The Void (13 page)

"And you know that I'll always love you?"

"Of course I know that."

She sighs. "If you ever... need to talk..." She swivels, her
legs on the floor, her facing me completely and her eyes now to the
ceiling. "Just know that you can talk to me."

"Okay," was all I say, with a brilliant smile, and I stand and
head into the kitchen to get a drink.

I'm thirsty...

"Your wife is sleeping," Sarah tells me.

She is whispering.

Is she? With me?

Is she beside me?

Why can't I feel her...

The pain is everywhere now, far more furious than ever before. It is
almost unbearable...

"She must love you very much."

Yes, she must...

"I would give anything for that kind of love."

You'll get it someday, Sarah. I know it.

"But I'll never know it."

Don't say that, Sarah. Please-

"Max," and suddenly she's fierce, serious, in my ear. "I know
that you're... shuffling off... soon. If you... can... hear me..."
I think she's crying, but she's talking so softly that I can't tell.
"Say hello to Michael when you get there. He'll..." And a brief
sob. "He'll want to meet you. I told him so much about you."

Oh, Sarah...

Oh, Jesus...

"It's okay," she breaths. "Really, it's okay, it's okay, he's
not hurting anymore. And... he... well, he got to go the way he
wanted. I don't know that you can ask for much more than that,
right?"

Jesus, no...

"I know I wouldn't ask for anything more."

Sarah, I'm so sorry...

"I don't think there is anything as important as death. It's the
only thing that we're guaranteed to share. Only the living get to
die. That makes me feel, I guess, a little special, in an odd way."

You must be a wreck...

"I'll join you two soon, Max."

Sarah! No!

"I'm so sorry, Max!"

No!
Sarah!

"I'm so-"

"What are you doing?" Jenny...

"Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am, I-"

"What are you doing to my husband?"

"Nothing, ma'am. I'm doing nothing."

Then footsteps, rapid, fading fast and gone.

"That was odd..."

Jenny! Go after her!

Stop her! Talk to her!

"I think she was crying..."

Jenny...

Oh, Jesus...

"Why was she crying over you, Max?"

It's not fair...

"So odd."

It's just not fair...

"Tell me about Jason."

Her pen is again tapping against her cheek. Her eyes move over me
casually, as they always do, sizing me up, weighing my words with my
movements.

"What about him?"

"How did he die?"

I grunt. "I've told you, I don't want to talk about this. I don't
want to think about it."

"But you know that you need to, Max."

"I-"

"You know that, don't you?"

"No, I don't know that."

"Max," and the tapping stops, she leans over the desk and rubs
her chin. "You need to talk about that day, about what it did to
you."

"It didn't do anything to me."

"You feel responsible, don't you?"

"No! I didn't do anything wrong!"

"Then what did you do?"

"I don't-"

"Were you unconscious?"

"No."

"Did you watch him die?"

"Excuse me?" I cough, shift uncomfortably.

"Did you watch him die?" She repeats.

"What the fuck kind of question is that?"

"It's a simple question, Max."

"It doesn't matter, does it?"

"Of course it does!"

I shake my head, cough, shift again. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"I saw him die."

"Well, that matters, Max!"

"Why?" I grumble.

"That can tear at a man and change them, hurt them! You need to
talk about that, Max!"

"No, I don't!" I shout, coming to my feet.

"Max-"

"What does it matter?" I scream, now pacing. "What difference
would it make to tell you about how I watched him get shot in the
face? Do you want to hear about the blood that covered the wall and
floor? Do you want to know what his brain looked like? Because I
fucking saw it! Is that what you want to hear?"

"Max-"

"I watched a man shoot my
friend
. I watched him
die
,
watched his arms and legs go limp and his lungs stop breathing. Then
I watched the man that killed him try to kill me, and I watched that
man die. I shot him, I
killed
him! Is this what you want to
hear?"

"Max, please-"

"Do you want to hear about how I carried their bodies out of the
building, dropped them in the sun, got their blood and brain all over
my uniform, which I then had to smell for the next day. Is that what
you want to hear me talk about?"

"Max-"

"Is this what you want?" Tearing at my shirt.

"Max, please, calm down!"

"
What the fuck do you want from me?
"

I'm very nearly hysterical now.

"Max! Please! Sit!"

"No!" And I slap my thighs, viciously. "I will not sit, I will
not be told to sit, told how to feel, told how to cope, told how to
heal! You can never understand, and my telling you will not help!"

"I am not trying to understand, Max!"

"Then why do you want to know?"

"Because you need to say it!"

"Why? What good is this doing?"

"You did nothing wrong, Max! You must realize that! Don't you see,
that you did nothing wrong?"

And I start to laugh. It is awkward and reserved at first, but then
I collapse into the insanity and cackle maniacally. She looks on,
horrified, utterly confused at my raucousness. Finally, I put my
hands to my face and put my eyes to hers: "I know that."

"That's good, Max!" And she smiles.

"No, it's not."

"It's not?"

"You don't get it, do you?" I shake my head, rub my cheeks. "I
don't think anyone can understand."

"Tell me, Max," and she stands.

"It was never about blame. I never blamed myself. I never felt
responsible. I know that there was nothing I could have done. They
died because of the men who attacked us, not anything I did. I've
always known this, I've never doubted it."

"What are you saying?"

"I regret
that
they died, not
why
they died."

"What do you mean, Max?"

"They're gone," and I laugh again, this time a little more
uncomfortably. "They're gone and they're never coming back. What
life they had, what existence they had, it's just
gone
,
completely. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

She says nothing.

"They were my friends, and I will never see them again. I had to
watch the life, the very life that made them my friends, that made
them who they are, that made them funny and kind and smart, I watched
that drain from them and end them. And I had to tow their bodies
home, tell their families that they would never smile at them again."
And I start to cry. "And I will never see them again. They're
gone."

"Do you believe that?"

"Completely. Even if I wish I didn't."

"Do you think they would have wanted this for you? Do you think
they would have wanted you giving so much of yourself because of
them?"

I shrug. "I don't care."

"Max-"

"Do you know what Frank's wife said to me?"

She pauses, blinks twice. "What?"

"His wife told me she hated him, for leaving."

"She... she-"

"Hated him. Can you imagine that? He gave his life for his
country, probably thought he was doing right by himself, and she
hated him for it. Because he left her; left her and her daughter to
be alone so that he could die, for nothing, nothing that means
anything. And it dawned on me that none of this shit matters when you
really get down to it."

"What shit?"

"Country, god, honor, sacrifice... It's all horse shit. It's lies
that we tell ourselves to make ourselves feel better when we're asked
to give everything for nothing. It's how we justify wasting our lives
in terrible jobs and wasting away doing terrible things, or allowing
others to do terrible things. It's what gives us permission to follow
the pack, to be stupid, and even to be reckless and dangerous under
the guise of manliness, of honor, to make the sacrifice for some
bullshit reason because we've fallen for our own lies."

She only stares, listening as I rant.

"All that matters is your life, being alive. Fuck the country,
fuck god, fuck honor, and fuck sacrifice. Just stay alive, as long as
you can. Stay alive and be with the ones you love and do the things
that you love. To live your life. You have nothing waiting for you at
the end, no reward for your sacrifice, no glory for your destruction.
You only have all
this
, this fleeting, insignificant moment of
chemical lunacy that we call consciousness, and when it's gone,
you're gone, utterly. And nothing matters when you're gone."

She continues to stare, finally mustering, "there must be more to
life than just avoiding death, Max."

"Is there?"

"Otherwise, what is the point to life?"

"There is no point to life other than what we give it ourselves.
And the only thing worth giving meaning to in our lives is to
experience it as long as we can. So, no, there is no more. Staying
alive, avoiding death, is all that matters."

"I see."

"Yes," I mumble.

"Then," she begins, coming around her desk and resting on the
edge of her desk, her hands on her knees, looking smug. "May I ask,
why don't you follow your own advice and just live your life?"

I cough, confused. "Excuse me?"

"By your own words, living is all that matters. It trumps
everything and should be our one focus."

"Yes," I offer.

"Then you need to follow your own advice, Max. You need to stop
allowing the ghosts of your friends haunt you. You need to let it go
and get on with your life, or you'll be wasting it, as you say."

"I can't just forget them!"

"No, I wouldn't ask you to forget them."

"They're dead!" I shout.

"But you're not, Max," and she softly puts her hand on my knee,
my eyes firmly to the floor, trying valiantly not to cry and
absolutely failing. "You're not dead. You're here, a father, a
husband, and you have a life to live. Don't just avoid death and be
done with it. Pick yourself up and live, Max."

I melt into my own hands.

"It's okay to live, Max."

Sobbing, furiously, she hands me a tissue, and I thoroughly ignore
it. I feel nothing but the anguish, surging through me. I can't even
tell you exactly what I am crying over; perhaps it is everything, or
nothing, and almost certainly it doesn't matter...

It doesn't matter...

"It's okay to live, Max," she repeats.

It just doesn't matter anymore...

"It's okay..."

I don't even remember driving home.

"Good morning, Mr. Aaron!" My doctor.

Oh, Jesus, I am in
agony
!

"Hey, dad."

Brian...

"Good morning, sweetheart."

Jenny...

Oh, Jenny...

More footsteps. So many more.

Who is here?

"How is he?"

"His heart is very weak," the doctor says. "It could be today.
I'm so sorry." He didn't sound sorry.

"Oh, Max," Jenny squeaks behind tears.

And then a long silence, only footsteps.

The room sounds crowded.

"It's not fair that he has to go out this way."

Jenny sounds devastated. I hate that.

"He can't feel anything, mom."

Nothing could be further from the truth, but I can't hold it against
them. They have no reason to assume otherwise. I'm sure I would have
thought the same were I in their shoes...

"I know, but... it's..."

She catches her breath, a vicious exhale.

"I know, mom."

"He was always so... tough... you know? The first thing I noticed
about him when we first met was how strong he looked. Broad
shoulders, chiseled jaw, big arms, barrel chest- everyone wanted your
father."

She laughs.

"And now he's... he's..."

"I know, mom," Brian repeats.

"You look like he did, you know?"

"Mom-" His voice is embarrassed.

"You do, just like him. I'm glad... I'm glad he will get to
continue in some way, you know? The world will still remember that he
was here."

"You'll always remember him," the doctor says, suddenly joining
the conversation from across the room, near the door, almost surely
as he is leaving. "He'll always be a part of you. Never forget
that."

Such an odd thing for a doctor to say...

"Did I ever tell you about our first date?"

"No," Brian sheepishly admits.

"We had gone to this nightclub, just outside the city, with other
people. I was dating this guy- John was his name- and he liked to
dance. I didn't really enjoy it, but you try to make people happy,
you know?

"Anyway, Max was there with some young lady, I don't remember her
name, don't care to. They were dancing together, a little too...
aggressive..."

Jesus, Jenny, don't tell Brian this!

"Mom!"

She laughs. "So he leaves her and comes to the bar to order two
drinks. I'm sitting at the bar, John was dancing by himself, probably
with some other girl, I don't know, and your father looks right at
me, and just stares at me. He's not smiling, or gesturing, or
anything, just looking at me, like he's trying to figure out if he
knows me.

"After at least a minute, he turns back to the bar tender, hands
him a credit card, points to me, and then heads back out to the dance
floor. I watch him until he's lost in the crowd and then turn back to
my drink."

I remember that night so well...

The music sucked.

"The bar tender comes over, hands me a new drink, and tells me
that Max had instructed him to make me anything I wanted for the rest
of the night, on him, and that if I wanted to I could meet him
outside the front door at one."