The Ending is Everything

by Aaron M. Carpenter

  I stumbled off the couch, found my way to the kitchen, poured myself some stale coffee and placed the coffee mug in the microwave to reheat. The kitchen counters were concealed behind red plastic cups, with various amounts of stale beer floating in each. I stood still trying not to move (every time I did it felt like someone hammering my head with a boxing glove) and began to replay the previous night in my mind. It was a blur of images: on the back patio talking to Jenna, then Zero in the kitchen, sitting by myself, VR glasses, a shotgun and a transparent phone. I could’ve sworn I saw a police drone, associated with a complaint about noise. That was about it.

  Not one for getting drunk, I surprised myself at the level obtained. Oh, I don’t mind drinking, but getting blackout drunk was not something I did. Unless you count my twenty-first birthday. But that doesn’t count. Now, I just had to hope the worst thing I did was pass out on the couch and some spilled beer.

  Outside, I checked the backyard. The sun had just risen in the east and my eyes instantly closed against the bright, warm, light. More red plastic cups littered the yard, some on the outdoor coffee table, some on the sagging sofa, some on the grass, but no party-goers passed out in the bushes. I went back inside, grabbed my coffee from the beeping microwave, and three two hundred milligram ibuprofens. Took those and swigged them down with bitter coffee. I sighed and headed into my room to take a shower.

  Jenna.

  She slept awkwardly on my bed, at a diagonal, snoring loud for a person of her size. Still in her jeans and a white t-shirt. My black comforter had been pushed aside onto the floor, and the burnt blue linen sheets were wrapped around her body like a confused boa constrictor. I realized I had been staring which (sparkling vampire’s excluded) is creepy, so I grabbed some change of clothes and quietly left the room.

  An hour after I dressed and made a half-hearted effort at cleaning, I sat in the backyard and smoked a cigarette. I had a copy of my favorite book, Brave New World by Aldous Huxley and I was determined to re-read it. I made numerous attempts since I came home, but I just couldn’t concentrate long enough to get past the first few pages. I used to love reading. Now, I struggled.

  “Blake?” Jenna apparently awoke while I was staring at page one. She stood in the doorway, shielding the sunlight from her eyes, her unkempt hair moved mildly in the slight breeze.

  “Hey. How you feeling?” I asked.

  “Like shit.”

  “You want some aspirin or something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  I got up, put the book down on the patio coffee table and was on my way to the kitchen.

  “I really want to apologize,” Jenna said.

  “What?”

  “About last night. I’m sorry.”

  “No need for an apology. We’ve all been there.”

  “Did we?” she asked with hesitation.

  At first, I did not comprehend the question. Did we? What? ...Oh! There were numerous gaps in my time-travel festivities from the previous night, but I would not forget that.

  “I don’t think so,” I said.

  “Well, thanks anyways for not using your devilish charm to take advantage of me.”

  That statement threw me for a loop. She should never have to say thanks to anyone, for not taking advantage of her. “Devilish charm? Yeah, I’m full of that.”

  “Seriously. Thanks.”

  “For what? Being a decent person?”

  “Yeah, well... The world could use more decent people.”

  With that... we just stood and stared awkwardly at each other. I knew some additional factors, unknown to me, accounted for her state of being. She never quite looked me directly in the eyes. But, I just met her and didn’t want to pry further.

  “Here.” I placed my hands on her shoulders and guide her to a comfortable chair. “Sit down, and I will get you some coffee and aspirin. The breakfast of champions.”

  A few minutes later, I was back outside with coffee and aspirin in tow. The sun was slightly raised from the horizon in the east. Illuminated in the light sat Jenna, with her knees up and legs underneath her, staring off into the distance. She made no movement as if she heard me. I cleared my throat. She turned to me, her bright blue eyes flashing in the sun, as she turned in my direction.

  I placed the cup of coffee and the bottle of ibuprofen on the side table next to her. “Here you go.” I brought the whole bottle.

  “Thanks.” She took a few ibuprofen, swallowed and washed it down with some black coffee.

  “No problem.”

  “What were you doing out here earlier? Reading?” Jenna asked, after an uncomfortable moment of silence.

  “The book?” I asked. She nodded. “Not reading. More like staring at empty pages.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, I’m not sure. I can’t seem to concentrate long enough to get the words to stick.” She gave me a look that appeared to question my sanity.

  “What’s the book?”

  I held it up to her. “Brave New World, one of my favorites, since I was a kid.”

  “You’ve read it before?”

  “Many times.”

  “Why don’t you try something new? That could help. Maybe something simpler and newer. When was that written? A hundred years ago?”

  “About that.”

  “So it’s not considered an easy read.”

  “Not easy. But it’s not difficult.”

  “Every time I want to do something I am struggling with. Like, say, going to the gym or back to school, start with something simple and easy. I walk the treadmill. Take an easy class, like Film Studies, just to get back into the routine.”

  “Maybe, your right. I’ve been trying to read this for the past three months,” I said. “You going to school now?”

  “No,” she said and laughed.

  “What are you doing today?” I said.

  “Hmm... nothing much. Didn’t really have any plans.”

  “You wanna go out and grab some breakfast?”

  “You mean like out and about?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sure. Why not? Can I use your shower to clean up?”

  “Of course.”

  Hours later we found ourselves in my favorite bookstore. A small, independent, somehow still alive, bookstore. One of the few places that had not changed in the past three years. The bookstore in question was located in one of those strip malls that popped up and littered the landscape in the early nineties. Gray, one story, buildings and uniformly square. In big, cursive, red letters, written from the bottom left of the storefront window, to the top right, was the name of the store: Book Me! Not, exactly, the most clever title. But, I liked it.

  Inside, books were everywhere. It was sorted well, but, from one glance, one would think the books were thrown around without order. The small desk at the front of the store housed the lone employee. Always one there were. No more, no less. Facing the inside of the store from the entrance: left side, Non-Fiction; right, Fiction. The store only sorted into a few genres: Literary Fiction, Sc-Fi/Fantasy, Romance & Mystery. That was it.

  “How did this go from, let’s get breakfast? To buying me a book?” Jenna asked.

  How we arrived here is quite clear. The conversation went something like this:

  “What’s the last book you read?” I asked Jenna.

  “I haben’t read a book in years,” Jenna said, with a mouthful of pancakes.

  “Well. After this, I am buying you a book and I will grab myself an easy one, like you suggested.”

  “I like this place. I used to know most of the people that work here,” I said, while walking down a cluttered aisle of fantasy books.

  Jenna continued walking right past me, saying only one thing. “Uh huh.”

  “So, what kind of books do you like?” I asked.

  “Why, you really gonna buy me one?”

  “I said I would.”

  “Well, it’s been awhile since I read any
thing.”

  “Genres? Authors?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. Putting a book she had in her hand back on the shelf. Then wiping the dust off her hands on her jeans. “You pick.”

  “You gotta give me something.”

  Quietly, she said, “I used to read fantasies when I was in high school.”

  “Sweet I knew there was something I liked about you. You were a D&D nerd.”

  “I only played a few times.” This reply made me laugh out loud.

  “Don’t worry I don’t think any less of you.” I paused for dramatic effect. She kept looking at books on the shelf. “So... were you a thief, wizard, dwarf?”

  She, without losing her gaze on the books, punched me in the arm. A no-look punch. Very sneaky. “It was a long time ago.”

  Meanwhile, the lone employee sat observing this terrible cat and mouse, mating ritual. Shaking his head, distracting himself for a moment from reading Stephen King’s, IT. I am sure he thought for a second to intervene, so we didn’t make a mess of the bookstore. But, after looking around at the current state of the store, decided instead to let the ritual continue.

  I ended up with the first Lee Child, Jack Reacher novel, a series of books my mom used to love and looked like an easier read than Huxley. Jenna, at my suggestion, was taking home Homeland, by R.A. Salvatore, the story of a Dark Elf and his complicated relationship with his family and race of people. Not a bad haul. Especially, for the total cost of $9.75.

  “So, where to now?” I asked as we left the store.

  “I should probably head home,” she said while looking at her phone. It was just before noon.

  “Sure, no problem,” I said, even though I was disappointed.

  “I just promised Aaron I would meet up with him at one,” she said.

  “Aaron?”

  “My boyfriend. Or ex,” she said and laughed a hesitant laugh. “Sometimes I don’t even know.”

  “Okay. Home it is,” I said, as we approached my car. The wind was blowing the bag in my hand around until it became a twisted knot. The dreaded Santa Ana winds. Jenna’s hair swirled around her face, she was pushing it away, when I asked, “Just do one thing for me?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Let me know how the book is.”

  She smiled.

  The drive home was silent. The car, a twenty-ten, small compact, Hyundai, that I purchased five years ago, droned along through the windy streets. The extended silence with Jenna was an odd feeling. Throughout the morning, we talked as if we’ve known each other for decades. But, once Aaron’s name was brought up, it was like a power surge had blown a fuse out of the relationship. It was no fault of mine. It was no fault of hers. It was just the way it was.

  She gave me directions to her apartment. She lived in an apartment complex that I believe every person in town lived in at least once in their twenties. She told me, how she got the place months ago after she and Aaron broke up the first time. I really wasn’t listening.

  I pulled into the apartment complex. She was still talking, when I interrupted. “Which one?”

  “...Oh. Number two-twelve. On the right.”

  I drove up to her apartment. It was a small second story apartment. I never visited hers, but I had been in many like it. A six hundred square foot box, with white walls, a beige carpet, one bedroom and one bath.

  “Want me to walk you up?” I asked.

  “No. I’m fine.” She got out of the car; book in hand. “Thanks for the ride and company.”

  “No problem.”

  “What are you doing tonight?”

  “Not sure.”

  “Well, I think we were planning on meeting up with Ethan later. Maybe head to the Roadhouse.”

  “Okay.”

  “I will text you.”

  “Sure.”

  “Bye Blake.”

  “Bye Jenna.”

  With that, she shut the door and walked to the stairway leading to her apartment. The wind causing her hair to extend out behind her like a black flame. She stopped and looked back, smiled and went up the stairs and into her apartment. I sighed, put the car in drive and drove away thinking that was the last time I would see Jenna.

  Alone at last, back home. This time it was with a hint of sadness. Being alone, was a concept I had grown familiar with and even relished. But, for the first time in a long while, it didn’t seem as comforting. As I stepped inside and looked around the empty house, I was hit with a sudden realization that I needed to clean. The place smelled like a locker room mixed with a brewery. The hangover, while subsided, came roaring back to life at the smell and I almost wretched right there in the doorway. I wanted to curl up somewhere and sleep. Maybe read my new book. I did neither.

  Cleaned my kitchen.

  Made lunch. A turkey sandwich.

  Cleaned the backyard.

  Vacuumed the house.

  Watched an episode of Buffy.

  I did not sleep or read.

  Around dinner time, I was preparing some chicken salad, still a little hungover, but I was beginning to feel alive again. The Television was on. The news was talking about an imminent terror attack. The news always talked about imminent terror attacks these days. Nothing ever came of them. At least not an attack from an outside entity. Not for the last twenty years anyway. Most terror attacks since 9/11 were homegrown radicals. Influenced by Islamic terrorist? Some.

  Then my phone rang. It was Ethan. As I grabbed my cheap cell phone, with its flimsy plastic feel, from the kitchen counter, I realized I missed eight text messages.

  “Hello,” I answered.

  “Blake. What’s up man?” Ethan replied.

  “Not much. You?”

  “Pretty good,” Ethan replied. Then he paused and mumbled something to someone else. “Hey, Jenna wanted to ask you something?”

  “Sure,” I said and began to wonder if we were back in junior high.

  “Blake?” Jenna asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Cooking myself some dinner.”

  “Scratch that. Come out to the Roadhouse with us.”

  “Us?” I stared at the chicken that was half-cooked on the grill. “Who’s us?”

  “Ethan. Myself, obviously. Zero is supposed to meet us there and… Aaron.” Aaron was said with a whisper.

  “I don’t know. I think I am just gonna stay in tonight. I gotta work tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow’s Veterans Day.”

  “Yes. Ironic isn’t it,” I said. I did have to work, but it was on a volunteer basis. No one was required to be in the office.

  “Well. I’ll guess I will see you later then.”

  It wasn’t that I did not want to go. I just felt like I shouldn’t. I liked Jenna, this I knew. It would just cause more problems if I were there with her boyfriend. Or ex-boyfriend. There was no good to come of it. I did the practical and rational thing. Take myself out of the equation. Of course, that could all be bullshit, and I was just being a selfish asshole who would rather spend time alone in his stuffy home than deal with the complex reality of having friends. That was an option as well.

  Around 11p.m. I went to the stereo, a relic from my father and a bygone age. Put on a record, sat down on the red couch and lit up a cigarette. I tried not to smoke inside but felt this was a real exception. The couch was still sticky. I thought to myself, I would have to clean that more thoroughly, with no real desire to follow up. I kept trying to put the thought of Jenna out of my mind. But, when I did, my mind would then drift to Syria or Afghanistan. The violence, fear, and oppression. My thoughts, slowly drifting to a moment in time I would never forget. When Joe was killed by an IED. It was, as all of these cases are, out of nowhere. Just walking along a street then… The endless ringing in my ears. It could’ve been any of us. But, it was Joe. My only real friend during my time deployed. A crazy, smartass. A soldier through and through. While I always felt like I was wearing a costume. Joe and the others were soldi
ers from head to toe. Solid and fearless. Then again, they could’ve felt exactly the way I did. Everyone else seemed like real soldiers, while inside they felt like impostors.

  I had to go to work tomorrow. Why did I volunteer? I worked a boring office job. Creating reports. Dashboards. Microsoft Excel. It was so insignificant and pointless I did not bring it up until now.

  The music played. Fugazi, The Argument.

  Half awake. Drifting between consciousness. The music flowing through me.

  11:07 p.m. On a Sunday night in November.

  Rancho Cucamonga, California.

  Eyes fluttering between open and closed.

  Ian Mackeye, singing about the argument.

  Then.

  Nothing.

  The music stopped.

  All the lights went out.

  I came to my senses and sat up with slow movements in the darkness. Out the front window, I could see a glow on the horizon to the west. I walked with trepidation to the window, pulled up the blinds for an unobstructed view and saw a mushroom cloud rising to the heavens, lighting up the horizon. It seemed small from this distance, like the moon. A terrifying orange-red glow with billowing orange clouds. I blinked my eyes twice, just to verify it was still there. It was. I stumbled backward to my red couch, sat down with a plunk and lit up another cigarette. I knew right then, at that moment, that all the distractions and worrying these past days, months, years, meant absolutely nothing.

  CHAPTER THREE

  11/11/2024

  A few minutes after I saw the mushroom cloud and after it had faded into the horizon, I was still sitting on the red couch, smoking a cigarette. The home was pitch black. The lights still out. I used my cell phone to brighten my local area. This isn’t real. That didn’t happen. The truth was too much for my mind to handle. I just sat there. The cigarette tasted amazing. So much for cancer concerns. I needed to worry about radiation. Radiation? I surveyed my house and saw windows, the window I used to see the mushroom cloud in the first place, and could just imagine little, invisible rays of radiation seeping between the cracks. Creeping. Slowly. Closer. Landing on my skin. Slowly, but surely, killing me.