To Live

by C. G. Cooper

“Doesn’t look like junk mail.”

  “Probably one of those AARP knock offs. Just wait until you’re old enough to have your own place.”

  “Huh. You know, I got one of those AARP letters when I was like seven. My mom thought it was hilarious.”

  The chuckle he forced out sounded forced, at least to his own ears. It was a verbal mask he could wear to hide the languid tones beneath it, one that fooled no one.

  “I’ll make sure I shred this along with the rest of them,” he said, scooping it off the top of the pile. He couldn’t get to it fast enough.

  That’s when she leveled him with the stare, the curious one, the one that told him she wasn’t going to forget. “I caught you,” the stare said. It was only there for a second, but he saw it.

  “So, how’d the crossword puzzle go?”

  He exhaled as quietly as he could, stuffing the envelope in his back pocket.

  “Not bad. Maybe you can help me with a couple words.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lightness was returning slowly to his life, stamping out a piece of darkness with each passing day. For the most part, he still wallowed, and when he caught himself at it, he widened his eyes and breathed deeply – the very act of feigning wakefulness kept him awake. And he busied himself.

  His internal alarm clock still woke him up at five on the nose every morning. Routine these days had transformed Elmore from a self-pitying clutch of the past, to a man making a concerted effort at restructuring his life. He’d rise, use the bathroom, brush his teeth, and drink a full glass of water. Then he’d lace up his shoes for a walk around the neighborhood.

  The pre-dawn walks often brought back a flood of memories, most of them good ones. He loved the peaceful desolation of the early streets, the bruised tint to the sky, his footsteps light and dreamlike. Around six a.m. came the guy in the beat-up Chevy chucking papers onto driveways. Elmore regarded the Chevy’s appearance as a harbinger of the normal person’s daytime, and that’s when he began his re-acclimation into the world of non-dreams.

  This morning was like all the others, but he’d decided to walk a little farther, maybe leave the neighborhood altogether. He’d decided his watch held no meaning for him on this morning. If he was going to be arbitrary about space, then dammit, he’d be arbitrary about time as well.

  He left the neighborhood far behind. A sheen of sweat glossed his brow by the time he made it to the park, the one he’d first walked to with Sam. Aside from this and a twinge of thirst, he was grateful for the fact that, for the most part, his old body complied. No creaks. No need to slow down.

  Not the same for his mind, and so, he eased the able body onto a park bench and watched the sun come up. Tangerine first, then lemon.

  As the sun crested the horizon and splashed the landscape, he felt the flood of emotion. The tears came and he didn’t brush them away.

  I let her finish your crossword... I didn’t mean it...

  He stared at the sun. He watched it cut away from the horizon, steady as the day.

  “Live,” said the sunrise. It whispered in her voice.

  He nodded, pushed himself off the bench, and once again agreed to her request.

  The walk back home had taken more out of him than he was used to.

  He vowed right then and there to walk like that every morning. No morning funk. Just walk.

  He made it home just before seven. He was just pulling the keys from his pocket when he saw her standing on his front stoop.

  “Sam?”

  She whipped around, hand still in the air mid knock.

  A look like relief, like panic subsiding. “You scared me,” she said, quick to retrieve her arm and her composure.

  “I took a little detour.”

  “Yeah, well, I thought I’d stop by before school.”

  “I can whip up some breakfast if you want.”

  He didn’t know when her school started. He’d never asked. Hadn’t seemed important. Their friendship was an afternoon one, not a morning one.

  “I already ate,” she said. He could see it was a lie to avoid having a friend go through the trouble.

  He unlocked the front door and led the way in, flicking on lights as he passed. What he really wanted to do was kick off his shoes and sit down, but he could sense the excitement – or was it urgency? – in the girl’s demeanor.

  “What brings you here this early?”

  It was all the prompting she needed, a balloon ready to pop.

  “The letter, the one with the crest, or I mean, the drawing of the medal on it.”

  The words hit him like a spear in the spine. On his way to the kitchen, his foot caught the edge of the carpet, right at the lip, the spot he’d promised Eve he’d have someone fix. He caught himself on the door frame.

  “Whoa, you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Elmore said, shaking off the unease.

  “So that letter…”

  She was chewing on the inside of her cheek, searching his face. He knew what was coming, braced for it as best he could.

  “Elmore,” she said, “why the hell didn’t you tell me they gave you the Medal of Honor?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  His mind traveled back for what felt like a thousand years, to another time, another life. He didn’t like to go there, but Sam’s question had dropped him down the silver tube of memory.

  There was metal in his mouth. He tasted it like chewing gum.

  “You need to leave,” he said in a voice that wasn’t entirely under his control.

  Her mouth opened, attempted to form a word, and then closed.

  He recovered himself just enough for politeness. “Please, Sam.”

  Her eyes stared, as if she hoped there’d be more for him to offer. When it became obvious that there wasn’t, she said a plaintive, “I’m sorry,” and walked away toward the door.

  He knew she was sorry. He wanted to say he was too, but that wouldn’t have been true.

  The door closed with finality.

  And Elmore Thaddeus Nix sat down in his well-worn armchair - the one Eve had splurged for on his sixtieth birthday. He sat there and he watched the wall until he was aware that his body was shaking. Then he cried.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Morning turned to night, turned to day.

  The phone rang and was left unanswered. Three knocks on the front door, or was it five?

  Food had no taste and his bed brought no solace. He slept on the couch, cranked neck and all. He would’ve slept on the floor if he’d thought he would’ve been able to get up afterward. The floor was solid, unmoving. He needed something like that in his life, something that didn’t surprise him. He’d had too many surprises recently. All he wanted to do now was to be left alone.

  And so he sat and waited.

  For what? Death? Sam? A miracle?

  A miracle came on the morning of day five with the sound of a battering ram smashing his front door to smithereens.

  Chapter Twenty

  He’d been in the bathroom when the thought came to him. His trips to the bathroom had decreased as he missed mealtimes. Using the bathroom was a matter of propriety, a vestige of his civilized self. There was no sense in messing the furniture that someone else might get after he was long gone.

  No, the bathroom was much cleaner.

  He’d do it in the bathtub with a straight razor. The cleanup would be easy. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? So simple. No muss, no fuss. Hell, they could just cart the whole bathtub out if they needed to.

  Suddenly, his mind had eased, and a hole in his gut had healed in that moment. He almost smiled at the thought. Here was a plan. Here was purpose.

  Staring at the bathtub, mind reeling in nourishment-deprived delirium, he heard the first crash and he thought it was thunder.

  Thunder. That’s strange. It was sunny when I came in here.

  Another crash.

  Then the thump of steps, though he tried to tell himself it was more thunder, or maybe the po
unding was from fist-sized hail.

  “Elmore?!”

  The call came from the front of the house.

  It was her.

  “Eve?” he called back weakly.

  He stumbled back a step, his rear bumping into the sink. He steadied himself and blinked through the sudden blur in his vision.

  “He’s back here,” someone said.

  The bathtub was rising now, along with everything within his vision. He steadied himself again when the world began to drip in reverse. He tried to stave it off, willed his legs to flex.

  He was lying on his side when they came in, Sam first.

  “What the hell happened?” she said, frantic.

  “Where’s... Eve?”

  “Hang in there, Elmore Thaddeus,” she said.

  Then another face appeared, somehow familiar.

  A man – a hard look. No, not hard, determined. A face as old as Elmore’s, flinty and chipped.

  “What have you gotten yourself into now, Nix,” it said.

  It was the voice of a dead man.

  “Franks,” Elmore said. His voice creaked. “Sergeant Franks?”

  “That’s right, you crazy devil. Come on now.”

  He smiled. Death wasn’t so bad after all. Sergeant Franks had come for him. Why not Eve?

  No time to ask, because Elmore Nix’s world faded into shards of black, and then everything went quiet.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Whispers on the wind. That’s what Eve called them. The soft titter of children on the playground wafting on the breeze; little laughs cute enough to bottle and take home for safekeeping.

  He heard them now – the whispers on the wind – as he floated in a sea of bliss.

  He became aware of other sensations. A prickling of the skin. So, this is what liberation of the soul felt like.

  He also became aware that his eyes were closed. Strange, he thought, that he should be aware of his earthly body in this manner. Should he open his eyes? Would there be light?

  There was light – hard, piercing. He forced his eyes open despite this.

  “Well, look who’s condescended to grace us with his presence again.”

  The voice again. The gravel of a lifelong smoker.

  “Franks?”

  “Right again. Give this man the lollipop prize.”

  Elmore’s vision wavered for a moment, then cleared. There was Franks, different somehow than when he’d appeared in the bathroom. What was it? Ah, the stethoscope.

  “Hold still, Nix, I need to make sure you’re not going to keel over again. Glad I still have some things from my EMT time.”

  The cool steel touched his chest. Franks removed the plugs from his ears and slipped them down to his neck.

  Sam appeared. She was keeping her distance like he had something infectious.

  “You had us worried, Nix.”

  “I… how did you…”

  Franks threw his stone-cut chin behind him in a gesture toward Sam. “It was this little lady here. She called me, said she hadn’t seen you in a few days. Thought you might need help.”

  He wondered only for a moment how it all fit together – how Sam knew Franks. From that damn letter.

  Why wouldn’t they leave him alone?

  “I heard about Eve,” Franks said. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I lost Jenny a few years back.”

  “I’m sorry too,” Elmore said. His voice was a rusty whisper.

  Franks turned to Sam.

  “I told you there was nothing to worry about, young lady. Nix might be as stubborn as a white-tailed pig on Sunday, but he’s as healthy as a horse. Once we get some fluids in him.”

  One question stuck with him. Why hadn’t Sam called an ambulance?

  Franks threw his chin in the direction of the IV line. “You know, the last time I saw you hooked up to these many wires…”

  “Leave it,” Elmore said.

  Franks paused. “Y’always were an ornery one.”

  It made Elmore remember, all the jibes, all the kidding. Sergeant Franks could be as mean as they came, but under that gruff exterior that trained countless young men, was a soul as kind and as pure as you could meet.

  “How did Jenny die?” Elmore asked. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t really appropriate. He never would’ve asked someone on the street or even a co-worker at the job he’d just retired from.

  But Franks was from another world, another time, when asking the hard questions was considered proper. Not just proper, your duty.

  “Drunk driver.” Franks shifted the sheets so they covered Elmore’s upper chest. “Went cold turkey after that. Not a drop. Can’t even stand the smell of the stuff.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You said that already, Nix. And besides, we don’t say sorry, remember?”

  Elmore did remember. Franks had said it long ago on a battlefield. “Never say you’re sorry for what you’re about to do. They won’t understand, and you might not either, but you never say you’re sorry.”

  It was those words that had gotten Elmore Thaddeus Nix through it all.

  He caught sight of Sam in his peripheral vision. She stood staring, unmoving, arms folded.

  “You wanna grab me a glass of water from the kitchen, young lady?” Franks asked.

  “Sure,” she said without affect.

  Franks looked down at his old friend. “I didn’t want to say this in front of her. You’re looking pretty rough, Nix. What’s going on? And while we’re at it, why haven’t you answered our letters?”

  The letters. More in recent years.

  “That part of me is gone,” Elmore said, dreading the fact that his words would have no impact. He knew Franks. The man wouldn’t let the episode go for a second.

  “We’re family, Nix. Maybe not by blood, but what the hell is blood anyway? We’re family.”

  Shame shadowed Elmore’s vision. His family. His first, really. He’d become a man with them, had nearly died for them – would have died for them.

  “There aren’t as many of us as there used to be. Oklahoma Joe and Tidewater Teddy died last year. Went out kicking though. Had a party for each of ‘em, right there in their hospital rooms. Damnedest thing you ever saw.”

  Franks shuffled to the other side of the bed, checking the IV he’d placed. He was older, but still the same Franks. Those resolute eyes and that always-set jaw. It was a face of tested confidence.

  “So, what about you, Nix? How’s life?”

  Elmore actually laughed, a full laugh that shook the bed. It went on for a good thirty seconds, maybe a minute. Sam rushed into the room and stared down, uncomprehending.

  “Is he okay?” she asked.

  “Oh, he’s fine.”

  Elmore knew the word for what he was going through. It belonged to Franks. A joy burst. When you’ve had a crappy day, a crappy week, or a crappy life – and suddenly everything comes out. And it’s not a scream or a tear, it’s just a burst of craziness, like your body finally realizes the ludicrous way the world works. Joy burst.

  Elmore got his laughing fit under control, though everything in the room made him laugh. The look on Sam’s face. The tube stuck in his arm. The sight of his old friend, mentor and hero. Another bark of mirth escaped his lips.

  The pained look on Sam’s face told him that she was trying in vain to share in the experience. She edged closer and closer, and eventually took a seat at the end of the bed.

  “Whelp, now that we’ve got our good friend Nix here under control, why don’t you enlighten me as to the nature of said friend’s discombobulation, and the origins of your own budding friendship.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “What can I say?” said Sam. “It started with a card and a bottle of Gatorade. Who would stop and think that those two things – what do you call them? Innocuous? Like, how could those things form the basis of... anything? But he gave them to me and it... I don’t know. It made me think there was some good in the world after all.”

&nbs
p; “Don’t make me out to be some sort of savior,” said Elmore, who wanted to add that the gesture was merely the pathetic attempt of an old man to conjure up the memory of his late wife.

  “I thought he was batshit,” she said, letting a shade of a smile creep onto her face.

  “You wouldn’t be the first one,” said Franks.

  “I had nothing better to do, so I stalked him and came to his house. He was nice to me. Now he’s just Elmore Thaddeus. He’s like a fa— whatever, he’s just a good guy.”

  “So,” said Franks, “you two seem to be doing just fine. How about we move on to business? My letters.”

  “It’s about the Medal of Honor, right?” Sam said.

  “It sure is,” Franks said. “You know what they give those out for.”

  “Yeah, I did my homework. It’s presented for acts of extreme heroism. It’s the highest award bestowed by the president.”

  “Ding, ding, ding. Give that girl a golden ice cream cone. We just call it the Medal. That’s all. The Medal.”

  “And he got it, right?”

  Again, the cringing sensation took over Elmore’s body. He wanted to disappear. They were talking about him like he was some museum exhibit on display.

  “He sure did. And let me tell you, I was there when he earned it. Hell, I wrote him up for the damn thing.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  The memories, they flooded in now. Not the images of mangled bodies and ripping mortars, but strange things, things he’d never tell another human being. The silence, most of all. The thought of catching your breath before one last run for cover. The sight of the midnight moon minutes before a firefight. The soft chatter of men in the foxhole next to you, talking about their farm back home, their dog, their girl.

  He loved the beauty of it. That’s what he would never tell. He’d gone off to war a boy, fully expecting to die. He’d found himself, but he’d found beauty as well. The beauty of a man crying for his brother. The beauty of a man causing his brother to excel. The beauty of life and death. There was no finer struggle. And there was nothing else in life to find.