The Void (3 page)

"I'm
doing okay. And yourself?" My doctor was closer to me now, writing
furiously as always, likely again reviewing the machines around me.

"The
same. Happy to see the sun, finally."

Could
a week really have passed?

"The
weather
has
been atrocious. We're finally supposed to have a
good stretch of sunny weather. Or so I've heard, anyway."

And
then a long silence.

I
can't believe I lost a week...

Maybe
she came early? But why would she come early; had something happened?

Footsteps,
more rustling of fabric, the scraping of wood against linoleum;
someone is moving a chair around the room.

No,
nothing can be wrong- no one sounds at all upset or concerned. In
fact, everyone seems happy, even pleasant. A week
must
have
passed...

Where
the hell was I for a week?

"So,"
Jenny pierces the silence. "How does he look today, doctor?"

"The
same," Dr. Benson answers, dryly.

"I
see," Jenny says softly.

"Don't
be sad," Mary walks across the room, to near where Jenny must be.
"I hate seeing you look sad, I need that beautiful Jen smile!"

"I'm
not sad, Mary."

Does
she look sad?

"You
aren't smiling?"

I
wish I could see her smile...

"I'm
fine. I am what I am."

It
is nice to hear her voice, though...

"He'll
be back someday!"

Will
I? I certainly hope so...

"No,
he won't," and a soft sigh.

I
won't? Did she say I won't?

"Don't
say that, Jen."

My
mind focuses; I'd never before heard Jenny surrender hope for me like
that. I have no doubt that she has thought it before, and she may
have even said it out of my presence, to friends and family. Maybe
even to the doctor, or a lawyer. But she never said it in front of
me. I had never heard those words before...

It
makes me ache...

It
makes me want to cry.

"Mary,
stop."

She
doesn't believe in me...

"Why?"

"I
don't need your support, Mary. I've made my peace with this a long
time ago."

A
sigh, and a scuffling noise.

"Then
why do you keep coming here?"

Suddenly
I wait, anxiously, for an answer...

"Because,"
she starts, "because I have to, okay? Because I have to." And
more shuffling noises, and an extended, horrifying silence. I cannot
even hear the sounds of the machines. It is as though I cannot hear
at all; why can't I hear? I haven't lost my hearing, have I?

I
need my hearing! It's all I have!

I
feel myself starting to panic...

What
would I do without hearing?

I'd
only have my mind, my thoughts...

I'd
go mad, alone in my own head!

Please,
for the sake of my sanity,
speak!

"I
love him," and she is immediately beside me. I feel myself
instantly calm, at peace, knowing she is near, likely looking
directly at me, possibly stroking my hair and touching my cheeks.
Rationally, I know she could be doing anything else, even nothing,
maybe just sitting there, staring into nothing, but I prefer to
imagine her as I wish I could see her.

I
love her so dearly...

"Come
on," Mary said. "Let's go get some breakfast and go for a walk."

"Okay,"
and there is a series of steps and then only silence. I expect to
hear the sound of my doctor shuffling about, but he is no where that
I can detect in the room. Has he left? I figure I would have noticed
that... But with further listening... He clearly isn't in the room.
He had left. I hadn't heard him leave.

The
panic softly returns.

"Oh,
Jesus!" Jenny shouts, once again amid a white room surrounded by
medical staff in a mammoth hospital, far from where I lay today.
Sweat is pouring down her forehead in rivers, panting furiously like
a dog wading the extremes of a vicious heat wave.

"It's
okay, beautiful! Just breath!"

She
screams, grits her teeth, and grunts as she pushes. A nurse is
perched precariously at my wife's hips, staring adamantly into her
nether region with an odd fervor. It's amazing what you will find
acceptable given the proper circumstance...

"Here
comes the head!" The nurse exclaims.

"Push,
honey! Push!"

Jenny
screams again.

She
is squeezing my fingers like a vice grip, her eyes locked on the far
wall. She is wheezing now, her chest heaving. "I can't! I can't!"
She shouts.

"You
can, sweetheart!"

"No,
I can't!"

"Honey-"

"Shut
up!"

"One
more push, and you'll be done!"

The
nurse never breaks her gaze from my wife.

More
screaming, she yanks at my fingers, trying to pull my arm into her
body. Then silence, her teeth pressed together, her lips pealed. The
silence is awkward, uncomfortable, thick with the anticipation of a
forthcoming release of energy and pain.

"Here
he comes!"

Then
the release, Jenny shouts in agony, and then the nurse disappears,
moving swiftly across the room with some mass cupped in her arms. I
can't see him, but I know exactly what she holds...

"Hello,"
Sarah echoes.

She
sounds sour, even miserable.

What's
wrong, Sarah?

"You
look good this evening," she mumbles.

Do
I?

You
flatter me...

Then
horrible silence, punctuated occasionally only by the soft sound of
sheets being moved. It is gentle, not a hint of speed to the task, as
though she wished to stay in the room, but wished not to speak. Time
was taken in work, slowly keeping the meeting without finding
anything to exchange.

Then
deeper silence.

Am I
alone?

Did
she leave?

I
did not hear footsteps; she must still be here...

"You
look good," she repeats.

I
appreciate the compliment...

"So,
Michael came down yesterday."

Oh,
wonderful! How is he!

"He
gave me his news," she squeaks.

Did
he propose? Is he married?

And
sighs, coughs.

Silence...

Is
everything okay?

"He..."
She starts and stops.

He
what?

She
coughs again.

"He
has cancer."

He-
he has...

"That's
what he had to tell me. He has cancer,"

Oh,
no!

"It's
pancreatic cancer."

Oh, no!

"Late
stage. His doctor says that he's certainly terminal, maybe a month at
the most."

Jesus!

"He
came to basically say goodbye, to stay with me until the end. He's
sleeping on my couch,"

Oh,
Sarah, I'm so sorry!

"Jill
left him."

She
left a dying man?

"She
said she just couldn't handle watching him die and just... left. He
didn't talk about it much. He seemed to be really hurting."

What
a bitch!

"He's
sleeping on my couch right now."

I
can't believe she would leave him...

"It's...
just... I mean, Christ, one day Michael is just going about his life,
and then suddenly he is staring down death. He has a great
girlfriend, he has a nice home, he is healthy and young and his whole
life ahead of him. Then a routine doctor visit and suddenly
everything is changed. Everything is taken from him, his life all of
a sudden about to end."

That
must have been a horrible day...

"It's
just... it's not fair!"

Cancer
is never fair...

"I
just can't believe it," her voice dimming as her footsteps arise.
Then a sullen, horrifying silence that breaks my heart. The youth are
never safe from the horrors of life forever, but they should be
allowed their youth. It is the only solace in the anguish of elder
years when hope crumbles and death looms inevitable.

The
world spares no one, it seems.

And
it's aggravatingly random...

"I
love you, daddy!"

I
see my little boy, standing at my feet, tugging on the cuff of my
sleeve. The air is crisp and dry, the sun bright and blinding. A sea
of men dressed as me, all surrounded by family and friends, talking
and crying and laughing, stretching before me, behind me and to my
sides, a number of trucks along the building in the distance to our
right, waiting for us impatiently.

My
bag is heavy...

"I'll
miss you, little buddy!"

"When
are you coming home?"

I
see Jenny crying behind him.

"I
don't know just yet, bud."

"Tomorrow?"

I
stifle a cry, a laugh. "I'm afraid it will be a little longer than
that, little man." And I put my hand on his shoulder, giving him
the most stern and stoic look I can muster as a confused and broken
father. It was my only defense against open weeping, something I can
just not afford.

"Oh,"
and he lowers his head, his hands still clutching my sleeves. "Next
week then?"

"No,"
was all I can say.

Jenny
was near to breaking down.

"I'll
write you," I promise them both.

"You
will?"

I
smile, and I scoop the little boy into my arms, squeezing him perhaps
just a little too tightly and for a just a little too long. And I
could stop the tears no longer, now coming freely.

"Of
course I will."

And
I set him down to immediately lurch for my wife, wrapping my arm
around her neck and refusing to let go, pulling her tightly to me,
reveling in the warmth she gave. I can't let go...

"I
love you," she squeaks through sobs.

"I
love you," I answer back. And I pull away and put my hands to her
cheeks, my nose to hers, forcing a smile. "I'll think of you
always."

"Same,"
she finally smiles.

And
so I grab my bag, turn and briskly walk. I can't say anything more,
or I'll never be able to leave, an option that would only end with me
amidst a small, square cell, punished for desertion. It almost seemed
worth it for a few months more of my family, running, running, always
running...

"I
don't know what to do," and the voice of Jenny, in panic, is
palpable... I didn't hear my good morning; why didn't she wish me a
good morning?

What
is wrong?

Something
sounds wrong.

"Jenny,
he wouldn't want you to struggle like this, you know that. He would
want to give you what is best for you. You know that."

"Yes-"

"And
you are running out of money."

"I
can't do it, Mary."

Do
what?

What
can't she do?

"Just
think about it, okay?"

"No,"
and I can hear her footsteps, louder, insistent, almost tapping
against the floor, undulating in pitch up and down. I think she may
be pacing, from one end of the room to the other.

Why
is she pacing?

"Honey,
you have to-"

"Please
leave."

"What?"

"Just
for a minute, please leave," her voice now cracking; she's crying;
why is she crying?

What
is happening?

"Okay,
I will," and more footsteps. "I'll be just outside if you need
me, okay?"

"Okay,"
and then silence.

Absolute
silence...

Where
is she?

What
is happening?

"I
love you," and she is beside me, right beside me, her voice almost
loud with whisper, right next to my functioning ears. I imagine her
head atop my chest, her hand rubbing, gentle and caring, in circles
just under my neck.

I
love you, too...

"I
don't know what to do, Max."

What
is the problem? What can I do?

"Tell
me what to do, Max, please tell me what to do... I need you to tell
me what to do," and she is outright weeping now, shotgun sobs mixed
in between sniffling and silence. "I always counted on you to help
me, to give me advice. So, just tell me! Tell me what to do, Max!
Tell me what to do!"

Why are you crying?

My
heart is breaking; it is criminally unfair that I cannot comfort my
wife in a time of need. The world has already dealt me a hand that I
can barely cope with, but this is beyond it all. She didn't even cry
with such abandon as this when I first landed here, so many years
ago, with one evening of nature's random...

"Oh,
Max," she wails. "I need you!"

Something
is terribly wrong!

"I
need you," she reiterates.

I
need you, too!

"If
you can hear me, Max, please, please, just show me that you're
there."

Show
you... Show you?

"Blink,
move your head, squeeze my hand-" is she holding my hand? "-move
your fingers, anything, please, please!" She must be holding my
hand. "Please, Max, please... please..."

She
is begging me, why is she doing this?

I
have been here, motionless, for many years, and never have I heard
her so insistent, so desperate for proof of my continued life. For a
while now, she has even seemed comforted by the consistency of my
condition, casual with her morning well wishes and affections, even
being curiously playful when her mood seemed right.

But
now, she sounds only in pain.

Why?

"Please,"
she whispers, and weeps further.

I
have
to move!

I
struggle with all the effort I have, cursing my body for the lack of
any evidence of my mental anguish, screaming at my muscles to move,
move,
move!
They pay no attention to my cries, however,
holding steady in the same pathetic position that they are always in.
They never listen to me, and I've never hated them more.

So
pathetic I am...

"You're
really not in there, are you?"