by Jason Davis
He saw her angry face in his memory and he smiled. She would stay on earth, and she would be safe.
The darkness around him drifted again. He felt himself slipping back to sleep as the world around him grew heavy in his thoughts. He was more awake this last time than he had been, so the pull had to be stronger to drag him into the realm of sleep.
This time, maybe he would get lucky. Maybe the world around him would just slip away and he wouldn’t wake up.
And then sleep fully took him.
* * * *
He didn’t sleep well. He didn’t know why, but he had been up and down all night, constantly going to the bathroom. That wasn’t normal. Sure, he had been out drinking all night, but it was good to be back in Wisconsin, where the craft beer flowed free and the trash talk was loud. Being a Bears fan in a Packers bar was always good for that.
Maybe all the space travel was getting to him. Something about all those months in space made you want to drink beer within hours of stepping foot on soil. It couldn’t be good for his liver and was probably one hell of a shock to the system. Yeah, then following the beer with shots couldn’t have helped things.
All that additional gravity pulling on him as he drank glass after glass hadn’t been easy on his stomach. He had puked three times before he somehow found his way back to his hostel room.
Damn hostel. He hated not having a real home to go to. He was always back on earth for such a small amount of time before he went back into space, it was impractical to have a full lease, and most apartments didn’t rent short-term.
The hostel was close and was cheaper than a hotel, but they sure didn’t like him coming in at three a.m., drunk, unable to remember which room he was in. When he did find the right room, he had fallen onto the wrong bed, waking the occupant to quite a surprise as Will vomited for his fourth and final time that night.
Will had woken in his own vomit, the proper occupant of the bed having vacated. When the owners told him he was no longer welcome, he wasn’t surprised.
He would have to find another one soon. Either that or a cheap motel. He planned on going to see his daughter later in the day, so he would find someplace near where his ex-wife and her new rich husband lived. Whenever he was home, he tried to be as close as possible, much to the frustration of the new man stealing his life.
Why should he care if he aggravated the man? What was his name? Thomas, Tomas… He had some fancy name that started with a “T”. Will didn’t pay much attention. He was more frustrated that they made his daughter give up his last name, and they did it while strangling him with his bank account. He would either have to pay an arm and a leg in child support or allow his daughter to have a new life as a “Smithers”.
He hated thinking about the man. Every time he did, Will’s temper flared, pushing him to drink and fight. The man had stolen her from him while he was up there making a living, supporting his family. All the effort and energy he had put into their marriage wasted. It wasn’t fair.
No matter how hard he tried to push them away, the dark thoughts kept coming back. It was hard not to brood. He had eight months of solitary, so that was familiar to him. Even when he was home, he no longer felt at home. The brooding was a feeling that welcomed him, a friend who was there to put an arm around him, no matter how low it sagged his shoulders.
In the painful morning light, the dark thoughts stayed with him. He was alone to walk the streets, looking for a place to stay, looking to find some kind of connection to this world he felt like a stranger in.
He found a phone and called the only number he knew by heart. He hoped she had kept her phone, the one he bought her after the divorce.
It only rang once before it went to a recorded message. It wasn't her voice. The computer-generated one told him the number he had dialed was disconnected. He stood there, dumbfounded, holding the phone to his ear.
He stood in the phone booth. When was the last time he had been in a phone booth? When was the last time he had even seen a phone booth? How had he found this one? Why hadn't he just bought a prepaid phone like he normally did?
Those questions and more kept assaulting him. He hadn’t noticed how the day became night, blackness surrounding him.
He was no longer in a phone booth. Gone were the handset, as well as that computer-generated voice telling him his wife’s number was no longer in service.
Ex-wife, he reminded himself. Sometimes it was so hard to remember that in these dreams. Everything was jumbled, and things slipped from one truth to another.
What was truth? It was so hard to remember what really happened and what these dreams created as their own.
He had to be in a dream.
He looked around, unsure of where he was. Remnants of his fight last night came back as he watched another fist come at him. He was outside himself and saw three men forming a circle around him.
He was in another bar, one of the many he had been to after he came home this time. Who knew what the fight was over? Had he knocked over the guy’s drink? Maybe Will just said something political that irked him. It was so hard to keep up with what was going on. Being in space for so long, he was out of touch. How could he have known that some flavor of the week celebrity was an actual candidate and, to his greater shock, was being taken seriously?
None of how or why the fight started mattered. It was just his anger boiling up inside him. His daughter was gone and he may never see her again. Space was such a cold-hearted bitch, it rivaled the woman he had once called a wife. He had barely survived one, and every time he went up, there was a chance he wouldn’t survive the other.
What if he didn’t make it back? He would never see his daughter again. This whole time at home would have been a waste…
And that woman wouldn’t let her see him. She had sent his daughter away, had changed her numbers, had moved. It made it hard for him to find them.
Yes, he had become a drunk, but he was still her father. Sure, he fought a lot; however, he had never been that way when he was married. This was the man his ex-wife had made. What reason did he have to be better? His daughter made him better, but he didn't even have that now.
The fight was gone…if it had ever been real. None of this was. It was all a dream within dreams. Something else was happening and he didn't want to be a part of it. He was tired of being a part of things. Whenever he was, it always shattered. He was done with it all. What did it matter anyway?
* * * *
He knew he was awake again and crying, but tears weren’t there. It was too cold for that, the chill now a constant ache. There was a change in the darkness around him, his thoughts were no longer all over the place, and he could focus on the display flashing red before him.
Retrieval imminent.
Press here to confirm life.
Yeah, he knew that wasn't true. There was no chance of rescue. Sure, he was only a truck driver, but he knew enough from his years out there to know that it would be nearly impossible for them to rescue him. Even with all the science mumbo jumbo that would have retrieving him as hard as finding a needle in a thousand haystacks, there was also the cost. It would be too expensive to rescue some dumb gear-jammer. It would be cheaper just to leave him out there.
None of it mattered. He was never going to see his daughter again. Worrying about all this was exhausting, and what was the point.
When he fell back to sleep this time, maybe everything would just fade away. Let the dream just take him. If he were lucky, it would be a peaceful one, his last thoughts one of joy.
He didn't have too many great memories. His childhood was too long ago, usually feeling like a dream that had some vague qualities of truth. His marriage, while it might have been good at one time, was marred with the aftermath. All he had was that little girl he once held in his arms.
* * * *
Babies were the most precious and amazing creatures on the planet. It didn’t matter what species, either, because they were all adorable. Even the most vicious of pr
edators or the ugliest of creatures always had that element of beauty at the beginning of life.
But the most amazing of all of was the human baby. There was that chubbiness in the cheeks, the way the mouth opened and closed while the eyes stayed shut. Those small little hands that grabbed your finger, held on, and clutched their way into your heart.
Then there was the baby’s first smile.
How does a baby learn to smile? How was it that within hours of making their appearance into this world, they were able to smile, lightening even the darkest of hearts? They reached in and touched that spot in your chest. Before you knew it, the tears started flowing as you saw this new life, the happiness spreading.
Will would never forget the first time he saw that smile. He had been on the road so much while his wife was pregnant, but he was there for those long hours of labor. He was glad he had been when he held his little girl for the first time and welcomed her into the world.
She smiled up at him, eyes closed, her little hand wrapped around his pinky. He heard baby-like noises. Not those little sounds they made, but that of adults when they tried to talk to a baby. He smiled, thinking someone else, other than his sleeping wife, was in the room, but when he looked around, he was alone and those noises came from him.
It was the most amazing experience. He thought he was ready for it, but he wasn’t. It was something new, a connection he never thought he’d have. There was a bond that formed the second she had been put into his arms, and he knew that no matter what, he would do anything to protect her.
“I love you, and I will do anything, anything to always be there for you, to always protect you, to make sure you have everything you need. You will always be safe, and I will be there for you. I will teach you to ride a bike, show you how to fish, and when your first boyfriend takes you out, I will be there sitting on the porch when he brings you home…”
Will got choked up. It was like he was making a promise to her… No, not a promise. This was something more, something deeper, something like an oath. It came from within his soul and, by God, he meant every syllable.
“And when that special day comes, I will be there to walk you down the aisle. I will always be here for you.”
There it was again. That little smile. Her eyes weren’t even open, but somehow she knew.
"Your first?"
Will looked up to see a doctor standing there. He was a tall, skinny man, but had a very welcoming smile that touched his eyes. He guessed he would have to be very warm to work in such an environment and deal with so much life every day. This man helped give joy to the world.
Will nodded as he tried to form the words, not realizing how dry his throat had become. He felt like he hadn't spoken to anyone in weeks.
“They are so precious. When you hold your baby in your arms for the first time, you realize what your life is all about.”
“Yeah,” he whispered, a fresh wave of tears suddenly flooding him he clutched onto the little bundle.
He looked down at her through his watery eyes. Little droplets fell from his cheeks, one falling onto her soft skin. Her eyes fluttered open and those large, round orbs looked up at him.
The smile returned. He responded with his own.
“So, are you going to just give up on that little girl?”
Will heard his own voice. He looked up to where the doctor had been, seeing himself standing there. It wasn’t the young man he had been when she was born, but the one he saw every time he looked into a mirror. The man glared at him, his arms crossed.
“I would do anything for her.”
“But you’re not.”
“Yes, I would.”
“Then why are you allowing yourself to just die? You’re not even curious to see if there is someone out there coming for you. You saw that message. Something is happening, but you’re just giving up.”
Will turned away from his older self and started bouncing his baby as he walked toward the window of the room. The little girl cooed against his chest as he started to hum “Hush, Little Baby”. He would sing it to her, but as much as he tried, he couldn’t remember any of the words. So he hummed it, feeling her little hands reaching out and clasping his shirt.
“Do you remember when she was three and burned her hand? You had only turned your back for a minute and she climbed up onto the stove and reached out to grab the skillet.”
The tears came back as Will looked out the hospital window, seeing the LifeFlight helicopter sitting on its helipad.
Of course, this isn’t the same room we actually had when she was born. This is the room we had later, when her mom had been admitted into the hospital with a failing kidney.
“You rushed her to the hospital. You didn’t even think about it. You heard that scream, then her cries. You just scooped her up into your arms and you were gone. The hospital was twenty miles away. You drove the whole way, telling her all the jokes you could think of to take her mind off her pain.”
While we waited for her mom to come out of surgery, I took Angie, who was almost seven, down to the helipad. The pilot was extremely nice and gave her a tour of the helicopter, showed her where they saved lives, and even allowed her to sit in the co-pilot chair.
It was all to take her mind off how scared she was while we waited. The waiting is always the hardest part.
“How many times have you held her and told her you will always be there to protect her and look out for her, whether it was telling her a story to keep her distracted, telling her jokes to make her forget the pain, or even just taking a walk with her because you wanted to spend time together.”
“I need to take her,” the doctor said.
Will spun around. It was too fast for his little bundle to handle. He felt the little arms and legs squirm, then heard the bubbling gurgle as she spit up. He tried to calm her, but didn’t take his eyes off the doctor standing where his older self had been just a minute ago.
“Why?”
“She needs to be taken care of.”
“I’ve got her.”
“She needs someone who'll be there for her.”
“I said I’ve…got…her.”
Will heard the anger in his voice and felt the heat in it. That fire burning, growing as he recognized the doctor. He hadn’t met him too many times, but he would never forget the face of the man who had stolen his life from him. The man who was now married to his wife and raising his daughter. The man who helped lie to him, supporting his wife when she told Will Angie was away at camp.
Will held the bundle closer. He was afraid he held her too tightly, but couldn’t stop himself. He wasn’t going to let this bastard take her from him. He had taken her teenage years away from him, but Will was not about to let him take her first moments. Those were his. She was his. She would always be his.
"You left her. You always leave her."
But he hadn't. She had been taken from him. First by his witch of an ex-wife, then by this bitch known as space.
…
No. I am leaving her. I am leaving her by not trying to get home.
He saw the flashing light. He had no idea what it meant, but something was happening. He should be doing something to get back to her. There had to be a reason it was flashing, asking him to confirm he was still alive.
It just doesn’t make any sense. There is no way the company would ever waste money and resources on saving my life. I am alone, left to die, so why even bother?
He looked down at the bundle in his arms. The pink cheeks stirred something inside him. In the cold surrounding him, he felt a warmth emanating from the depths of his soul as he remembered the song he sang to her that first time he held her. The real song, not the one he hummed to her in his dream. The one he had heard on the radio in their rush to the hospital. He would always remember it because of how true it would always be. This time, he didn't sing it, but mouthed the chorus. I saw God today. Maybe there actually was a God out there and Will just needed faith.
He placed a gentle k
iss upon her forehead, then opened his eyes.
* * * *
The light still flashed, the cold still there. But he felt a change. There was a warmth building, pushing back the chill. It came from deep within his core and worked outward.
Before, there was only the cold. It was all he felt, encompassing everything he had thought he was. He had been frozen by it, unable to move. He didn’t think he would even be able to reach out and touch the screen, let alone the flashing button.
Now he had hope flowing through him. He felt it. He just had to reach that screen.
And he tried.
He desperately wanted to move his hands, his arms, anything, but he found he was still trapped in the arms of the forever chill. No, no, no. It can’t end like this. He was in Death’s grip, the strong fingers of that long hand holding him tight.
Then there was that warmth again.
He tried to reach out for the tablet, which had once been affixed to a metal arm he could control. That arm had snapped, and the screen now floated just out of his reach. He just needed to reach it. He worried more about how the cold would affect it, hoping it would still recognize his touch.
When he touched it…
His arms didn’t move. In his mind, he felt them moving toward the screen floating near him, but they weren’t. It was in his head, just like the dreams that kept trying to pull him back into them.
He felt them threatening to take him again. He was so tired, it was hard to tell when he was awake or when he was dreaming. Will had slipped in and out of dreams so much, he wasn’t sure if this was real or if he was only partly awake, watching his inability to do anything.
“Come on, you waste of space,” he grunted through clenched teeth. It was good to hear the faint sound of his own voice. It was distorted to his ears, but he felt the air and tasted its chilled metallic taste.
Air… He couldn’t have much left, and that iron taste probably wasn’t good. Whatever the little suit used for oxygen had to be nearly depleted.
