by Scott Baron
On top of that, since he had stopped visiting the diner (the quintessential “them” place), where his mama hen Angela would force him to eat, he’d begun to lose weight as he fell into the habit of forgetting to eat at all some days.
Randy eventually slid so far into his depression that he once more started revisiting places he and Dorothy had previously enjoyed in their shared past, desperately feeding the hungry beast of slim hopes that he’d see her again, perhaps catching a glimpse of her playing mini golf, or flipping through used records.
Logical Randy knew it wouldn’t happen, but since when has love been logical?
A shock came one evening when he stopped in at Dante’s Books. He ever-so-briefly experienced an adrenaline-rush moment of hope when he spotted a dark-haired woman of a similar build, but when he had excitedly grabbed her arm and spun her around, calling out, he nearly got a face full of pepper spray before blurting out an apology to the terrified young woman he didn’t know.
The weeks slowly clicked by, one after another, and Randy spiraled into an alcohol-soaked funk of epic proportions. Nothing mattered to him anymore.
His home was a mess, his hair and shaggy beard unkempt. His rumpled clothes had taken on the stale smell of his sour, malnourished sweat.
Crying himself to sleep, usually with a bottle in hand, had become the only way he could find solace from his misery, until one night, it finally piled up to the point where he couldn’t take it anymore.
It had just gotten dark outside, and he was yet again foregoing dinner. It was the time of day, he grimly recalled Dorothy mentioning, that was something associated with mental disorders. Sundowners they called the people who experienced major mood shifts as the light changed. He supposed he could understand why, to some degree, but his misery was based in something far more substantial than how many hours of sunlight there were in the day.
The bottle of vodka on his coffee table was nearly full, having replaced the now-empty one he’d finished off earlier in the day. Next to it sat an ominous, little childproof bottle.
Randy stared at them both, sunken eyes bloodshot from crying, skin gray from lack of proper nutrition or sunlight. After several painful minutes of deliberation, he finally made a decision and opened the small bottle, dumping the pills out into the palm of his hand.
It would be a painless way out, he thought, and this misery would finally end, and maybe, just maybe, he’d see her again. Randy knew he wasn’t thinking clearly, but he felt powerless against the riptide pull of his own depression. It was a choice between bad or bad, so what difference would it make?
With a shaky hand, he reached for the vodka, nearly jumping out of his skin when his landline phone unexpectedly rang.
No way he was going to answer it, he thought, as he shakily poured a tall glass of vodka one-handed.
“Hey, Daddy!” a gleeful little girl giggled, as the answering machine clicked on. He’d forgotten to turn the volume down, and now his daughter’s joyful voice filled his living room.
“I sooo can’t wait until next weekend! Spring break is gonna be totally fun. Grandpa said to tell you we’ll be there at four on Friday. I said we should get pizza! He said we’d have to see. I don’t think Grandma likes when he eats pizza, because he kind of farts a lot.” She laughed into the phone. “Okay, anyway, I can’t wait to see you next week—what? Oh, I’ve got to go. Love you, Daddy!” She hung up, leaving the bright essence of her childlike demeanor filling the stale air of his home.
As if waking from a trance, he shook his head, then looked at what was in his hands and started to sob.
Randy was disgusted with himself.
Rising to his feet, he grabbed the remainder of the pills and vodka and walked to the sink, dropping them into the disposal and pouring both the full glass, as well as the bottle of vodka, after them, flipping the switch on his wall and grinding it all away. But he didn’t stop there. He then collected every bottle of alcohol in his house, each of them meeting the same fate.
Randy splashed some water on his face, took a deep breath, and started the long process of cleaning his unkempt home.
CHAPTER 33
The old man, gray hair gently blowing in the breeze, slowly trudged along the grassy knoll with his giggling grandchildren as they chased the bubbles he was blowing from a bottle of soapy water. Where the youngsters had boundless energy, their grandpa, after all the exertion of the afternoon, found himself more than a bit worn out.
“Okay, okay, I’m all tired out. You kids go play with your folks for a while. Grandpa’s going to rest for a bit here in the sun.”
Randy sat his aching bones on the soft grass, letting out a sigh as his throbbing feet and knees immediately felt some relief.
His daughter rose from her picnic blanket and walked over to where he reclined.
“You all right Dad? Don’t let them wear you out.”
“I’m fine, honey, just a bit winded. They are energetic, that’s for sure. Just like their mother was.” He laughed, and to his delight, his daughter leaned in and kissed his cheek.
“You know you wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“No, no, I wouldn’t,” he agreed with a smile.
“Love you Daddy.”
“Love you too, honey,” he said, beaming at her. “Now get along, the kids are waiting for you.”
She grabbed a bundle from the blanket and chased after her children. “Who’s up for flying kites?” she asked as they jogged off toward a more open part of the park.
Randy looked at his family lovingly as they ran off to play, wincing as he turned his head to watch them go. He grabbed his left shoulder as a twinge of pain shot through it.
A flash of fear hit him, but then as quick as it had come, the pain was gone.
“Whew, had me worried there for a minute,” he said to himself, then reclined back on the grass, enjoying the afternoon’s warmth.
A lone figure walked up in front of him, silhouetted as they blocked the sun, a bright aura of sunlight framing them where they stood. Randy squinted up, the rays of light blurring his old eyes.
A slender arm reached down to help him to his feet, and after pausing a moment, he reached out to take it.
He had just closed his fingers around her hand when he noticed the unusual, vintage sapphire and ruby ring she was wearing. His eyes clearing as he stood, Randy saw the woman he’d been missing for more than half of his life.
Then he noticed his body didn’t hurt.
He looked at himself and realized he was the exact age as when they’d last seen one another. He didn’t bother looking behind him on the grass. He knew what he’d see.
Instead, he happily gazed at the woman standing in front of him, barely keeping her own happiness in check. She looked absolutely radiant in her joy at seeing him. Somehow, they both played it cool.
“Been a long time,” Randy said, casually.
“Yes,” Death replied. “But it’s only been a moment.”
He paused, still holding her hand as emotion swelled in his chest.
“I missed you,” he said.
“I missed you too.”
They stared at one another a moment longer, then finally, and with the utmost tenderness, he cupped her cheek in his hand, caressing her temple and brushing the hair back from her face as they kissed.
A rush of warm energy flowed between them, and both were reluctant to break the embrace. Eventually they did, and laced their fingers together tightly, sparks flying between their eyes as they shared a loving smile.
Randy glanced across the field at his daughter and grandchildren playing in the sun.
“It was a really good life,” he said, a slight sadness tinting his words.
“It was,” Dorothy agreed. “You lived long, and raised her well.”
“I’ll miss them.”
“But someday, if you wish, you’ll see them again, you know.”
“I know. And sooner than I think, right?”
She flashed a dazzling
smile.
“Now you’re getting the hang of it.”
He watched his family play a moment longer, then felt a light tug on his hand.
“Come on, lover, we’ve got a lot to catch up on.”
“Indeed we do,” he replied, falling into a slow stride beside her.
“So,” she queried, “anywhere you want to go? There was a big earthquake in Guatemala.”
“Oh, that’s just morbid.”
“Hey, you knew you were dating Death. You can’t say I didn’t warn you.” She laughed, and Randy couldn’t help but crack a smile and join her as, hand in hand, they walked off into eternity.
Thank You Dear Reader!
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About the Author
A native Californian, Scott Baron was born in Hollywood, which he claims may be the reason for his off-kilter sense of humor.
Before taking up residence in Venice Beach, Scott first spent a few years studying abroad in Florence, Italy before returning home to Los Angeles and settling into the film and television industry, where in addition to writing, he has worked as an on-set medic off and on for many years.
Aside from penning books and screenplays, Scott isalso involved in indie film and theater scene both in the U.S. and abroad.
Curiouser Publishing
1223 Wilshire Blvd. #960
Santa Monica, CA 90403
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, real places, or historical events are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Scott Baron
Original Screenplay © 2014 by Scott Baron
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For inquiries, contact Curiouser Publishing at the address above.
Living the Good Death
ISBN 978-1-945996-14-6 (Print Edition)
ISBN 978-1-945996-13-9 (Print Edition)
ISBN 978-1-945996-12-2 (eBook)