When I Die [Wattys 2016]

Chapter 51: The End is Near

It was July Fourth. I woke up feeling tired. It felt as though I used energy just to sleep. My teeth clattered with fever.
"Morning Leo," my mom said, sitting alert at my side. We were watching as the days passed, never sure which would be the last. The hospice nurses had told us, in that old cryptic way, "you'll know", which was both scary and comforting. Some part of me didn't want to know. I wanted to fall asleep and not wake up. Other parts, the stronger parts, made me not want to be caught off guard. These were the parts of me that tried to put off sleep in fear of never waking up again.
"Good morning," I said, rolling onto my side. She frowned.
"How do you feel this morning, baby?"
My eyelids were heavy, drooping.
"I'm tired," I rasped. My throat was constantly dry, no matter how much water I drank.
"Yeah, that's okay, love. You can rest." She ran a cool hand over my forehead and I relished at her touch. I dozed off and when I awoke later that morning, I was worse for wear.
My breathing was shaky. My head ached. My joints hurt. I moaned for relief that wouldn't come. Still, today didn't feel like the day. If the hospice nurses were right, this wasn't the day to go.
Reid sat loyally at my side. My mom wanted him to be wherever he felt he should be.
"I wouldn't leave you," he'd said assuredly.
Everyone walked around me like a powder keg, ready to go off. They walked gently and only spoke nice things in whispers. Arguments happened away from me. They'd manufactured the reality in which I lived in that living room shrine. It was somber and peaceful and everyone got along in that room.
No guests came yet. I wasn't ready for them. I couldn't bear it just yet. I'd told mom to hold off on calling our extended family, too. I was too tired.
Myra did not call. Reid told me she'd been impossible to reach. He'd called her "at least forty times". Immediately my mind jumped to concern. Was something wrong? Where was she? But, then I remembered my state. I couldn't afford her much concern. Every worried bone in my body was busy focusing on basic human functions. Every day felt like a conscious decision. And then, I thought, well maybe she really doesn't care anymore, and I couldn't even blame her. She was right.
The morning blended with the afternoon and evening. That night, Lara and Aaron sat watch while my mom begrudgingly rested for the first time that day. My dad came home from work early and sat beside me, too.
Aaron held baby Leo on me, I was laid back, and my hands shook as I felt the weight of him on me. He found a comfortable spot for both of us and looked at me, eyes wide and full of innocence, yet somehow knowing. He babbled for a while.
"Can you say Uncle Leo?" I asked him.
He smiled, wrinkling his nose up. Then, he took his chubby little hand and reached out and touched me, as if to say, "that's you! I know who you are," and then everyone bust out with a chorus of aws. He soon laid his head down on my chest and we dozed away together. Aaron and Lara snapped many pictures and I understood. I was glad. My baby nephew. He would not remember me. But, right now, he knew me. The pictures would soon turn priceless.
The family walked around out front with sparklers and my dad cooked burgers for them. They were careful to eat away from me, which I appreciated.
That night, my dad sat alone with me. I woke up and he was there, sitting in a fold-out chair in his work clothes still. His tie was pulled a little loose, his eyes had bags underneath. He was leaning back in the chair, legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed. He had his arms behind his head, his eyes were closed. He looked haunted, like a vision of a man almost twelve months into a bad dream.
My dad, for his credit, always cared. He always had. His way of expressing that to us was his major fault. But even though he rarely choked out the words "I love you" without a string attached, I never doubted that he did.
I watched his tired features slump in sleep. "Dad?" I asked, my throat stinging. "Yeah buddy?" He immediately sat alert.
"I love you." My voice was only a whisper.
His tense muscles relaxed. He closed his eyes in relief. He smiled.
"I love you, Leo."
I looked down at my hands. His words effected me. I don't know if he would ever know what he had done for me. I wondered if he picked up on the significance of what he said.
Tears welled in my eyes and a lump formed in my throat.
"Leo, what's wrong? Are you okay?" He asked frantically, feeling my forehead.
I shook my head.
"It's not that. I'm fine," I assured him.
He looked perplexed.
"C'mon, Leo, you wanted us to talk more right?" He asked, tilting his head.
I drew in a weak breath.
"I really don't want to die."
I looked back at my hands. I couldn't look at him. He took in a deep breath of which I was jealous.
"We don't get to choose. It's unfair isn't it? Because believe me, if we had any say in any of this... I'd give all my years to you."
He pulled forward, elbows resting on his knees.
I looked at him now, and tears dripped down my cheeks. He held his face in his hands, rubbing his tired eyes.
"I've asked. I've prayed over and over. Whoever is up in that sky..." his voice trailed off, and he held a listless hand towards the ceiling.
"Well, if he's up there, he's not looking for a trade," he said, his throat catching on the last word.
We were silent for a long while, just the two of us. The silence was filled with the emotions running through us. It never felt empty.
We dozed off at some point and only woke up again the next morning when his shift with me ended when mom woke up. The sun was gleaming through the curtains, signaling another day I'd woken up to. Every sunrise was precious suddenly and sort of a surprise. My dad kissed my forehead and left for work less than an hour later.
After that, I spent my day like I always did lately. My hands shook at feeble attempts to feed myself. I sucked on ice to try and trick my body into thinking I was giving it something to work with. My stomach was weak. My lungs felt like they were under the weight of a thousand anvils. I felt gross and sticky most of the time, a thin layer of sweat constantly appearing. I wanted a shower.
My mom had kept Hattie at a neighbor's house. She was afraid something would scare her. She wouldn't understand. She'd be in the way. She would be too loud. I wanted Hattie with me, but I didn't want to worry her.
My stomach gnawed on itself, I felt like I was turning inside out. The fever burned and rose and broke over and over, leaving me crippled with exhaustion in its wake. That night I waited for everyone to go to bed. Reid was asleep soundly on the couch and I pulled out my camera I'd gotten for Christmas. I snapped a photo of him, waiting. I snapped a photo of myself, tired and sick. The room was empty and dark except for me. I was afraid that if I let myself think about what was coming, I'd never stop. The end was near. I could hear it coming. I could see it on its way.
The tumors in my belly continued to grow, and by now were pressing in on my lungs. I could feel it when I tried to take a deep breath. I sucked in little gasps through the pain. I looked around the living room at the family wall, with all its celebratory photos. My family.
I wanted to tell them everything. Death comes for all of us eventually. Why do some people get ninety-eight years, and some only two? Would I even get the two months I was promised? It had been a month, would I see the next one? What sense does it make for some bodies to outlive the brains of their owners, like my grandmother who can't remember my name, and for others with new brains, Ivy League brains, to go down with the vessel? What sense does that make? I couldn't find any sense in any of it, and I was running out of time. Maybe I'd never understand why this was happening, but I'd love an explanation before I left. I wanted to leave something for them to hold onto. What great big plan is unraveling that requires me to not be here? What butterfly effect would be messed with by me living?
My lower jaw quivered as I laid back on my side. If there was any purpose to all of this, it wasn't clear. I was dying in vain.