Forever Autumn

by Christopher Scott Wagoner

Rich turned his torso to the side, spreading out his arms. He pointed at the end of his outstretched arm.

  “Right here, this is tier one. This is where you’re at when you finally dip your dick in pussy.”

  “Wouldn’t that be further along?” Phil ruefully figured that playing along with Rich’s stupidity would shut him up faster.

  Rich snorted derisively. “Yeah, a newbie like you would think that. No, sex is just the beginning my friend. Just the beginning. To move along the tier, to the last step—” Rich indicated his shoulder with a jab of a well-manicured index finger “—you have to be prepared. You have to be a man.”

  “What’s the last step? And what do you mean, be a man? I’m well over eighteen, Rich.”

  “Tier Fifteen is when your woman is totally, completely satisfied,” said Rich with a wistful smile. “Even I, in my supreme natural talent, have only been to Tier Fifteen a handful of times. And turning eighteen don’t make you a man. For tens of thousands of years, manhood was something that had to be earned. You won’t be able to please Creepy Crawley until you feel you’ve earned your manhood.”

  Phil cocked his head to the side. Behind the bluster and vulgarity, there seemed to be a kernel of wisdom in Rich’s words. It was true that he in many ways did not feel worthy of a feisty, sexually adventurous girl like Crawley. But he had no idea about how to prove that he was, either to himself or her.

  “Oh, come on, Rich. How would a Jewish kid from Brooklyn even go about doing that?”

  “Well,” said Rich, scratching his chin, “there’s this South American tribe that lives in the rain forest that makes their young men wear gloves filled with stinging, poisonous ants…”

  “Yeah, sure. Great. That sounds like a great plan.”

  “Or you could go on a vision quest, or great and dangerous journey.”

  “I think you’re making this shit up as you go along. I have to go. We’re driving upstate to try and find Autumn’s dad, so—”

  “That’s it!” Rich clapped him on the shoulder. “The universe is giving you the chance to prove your manhood! If you can overcome the challenges on the road trip, you will have earned your manhood, padawan!”

  Phil was at last able to swerve past Rich. “If you say so, Rich. Have a nice weekend.”

  “Walk with the ancients, my fierce squaw!” Rich held his hand over his heart and stared stoically after Phil. “For when you return, you shall be a brave!”

  “Mr. Borgia,” said the nurse, lightly patting Steve on his shoulder.

  “What’s up?” Steve sat up in the chair he had been dozing in. He glanced out the window, blinking at the afternoon sun. “It’s not after visiting hours, is it?”

  “No, sweetie, the chief of medicine wishes to speak with you.”

  Steve glanced at Autumn’s bed, finding her sleeping deeply if not peacefully. The pathos of her pallid, sickly form nearly brought tears to his eyes, but he squared his jaw and followed the nurse out into the hall.

  “Her office is on the first floor. Charlene at the front desk can show you the way.”

  He thanked the woman and walked toward the elevators, lost in thought. He wondered what the chief wanted to see him about, but he also could not help but wonder about the group that had left early that morning, headed for Poughkeepsie. It all seemed so ludicrous, that he should be here uselessly sitting around while others tried to save what he knew in his heart was the love of his life.

  Upon reaching the ground floor, he was directed to a cluster of offices in the administrative wing. In short order he was being ushered into a nicely appointed office. The woman sitting behind the desk was middle-aged but in good shape. Her waist was narrow and her skin taut, and her hand strongly gripped his own for a shake.

  “Mr. Borgia,” she said once greetings had been made, “please sit down.”

  She indicated a pair of comfortable upholstered chairs. He carefully sat down in one, arranging his long legs under it.

  “I understand that you believe you have a donor.”

  “Nothing is for sure yet, but we’re hoping.”

  “I see.” She had introduced herself, but Steve had forgotten her name. Fortunately, she wore a gold name tag on her lapel proclaiming her Dr. Layla Sark. “You are aware, of course, that your fiancée has no health insurance.”

  “I can take care of her expenses. I have a good job.”

  Dr. Sark sighed, the sound of someone who was about to act in a manner they were not comfortable with. “Mr. Borgia, we’re not concerned about the day to day costs concerning her care. But the transplant operation is very expensive.”

  “I said I’d take care of it!” Steve’s eyes narrowed to slits and his hands rasped into fists.

  “The costs are going to be roughly seventy-five thousand. I’m sorry, I don’t see how you’re going to swing that on a teacher’s salary.”

  “I’ll pay it off if it takes thirty years.” Steve tried to ignore the growing knot in his belly.

  “I’m sorry, but hospital policy is that we have to collect half the money up front. Until we receive it, even if a donor does come through, we won’t be able to proceed.”

  “Are you serious? Look, I’ll get you the money. I’ll work two or even three jobs, you can cut me open and take whatever you want—”

  “Mr. Borgia,” she said, holding up a hand. “Please calm down. I’m on your side.”

  “Calm down? When you just told me I have to watch her die so you can save money? And you want me to be calm?”

  “I realize this is a difficult time for you.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, let me ask you something. Have you ever had to watch while someone you love more than anything just wasted away in front of you? Have you ever had your life, your love, your whole future just ripped right from your hands? Because if you haven’t, I don’t think you realize shit.”

  Steve rose to his feet, snarling at the inquisitive receptionist as he stalked past. He went to the elevator, still seething, and reached for the number nine button. His finger stalled, hovering near the switch. He turned toward a passing nun and asked her where the chapel was.

  Steve rode the elevator to the top floor. He crossed over the fenced-in bridge that spanned the gap between the elevator and the parking garage. Passing by a gaggle of staff who were using the eagle-eye vantage to smoke, he trudged out to the edge of the garage. Though his car was parked several floors below, he kept walking until he was standing with hands braced on the concrete, staring out over the city.

  It didn’t seem fair to him. So many people deserved to die. Dictators, serial killers, molesters…why did the universe decide that it was Autumn’s time? What kind of twisted logic did the celestial bureaucracy running the cosmos use to determine such things?

  In his despair, he briefly considered leaping over the side. It was a full ten stories down, and he had no doubt that the impact would be lethal. He felt guilty, thinking of Autumn lying in her bed, struggling to stay alive. He also thought of his father and mother, and what they might feel if he were to kill himself, and thinking about that made him even more upset.

  Deciding that Autumn didn’t need to know about either the problems with her transplant or his momentary weakness, he spun on his heel and strode back toward the hospital with purpose. He would put on a brave front for her. He would do anything for her.

  “That’s Steven’s sister?” Crawley asked from the front seat as they watched the lithesome woman make her way to the van.

  “Yeah,” said Phil from his spot next to her, “you met her before, at Rex’s house.”

  “Oh, yeah…I don’t remember her being so built.”

  Susan was wearing tight black yoga pants and sneakers, and had on a snug spandex top. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was donning a jacket as she walked. She cut an impressive figure, both from her beauty and her fitness.

  “Damn,” Deathslayer said from one of the bench style seats, taking up most of it. “She looks just as pretty as her mother did
. I mean, does.”

  Crawley and Phil shot him appreciative smiles at the jest. Perhaps because of the gravity of the situation, they were all behaving a bit silly, cracking jokes and acting boisterous. When Susan entered the vehicle, their levity seemed to annoy her.

  “I’m glad you’re all having fun. Meanwhile poor Steve and Autumn are going through hell.”

  “Uh,” said Phil, “it’s pretty obvious that you don’t even like Autumn. Why are you here exactly?”

  Susan glared at Phil until he cringed.

  “I may think Steve can do better, but I still don’t want her to die! Plus, I’m doing this mostly for Steve. Why are you here? You’re just his friend because Steve feels bad about your big brother getting killed.”

  “SUSAN!” said Deathslayer, his bellow filling up the cabin.

  “Sorry,” said Susan. “I guess I’m more upset than I thought.”

  “It’s all right,” said Phil, though he had a hard set to his jaw.

  “All right,” said Crawley. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

  She put the van in drive and pulled carefully into the street. Susan turned around on her seat and spoke to her father in hushed tones for several minutes. At length she turned about to face them in the front seat.

  “What do you know about Autumn’s dad? Is he going to help her, or is he a big fucking jerk?”

  “Apparently,” said Phil, “he’s a big jerk. Ran out on Autumn and her mother when she was just a teenager.”

  “Great, so now we have to go up to him out of the blue and be like ‘hey, can we have one of your major organs? Thanks!’”

  “It’ll be fine,” Deathslayer said from the rear. “Let me tell you something, NO father could tell his daughter no, not even if she asked for his head on a platter.”

  “You wouldn’t, Daddy,” said Susan with a sigh. “I’m not so sure about Autumn’s dad.”

  The conversation abated, at least temporarily. Crawley put on the radio and they rode in relative silence for a time. Phil consulted their route on the GPS device on the dashboard. It would take two hours of non-stop driving to get to their goal. He leaned back in his seat and sighed.

  “Gonna be a long trip,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Hey, beautiful,” said Steve as he entered Autumn’s room.

  She glanced up from her dinner tray and smiled. “You’re just in time for some primo cuisine.” She indicated the meal with a shaky finger. A few slices of turkey, covered in a greasy sauce, were flanked by a mound of peas and a gelatinous scoop of mashed potatoes.

  “Looks delicious,” he said, sitting down next to her. His worn, miserable appearance made her cringe.

  “Oh my god, sugar, go home and get some sleep.”

  “I’m fine.” He sat up and slapped his cheeks.

  “No,” she said, putting down her fork. “No, you’re not. Steve, this is why I didn’t want us to be together. Maybe I always dated jerks because it didn’t bother me that someday they’d have to…have to…”

  She sobbed, tears leaking from her tightly shut brown eyes. He moved to comfort her, carefully holding her in an embrace.

  “I don’t want you to watch me die. Please, just leave and go home.”

  “No,” he said, tears streaming from his own eyes. “I won’t leave, not ever.”

  They clung to each other for a long while, tears mingling on their cheeks. She felt so frail in his arms, her life seemed such a fleeting thing that he felt it could slip from him in a moment.

  At length, she gently pushed his face away so she could look him in the eyes. “You’re too good to me. Most guys would have been out the door a long time ago.”

  “See?” said Steve, running a hand through her dark hair. “Dating a pussy has its benefits.”

  “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner,” she said, bottom lip quivering.

  “Don’t be sorry.” He wanted to be strong for her, but on the inside he felt his heart was breaking. He tried to keep the hopelessness out of his voice and off of his face. “We’re going to get through this, you’ll see.”

  Autumn smiled, then reached for his hand and squeezed it, but the hollow glint in her eyes said that she did not hold out much hope either.

  Chapter 19

  THE BARE BRANCHES of trees seemed to jab at the dark road like accusing fingers. The day had grown overcast, casting a pall over both the van and their spirits. Phil tried changing the radio station to find a more up-tempo background noise, but it hadn’t seemed to help.

  “This isn’t going to work,” said Susan out of the blue, echoing their own thoughts and shocking them out of their reverie.

  “How can you know that?” her father asked. Deathslayer’s brows were arched, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “Because it’s stupid. This guy ran out on Autumn and her mother. What makes you think he’s going to give up a vital organ?”

  Deathslayer chuckled. “Guilt?”

  “What if that doesn’t work?”

  “We could always threaten him,” said Crawley from the driver’s seat. “He probably owes back child support in the five-figure range.”

  Deathslayer gave her an appreciative nod, then leaned forward to whisper in Phil’s ear. “She’s devious. I like her.” He patted Phil’s shoulder firmly and sat back down.

  Phil turned his gaze on Crawley. Deathslayer didn’t understand Crawley, not at all. It wasn’t deviousness that drove her, but a sense of justice. After all, she always played the noble knight classes on MMO role playing games, was always willing to part with rare items if someone else needed them more. Crawley was very giving in her own way, very supportive. It was a shame that she came across to so many people as conceited or bossy, but then his own social skills weren’t the best. Briefly, he wondered what his life would have been like if he hadn’t inherited friends from his late brother. Steve had been a true friend to him, and he felt even more determined to save Autumn.

  “Why don’t we appeal to his humanity?” said Phil. “If you could save someone’s life, wouldn’t you do it?”

  Crawley glanced at him and smiled sweetly. “You’re such a good person, Phillip. But you really shouldn’t judge people by your own example.”

  “Yeah,” said Susan. “You’re being egocentric.”

  “Hey,” said Deathslayer, “I’m sure he’s never even looked at another man!”

  They enjoyed a good guffaw at the jibe, the van’s metal walls echoing with their laughter. Deathslayer and Susan engaged in a spirited debate about the nuances of a headlock. Phil took note of their momentary distraction and leaned toward Crawley.

  “I’m not a good person. Or maybe I am, but I’m not a good boyfriend.”

  “Oh, Phil, you’re a great boyfriend!”

  She patted his hand and smiled but her comment had the same kind of superficial joviality as always, as if she were holding something back. Phil sighed, wondered just what he might do to move along to Tier Fifteen. He grinned helplessly. Rich had brainwashed him after all.

  “You look bored, hon,” said Crawley, gesturing toward her tablet in the divider between their seats. “You can use my iPad if you want, you know, to play games or whatever.”

  Phil picked up the device, grateful for a distraction. He turned it on and squinted his eyes when something popped up immediately.

  “Uh, it’s on a book or something.”

  “Oh, uhm…” Crawley had just a hint of red coming to her cheeks. “Just close that app down if you want to find the games. Or, you could read it, I guess, but most of the stories I have are, um…erotic.”

  “Oh, really?” Phil’s his heart jumped in his chest. Finally, fate had handed him the chance to see what Crawley found stimulating. He was aware that such stories were not necessarily a manual for pleasing a woman, but it would give him a place to start. “Maybe I’ll check out some of these after all.”

  Crawley giggled, briefly turning her dark, shining gaze on him before returning her attention to t
he road.

  Steve bent low over the brightly painted table in his classroom, stout arms supporting his weight. Seated next to him was an older black woman, dressed like she was headed for church, complete with hair scarf. The classroom was otherwise empty, it being late afternoon.

  “So you see, we’re learning the letter V next week and—”

  “I think you made a mistake, Mr. Borgia. You’re learning the letter X the week after next. Isn’t that out of order?”

  “Yeah, some letters are a lot easier to teach than others, so I do them early in the year. We don’t do the harder ones till the end.”

  “Well, it’s not how I learned, but it’s your classroom.”

  Steve ignored the mild insult and continued to impart his schedule to her. She was attentive enough, but she seemed possessed of an attitude that Steve could not possibly tell her something she did not already know.

  “I’ll give you my cell number, so if there’s anything you need, just let me know.”

  “Your kids are in good hands with me,” she said. “I do have to ask, what is your policy on discipline?”

  “Pretty much go by the district standards. Except that I don’t really punish the kids. The most I might do is move them out of an area for a while, let them calm down.”

  “You don’t punish?” she said, mouth agape. “Then how do you make them listen?”

  Steve grinned, which was a ghastly sight as he had barely slept in the last week. His baggy eyes and gaunt cheeks made him appear like a graveyard ghoul.

  “You just have to be creative. If you can’t hold their attention, then you don’t belong here. You have to differentiate between kids being kids and actual willful misbehavior. If a child isn’t listening to you, it may be your fault.”

  The scoffing snort she gave him seemed to indicate that his children were in for a lot of time outs. He thanked the woman and gathered his belongings.

  Steve walked out into the parking lot, almost stumbling on the stairs. He dropped the key four times trying to open the car door, cursing as his fingers shook. Once he seated himself, he popped open a cool aluminum can and drained the energy swill within, grimacing at the bad taste. Slapping his own cheeks, he attempted to psych himself up for another long night at the hospital.