The Living End

by Lisa Samson

  “I never thought I’d own a pair like this.”

  “Well, life can surprise you sometimes.”

  “Tell me about it!”

  It’s Yolanda. It’s almost midnight.

  “Hi, Yo!”

  “Pearly Everlasting!”

  “How did you know I’d be up this late?”

  She laughs. “Because you always are?”

  “Well, besides that.”

  “Just got an urging of the Spirit to call you.”

  “Well, then I’m glad you did.”

  She hesitates. “Are you all right?”

  “Very.”

  “Okay. You just usually hate hearing about the Spirit and all.”

  “Well, life’s too short, Yo. Besides, I’m beginning to see that the Spirit is alive and well on planet Earth.”

  “Hallelujah!”

  “Dont get overly excited. I’m still on the journey. I’m not there yet.”

  “Who is?”

  Hmm.

  “Saint Francis of Assisi?”

  “Well, he was a saint, Pearly. He doesn’t count.”

  “Maybe not. But at least he’s a good example. As are you.”

  She snorts. “Oh, please. I’ve got so far to go it isn’t even funny. Just the other day, I got so mad at Clay I thought I would kill him!”

  “What did he do?”

  “He went into his sock drawer and cut off all the toes of his socks. I didn’t even know he could use the scissors so well, and I don’t know how he got to them! I keep them way up in one of the kitchen closets.”

  “One of the girls?”

  “If it was, they aren’t saying.”

  “Can you blame them?”

  “Of course not! Oh, Pearly, it’s good to talk to you.”

  “Likewise.”

  “When you coming down to Luray?”

  “Soon. Matthew wants to visit. He has the weekends off.”

  “What’s he doing?”

  “He’s working on one of the boats. Pulling up crab pots and all that sort of thing. Leaves the house at 4:00 A.M. every day.”

  “Must be beat.”

  “You know how it is with the young.”

  “I hear you. So anyway, back to my message from the Spirit …”

  “Let me have it.”

  “I don’t know what this means, but the message is, ‘There’s another way.’ ”

  Whoa.

  “Does that make sense, Pearly?”

  “I think so.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Nope.”

  She chuckles. “I didn’t think so.”

  “You know me.”

  “Yeah, I sure do. I’d better go. It’s late.”

  “Thanks for calling, Yolanda.”

  “Can’t wait to see you. The kids will be excited to know you’re coming. We’ll have us a big supper to celebrate.”

  “As if I expected any less.”

  “You know me.”

  “I sure do.”

  It’s a beautiful summer night. The earth soaks in the warmth. All the creatures do, including me.

  “Miss Pearly?”

  “Richie King! How are you?”

  “Fine. The question is, how are you?”

  “Regarding the Lexapro?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I have to admit, despite the dry mouth it gives me, it has lightened my spirits a bit.”

  “Good.”

  “But I still want to go through with my plot, as you put it.”

  “Figures.”

  “You’re not going to help me with this are you?”

  “I can’t. It would go against all I hold to be sacred as a physician and a friend.”

  “I still don’t know why you can’t see this from Peta’s perspective.”

  “Peta wouldn’t want you to do this. In fact, I’ve got half a mind to call her.”

  “Don’t you dare!”

  “If that’s the only way I can keep you from hatching this cockamamie plan, I just might.”

  “Richie King! I am old enough to make this decision for myself.”

  “Age has nothing to do with insanity, Miss Pearly.”

  He sure hit the nail on the head with that one!

  “I’ll think about it some more, then,” I say, only to put him off. “How about that?”

  “Well, it’s the only offer on the table, so I guess I’ll take it.”

  “Besides, I have to see Matthew off to college in the fall. That gives us a couple of months. Also, Peta says she doesn’t want us to do anything until the new year anyway. She wants one more Christmas for sure. We had an uncle who died on the operating table during a simple tonsillectomy.”

  “Oh. Well, I’ll be calling you for updates.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  A Psalm of Life, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  TELL me not, in mournful numbers,

  Life is but an empty dream!—

  For the soul is dead that slumbers,

  And things are not what they seem.

  Life is real! Life is earnest!

  And the grave is not its goal;

  Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

  Was not spoken of the soul.

  Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

  Is our destined end or way;

  But to act, that each to-morrow

  Find us farther than to-day.

  Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

  And our hearts, though stout and brave,

  Still, like muffled drums, are beating

  Funeral marches to the grave.

  In the world’s broad field of battle,

  In the bivouac of Life,

  Be not like dumb, driven cattle!

  Be a hero in the strife!

  Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!

  Let the dead Past bury its dead!

  Act,—act in the living Present!

  Heart within, and God o’erhead!

  Lives of great men all remind us

  We can make our lives sublime,

  And, departing, leave behind us

  Footprints on the sands of time;

  Footprints, that perhaps another,

  Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,

  A forlorn and skipwrecked brother,

  Seeing, shall take heart again.

  Let us, then, be up and doing,

  With a heart for any fate;

  Still achieving, still pursuing,

  Learn to labor and to wait.

  Now why did Joey have to paste that poem into his journal? It leaves me more confused than ever. Life is real, life is earnest, and the grave is not its goal Dust thou art, to dust returnest, was not spoken of the soul.

  The Catholics believe that a person who commits suicide goes to hell. I know because Shrubby’s Catholic, and he told me that years ago. Does having your only working kidney removed really constitute suicide? My goodness, if I handed my piece of wreckage on the open seas to a fellow survivor of a maritime tragedy, I’d be a hero.

  So what’s the difference?

  Peta throws up in the bathroom. I stand at the doorway.

  “Oh, Pearly, this is awful.”

  “You’re underdialyzed.”

  “Must be.”

  “Let me get you some Coke to settle your stomach.” She shouldn’t be drinking Coke, but how much will a little bit hurt?

  I hurry into the kitchen and pour a cold glass. Our first setback, but we’ll make it through.

  “Drink this, and I’ll call the nephrologist.”

  I dial the number.

  “Is she retaining fluid?” the dialysis nurse asks.

  “Are you retaining fluid?” I yell.

  “I think so!” she hollers back from the bathroom.

  “She thinks so.”

  “Okay. Bring her in, and we’ll take a look at her.” We schedule an appointment for the afternoon.

  I tell her as she washes her face and brushes her teeth.


  “I guess my kidney function has decreased even more.”

  “I guess so. Peta, let’s do the operation. Please take one of my kidneys.”

  “I don’t think I’m ready for that yet, Pearly.”

  “Why?!”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t feel right about it. Not yet.”

  “Have you even thought about it?”

  “Not much, I admit. Pearly, I said I didn’t want to do this until after the new year.”

  “Well, start thinking. Promise me you’ll at least do that.”

  She nods. “This nausea is awful.”

  “There’s nothing worse than that feeling.”

  “I just feel so helpless at times like this.”

  “I know you do, Cousin. Let me help you.”

  “Like I said, I’ll think about it. And please, whatever you do, Pearly, don’t badger me about it, okay?”

  I smile. “Okay.”

  “And don’t forget Uncle Stewart.”

  “You won’t die on the table.”

  “It isn’t me I’m worried about.”

  Oh, great.

  Peta is singing in the choir! It’s an old tune my grandma used to sing called “Blessed Assurance.”

  “Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine.”

  She’s an alto. It’s her first time singing with the group. They even changed the practice times so she could get home to the dialysis machine. I didn’t know church people could be so accommodating.

  She sings the song from her heart, believing every word. “Jesus is mine. Oh what a foretaste of glory divine. Heir of salvation, purchase of God.”

  Yes, that’s Peta, an heir of salvation. Purchased of God? I read a passage of Scripture the other day that says Christ was crucified before the foundation of the world. God planned it all even then. Christ bought our souls with His blood before He even spilled it out.

  That astounded me for some reason, proving once again that nothing happens by accident.

  “Filled with His goodness, lost in His love.”

  Yes, Peta is lost in His love. Her eyes are closed, and her voice blends with the others, mostly older folk, their voices twittering when alone, but blended together, singing strong, harmonies sure after years of practice.

  I wipe away the tears, some string from my mind to my heart tautened, drawn utterly tight.

  Oh, Jesus.

  Peta throws her purse onto the kitchen counter. “What’s for supper, Cousin?”

  “Nothing with cheese in it, I can tell you that.”

  “Oh, what I’d give for even a small chunk of cheddar.”

  “Well, how about a grilled pork chop and steamed broccoli?”

  She makes a face. “If you insist.”

  “Have a seat at the table, and I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

  “That sounds like just what I need.”

  I fill the kettle and place it on the stove. “It’s a beautiful day.”

  “Perfect. I’ve always appreciated the weather, you know that. But the world is different now. Here we are, in the middle of August. There’s a breeze, and the sun is shining on the water right outside our door. Can we eat outside?”

  “Sure. If the food isn’t all that exciting, the least we can do is make the atmosphere the best we can.”

  We continue in our comfortable silence. I pour the tea, it steeps, Peta smiles. I like this. I like enjoying small moments. I like assigning more significance to them than ever before.

  “How was the choir?” Peta asks as she fixes her tea.

  “Wonderful!”

  She dunks the tea bag in her cup, up and down. “I still can’t believe it. Peta Kaiser singing in the church choir. And it’s even more farfetched that you were sitting there in the pew listening.”

  “You think so?”

  “Oh, Pearly. Religion was annoyance to me. To you it was an abhorrence.”

  “Really? Did I come off like that?”

  “Oh yeah. I never heard Joey mention God without seeing you roll your eyes.”

  What a shame.

  “I think your conversion is even more striking than mine,” she says.

  “Thing is, I don’t know whether I’m converted or not.”

  Her brows rise. “Why is that?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t experienced a big lightning bolt, or some huge inner relief, you know, like you felt.”

  “Do you believe?”

  “Yes. But the Bible says that even the demons believe.”

  “Do you love Jesus?”

  “I think so. I know He loves me, so that’s a step in the right direction.”

  I sit down across from her.

  She says, “Well, I think you’re farther along than you think you are.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  “Pearly, do you pray?”

  I nod. “I know it doesn’t sound all that hot to God, though. I don’t know the lingo.”

  She laughs. “That’s funny!”

  “Why? You should read Joey’s journals, his prayers, they’re beautiful.”

  “But that was Joey. I have a theory about prayer. Now it may just be something I’ve concocted to make myself feel better, but I’ll lay it on you.” She takes a sip. “I think the most beautiful prayers to God are those when we are so full of pain or joy or wonder that we don’t even have words within us. Then we just communicate, heart to heart.”

  “I’ve had enough of those.”

  “That’s good. Me too. Especially lately. Sometimes I’m just too tired to even do more than feel.”

  “Oh, Peta.”

  “It’s true. But I’m actually thankful for this illness. It woke me up.”

  “I think Joey’s death woke me up too.”

  “It did.”

  I love the way Peta’s so sure about things.

  Silence stills the air again. I should put the pork chops on, but I’m enjoying this. I’m thankful, that’s it. And it fills me. And it really is a prayer.

  “Pearly? I’ve been thinking about the transplant.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I think I’d like to go through with it.”

  “I’m glad, but why?”

  “You don’t deserve this life.”

  Oh, my gosh. I feel the same way, but to hear someone else say it fills my stomach with lead. What can I say?

  “I mean, you don’t deserve to be pinned down here with me, making sure all is going fine, handing me towels when I throw up, at the ready to hook me up to the machine if I can’t do it myself. You deserve more.”

  “Oh no, Peta. I enjoy this time together. I don’t mind joining you for this ride.”

  “Be that as it may, Cousin, think of all the fun we could have together if I was healthy too.”

  But I won’t be here. I’ll be gone. I mourn quickly. Swallow it down. Peta will do so well, though. “Okay, then. It’s settled. I’ll work out all the details.”

  “Good. This is very good. But not until after the new year. I’m still firm on that.”

  I stand up, lean over, and give her a hug. “You’re going to be a great healthy person.”

  “Yeah,” she mumbles into my shirt. “Better than ever before.”

  Greater love has no man than this. Now I’m the one who feels like throwing up.

  I’m done! I’m off the cigarettes. Been down to three or five for over a year, and now it’s final. I am a nonsmoker.

  I hate it. I miss it.

  But anyway, I figure I’d better be in good shape for the surgery so all goes well for Peta. I can’t go into cardiac arrest or something before they take the kidney, I have to be able to die on the table after all is finished.

  I call Richie to get him off his trail. He’s called several times this summer, but I didn’t fool him. At least I don’t think so.

  I wait for at least fifteen minutes on long-distance hold, to the delight of AT&T, or whatever they’re called these days. Finally he picks up.

  “Richard King,” he
says, all official.

  “Oh, don’t be formal with me, Richie.”

  “Miss Pearly!”

  “You haven’t checked in for at least four weeks.”

  “Been busy. Besides, you’ve been sounding very good. That Lexapro still working?”

  “It’s great. But I’ve got some good news. I’ve quit smoking completely.”

  “Good! I can’t believe it.”

  “Me either.”

  “What about the plot?”

  “You don’t mess around, do you? Well, Peta doesn’t want to go through with it, so my hands are tied.”

  Yes, I lied.

  “Good for her. Would you go through with it if you could, though?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve been going to church regularly.”

  “Hallelujah, you’ve seen the light.”

  “Well, yes. I guess maybe you could put it that way.”

  “As your friend, not your doctor, I’ll tell you I’ve been praying for you.”

  “You and a million other people.”

  “Hey, if it works, it works.”

  We chat about incidentals for a little while and hang up. I feel better for it, although the lies don’t sit very well. So I sit and feel for a while, trying to get a heart-to-heart with God going. Finally I just take my coffee out on the deck, sit in my chair, and enjoy the scenery. I need to soak in as much of this as I can now.

  “How in the world are you and two other guys going to fit into this apartment, Matthew?”

  “It’s got to work, Mrs. Laurel. Were all poor, and the rents cheap.”

  “There’s no bedroom.”

  “Yeah, but you can only do what you can.”

  “Let me help with the rent.”

  “Huh-uh. No way. You’ve done so much already.”

  “But I like doing it.”

  “I’ve got to make my own way.”

  “Fine. But at least let me take you over to Kmart to buy some household things. You’ve got one pot.”

  He thinks about this. “All right. But nothing expensive, okay?”

  “We’re talking Kmart here, Matt.”