“So, are you going to tell me?”
I turned with a start, a little shocked, but there I was, well, sort of me. It was the ‘Tom’ character that I had created. He looked like me, but younger, and certainly thinner. There was a sorrow in his eyes that was telling of the adventures that he had been through and yet, a metal, a fiber, a strength that was there that may have bent, but never broke.
I stared at him for a moment, not sure what to say, or do. Then, “I am not sure of the question,” I replied.
“Ah, well, you created me, so in a way we are of the same mind, so think for a moment, what would you want to know?” he replied.
I did sit and think, and having the entire story in my mind at first I did not get it, but then “I never told how you died.”
“Yep, pretty much, you had me die, and I am cool with that, for the story, but never got into the particulars, I just was found at the bottom of the cliff, that cliff,” he said nodding toward the ledge close by.
“Well, it was a hard thing to write, I mean you were a major character, like Margo, and Asuna,” I answered.
He smiled at me, and nodded gently, “Yes, they were great characters.”
We sat quiet for a moment or two, and then he said, “So in the end, I was sick, it was needed for the story, it did tie things up nicely, but the manner, the way I died was a little weak.”
“Do you really think so? I kind of liked the idea of leaving it open ended. It gave the reader a chance to deal with the death in a way they could feel comfortable,” I replied.
“Okay, that is great for the reader, but you do owe a little something to me, the dead guy, and for that matter, you, the writer.”
I stared at him for a moment; he had joined me on the bench. In a way I guess he is right. I remembered working on this part of the tale and trying to decide how would the ‘Tom’ character leave the story,
“I had a little trouble with that part, would he, you, die peacefully in your sleep, or painfully with the ravages of the cancer in your body. I felt the first though merciful was kind of lame, and the second was really cruel and not good for the story. I had considered the idea that he would put a gun to his head but that was just too messy and I think uncharacteristic of you, your character. So I left it open. I guess that in a way the story, that part of the story was a cop out by having you walk softly into the sunset and just be found later.”
He nodded, and then asked, “So if you were ‘Tom’, and really you are, how would it have gone?”
I sat for a few minutes, I had visited this place before, this end, I did not want to be here again, but I owed this character, my creation the answer. And really, I also owed myself the answer. I have avoided it, but it was time to put the period on the paragraph.
I stared out over the valley, the clouds floating carefree in the blue sky, and then finally. “I really had difficulty with that, and I guess I never really wanted to say. And for what it is worth I was leaning toward was that the pain, the exhaustion, the cancer was finally getting to you and while you had a good day health wise so I decided that it was a good day to die.”
“But you didn’t want it too obvious,” he said.
“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, being found at the bottom of the cliff was certainly suggestive, but it was not an absolute, it left that chance that you just fell as possible.”
“But we, you and I know better.”
“Yeah, it is funny, in the end; we all have a lot of control over how we meet our death. I mean, sure there is the sudden event, the car crash, the strange or medical event that we have no control over, a burst aneurysm or illness. And even in those cases there is some control, not smoking, poor diet, speeding. But they’re a little different, I am talking about the cases where we reach a point in our life that presents us with a choice. At age 90, or 95, living, no hanging on in a nursing home, having someone feed you oatmeal with no one, no family left, that is one of those points where you might give up.”
He looked at me. “I can understand that, yes there are those times.”
“Well, I saw the Tom character, you, nearing a point like that where the future was so dark that there was little choice. Do you hang on for the final few weeks or a month and become something that you loath, waiting to die, reaching a point where you have no control over yourself, making others do for you, feed you, bath you, change your diapers or do you cut it short and go with dignity.”
“And you chose dignity for me,” he said.
“Yes, basically, you sat here at this very spot for a while, and thought, remembered, cried. And then you walked west and into the air.”
We were quiet for a few minutes, then finally, “Thank you, it was a good way to die, I soared for a bit, then it was black,” he said.
He got up and walked toward the ledge and when he reached the edge there was Asana, waiting for him. She smiled at me, and I could read her lips as she said thank you. Then she turned, took his hand and they just walked. But this time Tom did not fall, they just kept going straight and level fading into the clouds.
I sat a little longer, deep in thought. Then I got up, walked back to the parking lot and got on the bike, it was late afternoon and I headed for home. It was a nice ride, but my head was full and buzzing, so many thoughts about what had just happened. But most of all I wondered about my own eventual end.
The Event Series (Book 4): Filling in the Cracks Page 14