The Farthest Point
Daniel Yetman December 25 2010
I look down at my hands only to see that not much has changed since the last time I glanced at them. I put one hand in the bathtub next to me that is filled to its absolute capacity with water. I shiver from my fingertips all the way down to my toes. It’s undoubtedly cold, perhaps too cold for its purpose.
Slowly, I peel the white, already wet t-shirt that I’m wearing off my torso and throw it on the floor next to a pile of towels. I linger in the mirror, tracing the scar that travels from my left hip across my abdominals, ending underneath my chest. It’s a deep wound that has never completely healed. There’s still pain, not every night but often it keeps me awake at night. My heart no longer beats, it flutters. At any moment it could stop and it would all come to an end—the pain, torment, agony and most of all the guilt.
I should be the one who died, not her. I should have been buried three years ago and she should still be smiling. She can’t smile where she is now; I want to be there with her. Her memory hurts more than the scar across my abdomen. The scar keeps me awake some nights but her memory keeps me awake every night.
I pour the last of a bottle of gin into a cracked glass and throw the bottle against the wall. It breaks but does not shatter. In two halves it slides to the ground. I take a sip, welcoming the warm but bitter sensation. I quickly finish the rest.
“It should have been me!” I yell knowing that there is nobody around to hear my words. My hands start to shake, either out of fear, anger or sadness.
My gaze in the mirror shifts upwards towards my face. My eyes are plain, grey with a soft ring of yellow. They don’t stand out in anyway, they are near boring. Looking deep into them I see nothing. I don’t see guilt or sadness. My hair matches my eyes, plain and lackluster. It should have been cut months ago but instead it lays long and flat nearly covering the eyes that I resent.
One moment I’m standing in front of a mirror the next my fist is flying towards it, somehow it refrains from breaking. Taken back a step I turn my attention towards the icy water that sits perfectly still. I can’t pretend any longer, like a sailor I’m called back to sea.
My breath dissipates from my lungs, and for some reason my vision flashes green. I sit shivering and hyperventilating in a pathetic pile thinking of what I have done wrong.
The pills sit next to the soap, a poor location for them; they have probably already adopted the soap’s taste. I pick up one and hold it to the light. The capsule is smaller than my pinky nail but six of them should be enough to stop my heart cold. With no remorse I take twelve and swallow them all one by one.
I have never been a patient person but I think for this I can wait. I’m not sure how long it will take but I can wait. Angst turns to calmness and for the first time in my life I catch myself humming. The tune is scrambled and the name of the song is long lost but I am not deterred.
For a life that has spanned nearly 25 years I have few regrets, only one major one—the night I should have died. Her hand felt so small in mine and I thought I loved her. I thought I did but I never took the bullet. I froze with her hand in mine, staring down the barrel of a handgun. I should have jumped in front of her, it should have been instinct but it wasn’t.
Can I ever say that I loved her if I let her die? I would like to say yes but she died in my arms. I watched her eyes fade from blue to grey. And now I’m here, my eyes fading from gray to a lighter gray.
My throat starts to burn and I feel like I’m about to vomit. I start to shake even more uncontrollably than when I first stepped into the tub. I’m sweating though I’ve never felt colder.
I have often wondered what would have happened if I died that day instead of her. I like to think that she would have had a good life, better than the one I have lived.
“I’m coming to see you…” I whisper to myself.
I feel like putting my hand through the wall, I have wasted all my time. She would have wanted me to live, be amazing and dedicate my life to her. Since she died I haven’t lived much of a life at all, spending most of my time alone in the basement drowning my sorrow in gin and memories of her. I was supposed to be an author, a little bit crazy and successful enough to just get by. I haven’t written two words since the day she died, what’s the point. It’s a shame though; a memoir is usually more valuable when the author is dead opposed to alive. She should be alive not me, her life was of value. What if I took that bullet?
***
Jessica grabs for the only blanket in the entire house. She sits alone in the corner of a living room without any furniture. She shakes uncontrollable and tears dry on her cheeks. Her hair is falling out in chunks and the life that has befallen upon her, is not the life she had wanted to live.
A used syringe and a silver spoon lie on the carpet; Jessica drops the lighter she was holding and curls into a feeble position, her knees pulled into her chest.
She shakes uncontrollably and bangs her head against the ground, a pathetic shell of what she once was. She used to teach children, grades one through three now she’s on the darkest pursuit of happiness.
I stand above her, my shadow being cast across her face. She looks up with tear filled eyes. I can’t look at her I grimace and my eyes dodge her icy stare. She shakes and wobbles to her feet and grabs my collar. At first it seems like she’s holding on to catch her balance but her eyes are on fire and she pulls my collar so tight that I start having trouble even taking a single breath.
“You, you did this to me!” She yells with a mixture of passion and terror in her voice.
“You killed me.” She repeats.
I’m surprised by her remark and I try to loosen her grip on my collar but she squeezes tighter.
“I thought I saved you…”
“That bullet was meant for me, not you.” She lets go of my jacket.
“I thought you wanted to live.”
“Of course I wanted to live but this is not living. Look at me; I’m more dead than you are.” She waves her hands clear through my abdomen showing my ghost like state then she rests them on my chest. She feels around and plucks a steel bullet from me. She holds it three inches away from her eyes and lets go of me. She stares at the bullet like it holds life’s deepest secrets.
She turns back towards me, now tears are falling down her cheeks.
“Save me.” She whimpers.
“I did, I did save you.” I answer.
“No, you were the one who killed me.”
I stare intently into her eyes; they are grey, the same color as mine.
Thud! Something heavy rams against the door of the apartment. We lock eyes until she seems to no longer see me. She falls back to the floor, whimpering in a pile on the floor.
Thud! The door gives slightly; the hinges look like they are going to tear away from the wall. There’s nobody left to save her, I try to grab her hand but it’s no longer tangible. I can slowly feel myself being torn away from her world. Now I’m just an observer watching from the shadows.
“Go away, go away, go away.” She mutters to herself over and over again.
Thud! This time the door snaps in half and the hinges hang useless from the wall. She doesn’t even seems to realize where she is, She tears harder at her hair until she tears a large clump out of her head completely; there are still pieces of her skin attached to the hair and blood slowly seeps from her scalp.
A pair of heavy footsteps walks towards her but still she lies on the floor, refraining from looking up. She shakes her head and thrashes uncontrollably yelling gibberish, completely out of her mind.
“I’m already dead. I’m already dead. I’m already dead. I’m already dead.” Her body grows limp and after a matter of seconds even the echo of her words dissipates and all that can be heard is a pair of heavy footsteps walking out of the room slowly.
***
My entire body spasms in unison as I wake up, I catch the side of the tub before just before my head slides under the water’s surface. Rattled I rub my eyes and check my watch, only five minutes have passed. I’m surprised I’m not dead yet, I must admit I’m starting to question the intensity of the medication I consumed; perhaps it’s not what I had hoped for.
I pull myself half out of the water and peek on top of the sink to look for the bottle of gin, forgetting that I already cracked the bottle in half. I’m thoroughly disappointed when I see it shattered on the floor.
I slip the second and third fingers of my left hand underneath my jaw bone just to check if my heart is still beating. It’s beating strong and quickly, as if it is about to beat right out of my chest.
“See you soon,” I say aloud. And with those words I find myself slipping under again, my head barely staying above water.
***
I grab her waist and kiss her with every ounce of passion my physical being can muster. I linger on her lips and open my eyes when I realize she’s not kissing me back. She’s not falling for my tricks, she knows I’m desperate.
I pull away from her with my mouth still open and a look of innocence on my face. She’s no longer crying but her eyes are still wet, shining like crystal underneath the streetlight. Snow has been falling solidly for the past hour and my hands have lost all feeling. She looks stunning, her long fur coat flows across the contours of her body, hugging her like I wish I could. Her nose and cheeks are red and she has her hair bundled up with loose strands falling in her eyes. If she wasn’t crying I would go so far as to say she looks perfect.
There’s something about a crying woman that has always made me speechless. I never feel like anything I say is going to comfort her. I repeat versus’ such as, “it will be okay” or “don’t worry about it” while awkwardly standing, not knowing whether I should hug her or let her be. Today I’m the one who needs a hug, I can’t believe she’s leaving me, I still love her.
“I’m sorry, so sorry. I just can’t be with you anymore,” she whispers while looking through my eyes. Her words cut through my chest, each one feels like a knife being stabbed through my stomach, being twisted then dragged through my abdominal cavity.
“I wish he killed you.” As soon as the words leave my mouth I regret them. Tears start to run down her face and mine. I close my eyes almost as if my words were a physical entity travelling towards her and I can’t stand to watch. When I open them again she’s gone and the only memory I have of her is the size eight footprints in the snow.
Not seeing her across the road I let my tears fall freely, freezing before they leave my cheeks. Strangers walk by, staring at me like I’m insane. Maybe I am but they don’t know that. I feel like cursing them out but I’m too choked up to say anything literate. My speech impediment usually takes away from the dramatic effect anyway. “Excuse me sir, wif what right do you have to j-j-judge me?” No wonder I’m so shy, the very sound of my voice is a tragedy.
A pathetic, sniffling shell of what I like to think I am, I look up to see her staring at me wide eyed and emotionless. I meet her gaze and we hold onto it for what feels like several minutes before she takes a step off of the curb.
I should have told her to watch her first step, before her foot even touches the ground she’s knocked off her feet by a pickup truck and flies ten feet through the air. Her small frame doesn’t hold up against the front bumper of the vehicle. She crumples into a ball, dead before she even hits the ground.
***
When I wake my eyes simply open, I don’t convulse as I did before. My heartbeat seems to cause the water to ripple; my heart is so labored I’m starting to feel nauseous. I don’t dare vomit however, it might save my life. Staring at the ceiling, waiting for time to waste me, I think back to all the things I wanted to do with my life.
I wish I had bought a cat at some point in my life, I have always wanted one. I guess it’s too late now but I have always admired their nobility and independence. If I come back as an animal I hope I come back as a cat. Do people who kill themselves go to hell? I guess it doesn’t really matter but I would love to be a cat. All black, sleek and able to hide in the depths of night, the moon would be my calling.
These pills are taking forever, if I knew it would take this long I would have used a cleaner method. The water is cold too, feeling rather unpleasant against my pale skin.
I wish she was here, not in this moment but in my life. I miss her; I can’t believe that it has been almost two years since I last saw her. I can’t believe I’m starting to forget what she looked like. When I dream I see her clearly but when I try to spontaneously conjure an image of her I’m left with a vague interpretation. I like to tell people I loved her but in the deepest corner of my heart doubt casts a dark shadow.
I remember the smell of coffee—café late, medium—and debates concerning lust. My voice would crack and I would stammer as I tried to annotate my feelings on love.
“Love is absolutely selfish—I mean selfless. And love is seemingly all—er—everything.”
Bruce listened to every word, the profound ones and the stammered. I didn’t know it at the time but looking back he was my mentor. He guided me, and even went so far as comforting me when I was afflicted with a broken heart (which was often). He listened for hours—long after I could tell he stopped caring he would force himself to become attentive. I should have asked him about himself; it seemed I never stopped talking about myself. Maybe that’s why we eventually drifted apart; our relationship was too one sided.
He only met Jessica once; he walked into the coffee shop on Burdine Ave. where he and I used to spend hours conversing. He looked at me, then looked at her and finally back at me. He didn’t look impressed; I didn’t get the feeling that he liked her much. Maybe he felt bringing her to the coffee shop was my way of replacing him from my life. All I know is that was the last time I ever saw him.
Back in September I heard that he became a writer, he published a book “The Death of a Jaguar.” I meant to read it but time got away from me. I guess now I’ll never read it; I suppose I’ll never find out how Bruce is doing either.
I cough slightly causing my heart to beat even faster than I ever thought possible. I place my fore and index finger underneath my jaw again and try to estimate a ten second interval. I count forty beats in that time span.
I’m a little bit scared to die, not terrified but a little bit scared. There’s a chance that in a couple minutes I may just disappear. I don’t want to cease to exist; I just want to click restart. I want this life, the one that I have, I want a second chance to do everything over right. I would be better off without her, but if death is truly one big reset button, from the bottom of my heart I hope that I will find her again. God let me find her.
I should try to sleep again, perhaps this time I won’t wake up. I close my eyes in hopes of never returning back to this room and I drift into a deep slumber.
***
“Don’t leave me, you’re the only person I can’t do without.” I cry as I look her in the eyes.
“I love you.”
“If you loved me you would never leave me.” She doesn’t respond but instead coughs. Her hair has long turned grey and her skin is wrinkled. Her voice is raspy and her eyes are sick. Time is a temptress that has seduced me too. My waistline is a couple inches thicker than it used to be and even my eyebrows have turned white. My eyesight must also be failing me because she is still the most beautiful girl I have ever laid eyes on in the seventy-five years I have been alive.
All the history between us, my existence and hers all comes down to this moment, she lays on her back in a hospital bed and I lie next to her griping her hand so tight her bones start to crush.
“I can’t lose you.” At this point tears roll freely down my two cheeks.
I pull her closer until I can feel her heart beat. I run my left hand from her hair to her shoulder and kiss her as passionately as I can. Her mouth is one that I have kissed many times before, but this kiss feels different. There feels like there is more urgency, probably because this is inevitably the last time I will ever get to feel her breath against mine.
“Do you still remember our first kiss?” She asks quietly.
“No.”
“Yes you do, we were still just kids, lying on a beach waiting for the clouds to part and the stars to become clear. You were talking about the North Star and you told me someday you were going to take me—”
“See that star there? It has been guiding sailors since man has been able to sail. It is visible from anywhere in the Northern Hemisphere. In France people are standing on top of the Eiffel Tower admiring it telling this same story. Someday I’m going to take you there.”
“And then you kissed me.”
“And then I kissed you.” I smile at her, bashful and afraid. “Please don’t die.”
“You have made my life worth living; now you can finally live yours.”
“I’ll write about you.”
“I hope you will.” She looks deep into my eyes and holds her gaze. I watch as her eyes grow dim and lose their sheen. I burry my head in her blanket and pitifully murmur her name.
***
One last time I wake in a bathtub filled with water. I scream aloud frustrated about the dreams that are manifesting. She has been dead for years and I’m still a young man. I shouldn’t be here, in a bathtub waiting to die; I should be living my life the way she would have wanted.
I don’t want to die anymore, I want to live. Tears fall down my face and my whole body starts to convulse. I can feel this is the end but I fight against the light. My thoughts become scrambled and my breathing becomes labored. My head slips underneath the water and I try to call out for help by I know it’s much too late. There’s nobody around anyway. Water flows into my lunges, purges my veins. At first I fight against it but I quickly relax. I open my eyes underwater when my head reaches the bottom of the tub.
My final dream is of two cats walking side by side underneath a moonlit beach. One of the cats is gray and the other, larger cat is black. The cats walk the length of the beach in silence, nobody bothers them and nobody else even knows that they exist. They walk down the beach, leaving paw prints in the sand and listening to the waves roll across the accumulating seaweed.
The two cats disappear around the beach’s farthest point, never to be seen again.
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