’s good to see you again, my son.” Although he tried to maintain his face a mask of tranquility, I could tell the priest was concerned for me. We lived in an age where people rationalized away everything, forcing ‘God’s Will’ to confirm whatever they wanted to do. It had been quite some time since he had seen a man come in for confession two days in a row.
My confession was short, for how much could a man sin in only one day? It wasn’t actually a question I wanted an answer to. Sometimes I wondered why God didn’t give us more empathy. Surely the wallets of the rich would be opened if they but felt the emptiness in the bellies of the poor! But, sadly enough I knew the answer. The mind of man was not capable of understanding the suffering of fellow man because to do so would drive it insane. Sometimes I wondered how there could be one world with so much simultaneous beauty and pain. I always thought that only in heaven would I get to know the Truth— the “whole story.”
With any luck I would know within a few hours.
The priest’s absolution washed over me again, and I thanked him and left. I had wasted so much time in the doctor’s office that soon the day was drawing to a close. I guzzled a Mountain Dew and greeted my family.
Call me a coward for not telling them. I couldn’t really disagree. I wanted to tell them—the yearning burst forth from my heart but was always stopped before it made it out the fortress of my lips. The tip of my tongue must have been the most pleasant oratorical spot for miles, as several groups of words all remained there simultaneously.
In contrast to last night’s dinner, this one was tasteless. I couldn’t even tell you what we had. Maybe all the words hanging out on the tip of my tongue stripped the flavor from the food, or maybe it was the caffeine, or maybe it was the fact that I just couldn’t stop staring in Jamie’s eyes. When it really came down to it, it was only about her. Somehow the night passed quickly, my body just going through the motions as I had done for so many nights of my life.
Perhaps the greatest human tragedy was that we could not learn from the mistakes of others. We always had to stick our own hand in the beehive, no matter how many others we saw stung. I had calendars, stationery, and boxes full of motivational posters telling me to “Make Every Day Count.”
I had never really understood that statement until yesterday.
The exhaustion was close to claiming me. I knew that it was now only a matter of time. I was strapped into the chair, and the executioner was putting on his black hood. I couldn’t even say goodnight to my children. I waited until they fell asleep, and then silently strode in and stole kisses off their moonlit foreheads. Luke had been too old to kiss for some time now.
The iridescent rose was now showing signs of withering. I had forgotten to take it out of my jacket before, but now I removed it and reverently completed the bouquet. I put it in Esperanza’s room, setting it so that the morning sunlight would hit the petals as it streamed through her window.
I brushed my teeth again, slipping off my
clothes and into some black silk pajamas. I didn’t want them to find me in my boxers. I caressed Jamie, kissing her softly.
“Goodnight, honey.” I squinted my ears, trying to catch and hold her words as they lingered in the air. She closed her eyes and sank into her pillow.
I stroked her hair. “Jamie?”
She looked up, connecting with me at last. “No matter what, remember that I will always love you.”
“Of course dear. You know I’d never forget that. ‘Til death do us part, remember?”
I smiled and nodded. Her eyelids fell once more, and I whispered my final words in her ear.
“No, my dear. Much longer than that.”
I wasn’t going to go yet. My breathing was haggard, my pulse racing. The flight or fight reflex was fully engaged and useless—neither would aid my survival.
I was sure that “I” as a person was about to disappear forever. Once the nerves in my brain stopped firing, I was never coming back, and silence was all I would know. My entire existence was finished. I would never wake again. If the gnome was just something I had made up in my head, or real and unable to kill me but was just trying to teach me a lesson, then I would wake up safe in my bed. If the gnome was real and was able to do what he said, then that meant science couldn’t presently understand our world, and there might be things like souls