The Void

by Bryan Healey

  "I... I don't..."

  I am confused; I shake my head, blink twice, shake my head again. I feel panicked, absolutely alert, but I suddenly have no reason to be.

  "Max?"

  "What?"

  "Please let go of my shoulder."

  "Oh," and I let go completely, her body falling from the elevated position I was holding her, and her back struck the pavement. She grunts as she strikes the ground; she coughs and puts her hands to her face.

  "Is everything alright?"

  I leap to my feet, arms up; a man before me, a woman standing behind him, looking a delicate mix of worry and anger as I try to quickly decide how to react.

  "We're okay!" Jenny shouts.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Who are you?" I don't know this man...

  "Excuse me?"

  "Sir, we're fine, please, just go away!"

  "I don't-"

  "She said go away!" I shout and lunge at the man, who dashes backwards and throws his hands to his face. I try to grab him, to question him, when Jenny clasps my leg, causing my attention to divert instantly back to her; she looks aghast.

  "Max! Calm down!"

  "I-"

  "No! Calm! Take a deep breath!"

  "But, I-"

  "Deep breath!" She slowly comes back to her feet, a grunt with every movement as she wraps my arms around her torso, pulling me in tightly to her chest. I feel my heart throbbing against my ribs and echoing against her shirt. My breathing is suddenly raspy and furious; I feel faint; my vision is jagged and clouded. What the hell is wrong with me?

  "What the hell is wrong with me?"

  "You're okay, baby," and she starts to rub my back. I feel my heart slowly begin to subside, and all at once the gravity of the moment strikes me and I feel ashamed, panicked and desperate to be home.

  "I have to go."

  "Okay, sweetie," and she cups one arm around my back and rests her hand on my hip, slowly leading me away. "Let's go home."

  And we dash for our car, reaching it in only a handful of leaping steps.

  I start to cry as the passenger door closes...

  "He looks good today," I suddenly hear Mary saying, from my right, where I imagine her staring out the window. I wonder if she is looking at a park of some kind, covered in snow. "Doesn't he look good?"

  "Yes, he does," Jenny mumbles.

  "It's not fair, really," Brian continues.

  "I'm glad he looks good," Mary exclaims.

  "Why?"

  "He always looked good."

  "He's dying!" Brian near shouts.

  "He's not dead yet," Mary grumbles, and then says nothing further. Perhaps she is still looking out that window, imaging just how cold it is outside.

  "Hey, dad," Brian says, his voice loud, right beside my left ear. He must be sitting, or leaning, at my bed side. "How are you today?"

  "It's easy to talk to him, isn't it?" Jenny laughs.

  Brian says nothing.

  "You know, I always worried he'd end up here."

  "What?" Jenny asks Mary.

  "I just..." And then nothing.

  But I know what she means...

  "Son of a bitch!"

  I'm screaming, on the pavement, clutching my leg, which is now bleeding and quite clearly at an incorrect angle, the ladder on which I was previously standing now lay beside my head.

  Jenny rushes outside, eyes penetrating and her hands shaking, arms flailing, unsure what to do. She reaches for me, her eyes carry to my protruding bone, and then she retreats and screams.

  "Goddamnit!"

  It hurts, furiously. I feel my mental faculties leave me completely; all I care for is the pain. The searing, all-consuming pain, radiating up my thigh, into my abdomen, up my chest and into my arms. My mind can think of nothing else; the pain is all there is for me, the only element in my now small world.

  My memory of the intervening hours is blurred, a series of flashes, of Jenny, then no Jenny, and then Jenny again; of a group of burly looking men, of the inside of an ambulance; a doctor hovering over me, looking concerned; of a sterile room, devoid of people, white everywhere, the pain subsiding...

  Soon, I find my faculties gently returning, somewhat. Yet there is... something else; something... something... It is a coating, a film over life. My eyelids open and my eyes scan the room, still sterile and white, but now holding Jenny, a nurse and a still concerned looking doctor. I glance at Jenny...

  She is saying... something...

  "Hello, honey." I am glad to see her.

  She answers me.

  "Where am I?"

  She answers me again, but I don't hear her.

  "What?"

  "It's- hospit- you-"

  Why is she mumbling?

  "What?"

  All at once I realize, I have no pain.

  In fact, I feel fantastic. I feel like I can dance.

  "I want to dance!"

  "What?" She looks perplexed.

  "I want to dance!"

  Maybe she didn't hear me.

  And she laughs. She heard me.

  "You can dance later, sweetheart."

  "I feel good..."

  I have never felt so good... I can feel nothing; I can feel nothing at all. It is remarkable, like my arm went numb and spread across my entire body. I raise my arm, watching it as it soars, just to make sure I'm still able... I am, it turns out.

  "I'm glad, sweetie."

  "Why do I feel so good?"

  It occurs to me that this isn't normal. Something was done to me, what was done to me?

  "You're just a little doped up, sweetie."

  "Doped up?"

  "Yeah."

  "Oh," and I understand.

  I have some kind of drug in me.

  Whatever it is, it's a wonderful drug...

  "It's a wonderful drug," I vocalize.

  She laughs.

  The doctor looks suddenly less concerned.

  Or maybe I am imagining everything. Maybe nothing is real. Maybe this is all there is, the numbing, the wandering curtains; I want ice cream...

  "Hey," the voice of Sarah. She sounds somber.

  What's wrong?

  "How are you?"

  As good as a man could be, given everything...

  I feel hungry...

  I wish I could have ice cream, one more time.

  "I suppose that's a silly question. You couldn't possibly be good. You're not even there at all, huh?"

  I'm here!

  I wish everyone would stop assuming that I am not here, that I have left. Where would I go? I am my mind; so long as my mind is still here, whole and in my skull, I am here, in whatever form I can be.

  "Michael is having trouble sleeping suddenly."

  That's odd...

  "I'm worried about him. He seems depressed."

  Well, he is dying...

  I would be depressed, if I could be. In fact, I may well be, only I have no ability to show it. Do I think depressed? Are my thoughts depressed? What does it mean to be depressed for a man who can only hear and think, and has no perception of the world, or his place within it? Do I have different states of being?

  "I keep telling him not to give up. There is always hope, isn't there?"

  Of course not!

  There can't always be hope.

  I'd never say that to her, but it's true. If there is always hope, there would be no endings. At the very end, when the eyes seal shut and the brain dies, t
here is no hope left. The game is over, the final play has been made. And if there can be an end to life and an end to hope, then there can always be situations that are hopeless, the ones that bring about the end.

  You may not know which is hopeless until the end comes, but whether knowledge or ignorance, it was hopeless just the same.

  Hope, it seems, is dependent on outcome.

  "He hates his chemo treatments."

  Maybe he should stop them...

  "He wants to stop them, they make him feel so sick and tired, but he can't sleep, so he's miserable. He wants to stop, but I keep telling him that he has to keep fighting. He has to... fight..."

  It's you that is holding on to hope...

  "I want him to fight."

  You think he can win, you think he can survive. You want him to fight so he can see the other side, and you can hold onto him for just a little longer.

  Don't make him fight, Sarah.

  Let him choose how to go away from here.

  I'd give anything for that choice...

  "I can't live without him, Max," she squeaks, her voice trembling. She sounds so fragile. "I just... I can't live without him. He's all I have left."

  What about your parents?

  She never mentions their parents...

  "I don't know what I'll do, Max..."

  She's crying now.

  Don't cry, Sarah; I can't take anymore of that...

  "I need you to take care of him, Max."

  You... what?

  "He's not doing well, but I think you'll beat him there. Get ready for him. I'll tell him to look for you."

  Look for me, where? In heaven?

  Does she think I'm going to heaven?

  "I think you'll like him. He's a good guy."

  I am not going to any heaven. I don't believe in such a place; and if there were such a place, and were it governed by any of the Gods I was educated about as a boy, I am certain that I would not be much welcomed there. There is blood on my hands, and I would never dare ask for forgiveness...

  I'm not sorry.

  "He may not be perfect, but at heart, he's a good man. He always looked out for me. He always kept me safe, even... even when it hurt him."

  You sound like you truly love him.

  "I don't know who will protect me now."

  You'll be fine, Sarah.

  "I should just go with him..."

  Oh, Sarah!

  "...then we three can be together."

  Don't say things like that, Sarah!

  "I wonder what it's like to die."

  You won't find out for a long time!

  "I suppose you'll find out soon enough."

  Don't envy me; I don't want to find out.

  I want to live!

  "I imagine it's probably just like a really deep sleep, just you can't wake up from it."

  I feel like that every day...

  "I guess it probably hurts to get there, though."

  Probably...

  "I don't like pain."

  No one does...

  "I wish Michael wasn't in pain."

  I wish he wasn't, either...

  "I don't know what to do anymore, Max. I just don't know anymore," and then the sound of sheets ruffling, breath ragged, and she collapses into tears and coughing. I hate to hear her agony, but strangely I hope that I am at least of some comfort...

  "Max, how many did you take?"

  Jenny sounds urgent, but I don't care.

  My world is blurred again, as always now, the ceiling my only care of focus. I think she's beside me, but I don't look at her; I just stare at the ceiling.

  "Max!"

  "What?" I finally grumble.

  "How many of these did you take?"

  She holds a prescription bottle in front of my face. I don't know how many I took. I had lost count somewhere after my fifth for the day. But I did know that I was only supposed to take two, so that's what I finally say: "Two."

  "Bullshit."

  "What?"

  "You took more than two, Max, you're barely able to breath right now!"

  Am I not breathing? I feel like I'm breathing...

  "I took two," I repeat.

  "Max, please, just tell me!"

  "Two!" I shout, my eyes still locked onto the ceiling, never breaking my concentration for even a moment. I have almost finished counting the spots...

  "Argh!" Jenny grips my shoulder and throws me forward in the chair. The ceiling is lost; I'm sad.

  "Hey!"

  "Max!" She put her hands on my face, pushing my cheeks against my jaw bone, her face now inches from my nose. She looks furious.

  "What?" I barely care...

  "Just tell me, okay? Please?"

  "Fine," I mumble, smacking her hands away from my face. They smell funny; why do her hands smell funny? "I took five."

  "Five? Are you sure?"

  "Yes, well, maybe, five for sure, maybe an extra or two, I don't know. Let go of me."

  "I'm... I'm not touching you."

  "Oh," and I scan the room. Everything looks different, like I was in another room altogether, except my television is in this room; also, all my pictures, including the one from our trip to Maine last year.

  That was fun...

  Where is Jenny?

  I can't find her, suddenly...

  Where is she?

  I try to stand, but stumble.

  "Jenny?"

  No answer.

  Am I imagining her?

  I finally get to my feet and amble into the hall, down the hall, into the kitchen. She is no where to be found. Is she home? "Jenny," as I head into the next hall, to the stairs, looking up toward our bedroom. I don't know if I can handle the stairs... "Jenny?"

  "Max?"

  Her voice echoes, but from where? Not up the stairs; maybe from the den? It sounds like the den.

  "Jenny?" I head toward the den, back down the hall, through the door. The books smell good; I always loved that smell of books. I didn't read nearly enough, but that smell was worth all the books I'd bought over the years and never enjoyed.

  "Max?"

  Nope, not in the den.

  Where the hell is she?

  Back in the hall, into the kitchen, out onto the porch, and out into the backyard. "Jenny?"

  "Max, what are you doing?"

  I spin and see Jenny, standing on the porch, looking out at me with an expression of abject terror. Why is she so scared? What is there to be scared of? Everything is wonderful!

  "I'm outside!"

  "You're naked!"

  "What?" I look down; Jesus, I am naked!

  Why am I naked?

  "Why am I naked?"

  "Max, get inside! Right now!"

  "No!" I feel like I need to be doing something...

  "Now! Right now!"

  "I need to find Jenny!"

  "Max!" And she comes to me, grips my arm and yanks me toward the porch. "Get inside!"

  "Let go of me!"

  "Max, come on!"

  "Let go!" And I rip my arm from her grip, finally free. But then there is silence. I look around, and Jenny is gone again; where did she go? "Jenny?"

  "Max," her voice weak now. I look down.

  There she is! Why is her face covered in red?

  What is that red...

  "He looks pale," Brian remarks, in the void.

  "He does. Why does he look so pale?"

  That was J
enny. She sounds frantic.

  "He's running a bit of a fever."

  "Is there anything we can do for him?"

  "Mrs. Aaron," the doctor begins, but then never continues. Jenny did not protest; no one spoke on the matter again. I don't know what happened, what was gestured, but it seems everyone agreed that I was as I should be and that there was nothing to do.

  "How much longer does he have?"

  "I don't know," the doctor answers.

  "Can you guess?" That was Brian.

  "Well," and then a brief pause, I assume while reviewing my various medical instruments. "His heart is still beating strong. It's only been a few days since we removed the feeding tube, and he has a relatively healthy body. It could be quite a while longer."

  "How will we know? I need-" and then Jenny coughs. "I want to be here... when... when he goes."

  "He won't go suddenly."

  "Are you sure?"

  "His body will go slowly into distress. He'll show more symptoms of undernourishment before he nears the end and his heart begins to weaken."

  "That sounds so... rough..."

  Yes, it does...

  "He isn't able to feel anything, mom."

  "I know," she whispers.

  I can feel; I'm hungry... I think...

  "I just don't want to watch him die."

  "You don't have to, mom!"

  "I can't leave him. I have to be here with him."

  "He's not here, mom."

  "He's right there, Brian!"

  I assume she is pointing at me...

  "That's not dad! That is meat and bones!"

  "Brian-"

  "Dad is gone, he's been gone for years! That is his shell, the machine he lived in. He's not inside it, his brain is not working. You don't need to watch his body stop working, it won't bring you any comfort, mom!"

  "It's not about my comfort!"

  "But-" His voice is forceful, almost angry.

  "Brian, drop it!"

  "Mom, you have to take-" And now pleading.

  "No." Jenny sounds calm, reserved.

  "Mom, this is important!"

  "Your father is important."

  "That is not my father!"

  Do not shout at your mother!

  "Brian," she begins, sounding calm. "Enough."

  And Brian sighs, a loud crashing noise.

  He does not press further...

  "You need help, Max."