The Void

by Bryan Healey

  "I am not trying to understand, Max!"

  "Then why do you want to know?"

  "Because you need to say it!"

  "Why? What good is this doing?"

  "You did nothing wrong, Max! You must realize that! Don't you see, that you did nothing wrong?"

  And I start to laugh. It is awkward and reserved at first, but then I collapse into the insanity and cackle maniacally. She looks on, horrified, utterly confused at my raucousness. Finally, I put my hands to my face and put my eyes to hers: "I know that."

  "That's good, Max!" And she smiles.

  "No, it's not."

  "It's not?"

  "You don't get it, do you?" I shake my head, rub my cheeks. "I don't think anyone can understand."

  "Tell me, Max," and she stands.

  "It was never about blame. I never blamed myself. I never felt responsible. I know that there was nothing I could have done. They died because of the men who attacked us, not anything I did. I've always known this, I've never doubted it."

  "What are you saying?"

  "I regret that they died, not why they died."

  "What do you mean, Max?"

  "They're gone," and I laugh again, this time a little more uncomfortably. "They're gone and they're never coming back. What life they had, what existence they had, it's just gone, completely. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

  She says nothing.

  "They were my friends, and I will never see them again. I had to watch the life, the very life that made them my friends, that made them who they are, that made them funny and kind and smart, I watched that drain from them and end them. And I had to tow their bodies home, tell their families that they would never smile at them again." And I start to cry. "And I will never see them again. They're gone."

  "Do you believe that?"

  "Completely. Even if I wish I didn't."

  "Do you think they would have wanted this for you? Do you think they would have wanted you giving so much of yourself because of them?"

  I shrug. "I don't care."

  "Max-"

  "Do you know what Frank's wife said to me?"

  She pauses, blinks twice. "What?"

  "His wife told me she hated him, for leaving."

  "She... she-"

  "Hated him. Can you imagine that? He gave his life for his country, probably thought he was doing right by himself, and she hated him for it. Because he left her; left her and her daughter to be alone so that he could die, for nothing, nothing that means anything. And it dawned on me that none of this shit matters when you really get down to it."

  "What shit?"

  "Country, god, honor, sacrifice... It's all horse shit. It's lies that we tell ourselves to make ourselves feel better when we're asked to give everything for nothing. It's how we justify wasting our lives in terrible jobs and wasting away doing terrible things, or allowing others to do terrible things. It's what gives us permission to follow the pack, to be stupid, and even to be reckless and dangerous under the guise of manliness, of honor, to make the sacrifice for some bullshit reason because we've fallen for our own lies."

  She only stares, listening as I rant.

  "All that matters is your life, being alive. Fuck the country, fuck god, fuck honor, and fuck sacrifice. Just stay alive, as long as you can. Stay alive and be with the ones you love and do the things that you love. To live your life. You have nothing waiting for you at the end, no reward for your sacrifice, no glory for your destruction. You only have all this, this fleeting, insignificant moment of chemical lunacy that we call consciousness, and when it's gone, you're gone, utterly. And nothing matters when you're gone."

  She continues to stare, finally mustering, "there must be more to life than just avoiding death, Max."

  "Is there?"

  "Otherwise, what is the point to life?"

  "There is no point to life other than what we give it ourselves. And the only thing worth giving meaning to in our lives is to experience it as long as we can. So, no, there is no more. Staying alive, avoiding death, is all that matters."

  "I see."

  "Yes," I mumble.

  "Then," she begins, coming around her desk and resting on the edge of her desk, her hands on her knees, looking smug. "May I ask, why don't you follow your own advice and just live your life?"

  I cough, confused. "Excuse me?"

  "By your own words, living is all that matters. It trumps everything and should be our one focus."

  "Yes," I offer.

  "Then you need to follow your own advice, Max. You need to stop allowing the ghosts of your friends haunt you. You need to let it go and get on with your life, or you'll be wasting it, as you say."

  "I can't just forget them!"

  "No, I wouldn't ask you to forget them."

  "They're dead!" I shout.

  "But you're not, Max," and she softly puts her hand on my knee, my eyes firmly to the floor, trying valiantly not to cry and absolutely failing. "You're not dead. You're here, a father, a husband, and you have a life to live. Don't just avoid death and be done with it. Pick yourself up and live, Max."

  I melt into my own hands.

  "It's okay to live, Max."

  Sobbing, furiously, she hands me a tissue, and I thoroughly ignore it. I feel nothing but the anguish, surging through me. I can't even tell you exactly what I am crying over; perhaps it is everything, or nothing, and almost certainly it doesn't matter...

  It doesn't matter...

  "It's okay to live, Max," she repeats.

  It just doesn't matter anymore...

  "It's okay..."

  I don't even remember driving home.

  "Good morning, Mr. Aaron!" My doctor.

  Oh, Jesus, I am in agony!

  "Hey, dad."

  Brian...

  "Good morning, sweetheart."

  Jenny...

  Oh, Jenny...

  More footsteps. So many more.

  Who is here?

  "How is he?"

  "His heart is very weak," the doctor says. "It could be today. I'm so sorry." He didn't sound sorry.

  "Oh, Max," Jenny squeaks behind tears.

  And then a long silence, only footsteps.

  The room sounds crowded.

  "It's not fair that he has to go out this way."

  Jenny sounds devastated. I hate that.

  "He can't feel anything, mom."

  Nothing could be further from the truth, but I can't hold it against them. They have no reason to assume otherwise. I'm sure I would have thought the same were I in their shoes...

  "I know, but... it's..."

  She catches her breath, a vicious exhale.

  "I know, mom."

  "He was always so... tough... you know? The first thing I noticed about him when we first met was how strong he looked. Broad shoulders, chiseled jaw, big arms, barrel chest- everyone wanted your father."

  She laughs.

  "And now he's... he's..."

  "I know, mom," Brian repeats.

  "You look like he did, you know?"

  "Mom-" His voice is embarrassed.

  "You do, just like him. I'm glad... I'm glad he will get to continue in some way, you know? The world will still remember that he was here."

  "You'll always remember him," the doctor says, suddenly joining the conversation from across the room, near the door, almost surely as he is leaving. "He'll always be a part of you. Never forget that."

  Such an odd thing for a doctor to say...

  "
Did I ever tell you about our first date?"

  "No," Brian sheepishly admits.

  "We had gone to this nightclub, just outside the city, with other people. I was dating this guy- John was his name- and he liked to dance. I didn't really enjoy it, but you try to make people happy, you know?

  "Anyway, Max was there with some young lady, I don't remember her name, don't care to. They were dancing together, a little too... aggressive..."

  Jesus, Jenny, don't tell Brian this!

  "Mom!"

  She laughs. "So he leaves her and comes to the bar to order two drinks. I'm sitting at the bar, John was dancing by himself, probably with some other girl, I don't know, and your father looks right at me, and just stares at me. He's not smiling, or gesturing, or anything, just looking at me, like he's trying to figure out if he knows me.

  "After at least a minute, he turns back to the bar tender, hands him a credit card, points to me, and then heads back out to the dance floor. I watch him until he's lost in the crowd and then turn back to my drink."

  I remember that night so well...

  The music sucked.

  "The bar tender comes over, hands me a new drink, and tells me that Max had instructed him to make me anything I wanted for the rest of the night, on him, and that if I wanted to I could meet him outside the front door at one."

  Brian snickers. "My parents met at a club?"

  Jenny cackles. "Yes, we did."

  "And you wouldn't even let me stay out past eleven until I was seventeen!"

  "Brian, we were adults, we were both in college when we met. It's not the same."

  "I'm just sayin'..." And another snicker.

  "Anyway," she resumes, "at one, I head outside to meet him. And I stand there, looking and feeling like an idiot, for about twenty minutes. I thought about just leaving and heading home about ten times, but each time I decided to wait just a little longer.

  "Finally, your father comes out the front door, smiles at me, and says 'let's go.' He grabs my arm, turns me to the left, and walks me to an all-night coffee shop down the street. And we drank coffee and talked and laughed all night long.

  We even watched the sunrise together."

  We watched the sunset the next night as well...

  Please don't tell Brian that, though...

  "It was... perfect..." She mumbles.

  "Sounds like it was fun," Mary interrupts.

  Mary is here?

  I knew I heard too many footsteps.

  How many people are in here right now?

  "It was fun. It was... Well..." She's closer to me now, I can hear her beside my ear. "...I knew I was going to marry him after that night."

  "Did you know he was going into the military when you met him?" Brian asks.

  No, she didn't...

  I should have-

  "Yes," she answers angrily.

  Yes? Did you say yes?

  "Did you ever worry about that?"

  I didn't enlist until after I finished my bachelor's degree, how could you have known? I never talked about it, I didn't want to worry anyone until I knew what I was doing for graduate school, until I knew whether I'd need the money...

  "Of course I worried. But he was your father, he always knew what he was doing, even when he didn't have a clue what he was doing," and another laugh.

  I never knew what I was doing...

  "I'm going to miss him so much," and suddenly she is sobbing, violently, and rushing out of the room. I hear footsteps chase after her, and in a moment the room is in absolute silence.

  "You look good," my father says, handing me another mug full of coffee, the two of us seated on deck chairs atop his newly redone red-brick patio. A small, electric fountain is situated in the garden before us; the sound of the water crashing into the small basin is hypnotic and consistent.

  "Thanks, dad," I grumble.

  "How are you feeling?"

  "Better," I admit. "Not perfect, but better."

  "You're clean?"

  "Completely," I retort forcefully.

  "Good."

  And then a long, slow silence.

  I take a sip of my coffee, my eyes locked on the fountain. He takes a sip of his, his eyes the same.

  More silence.

  I can hear Jenny and mom banging away in the kitchen, the window over the sink just behind and above our heads. Dad turns quickly toward the window, certainly wondering just what the hell they were doing in there, before turning back to the fountain to resume sipping the warm, blond drink.

  "I've always been proud of you, Max," he says.

  I break my fixed gaze and look at my dad, much older now, a noticeable belly protruding from above his belt buckle. He has glasses now; he never needed glasses when I was growing up.

  He is still staring forward, trying not to meet my stare, although I don't know why. I suspect now that he was near to tears, and had not the desire to show that to me. I wouldn't have minded...

  Or maybe I'm projecting.

  "Thanks, dad," I mumble.

  He says nothing further.

  Soon, we'd be eating, for the last time.

  "Good evening, Mr. Aaron," an unknown voice says to me, back in the void. "How are you this fine night? Hopefully hanging around just one more day."

  Who are you?

  But the man speaks no more.

  Did he say it was night?

  Where is Sarah?

  Why isn't Sarah here with me?

  Oh, Jesus, Sarah, no...

  I hate this new voice. I don't know him, but I don't need to know him. It isn't the man I hate; I'm sure he is a lovely man, having dedicated his life to nursing, to care for the sick and dying in their hours of greatest need... No, I hate his voice, the change, so close to the end of everything, almost assuredly mere hours left in which I can hear any voices at all.

  Where is she?

  And even still, I know I'll never know.

  I don't even think I want to know.

  Time marches on...

  "He's at Ben's house," Jenny yells to me.

  "Where's that?"

  I never had a good mind for addresses...

  "Off of Berch, heading toward downtown."

  "Oh, right, okay," and I grabbed the car keys off the counter and head for the door.

  "What do you want for dinner?"

  "Whatever," I call back and close the door.

  I should have told her that I loved her...

  Heading down the busy main street, I remember noticing just how cloudy it was. Not the usual overcast, but a think, penetrating cloud cover, the kind that usually causes fog, but for some reason didn't that day.

  It never rained though...

  My memory gets weak for the rest of that day, and the days to follow, but I remember a truck, a green truck, driving much too fast and having trouble staying straight, barreling across the middle of the lanes and colliding head first with my little sedan.

  Thankfully, I don't remember any pain...

  That was the first evening, the very first time, that I was in the void. And as of now, I have never left it. I have changed beds, changed hospitals, changed doctors; I've had surgeries, I've nearly died, and I've had doctors tell me and my wife and my son that I would be dead soon, yet live; I've listened to Jenny break down, become hysterical, have to be restrained, drugged even, dragged from the room.

  I remember her word most of all...

  "No!"

  She shouted it, over and over, as though she believed that if she said it
loud enough and long enough that the sentiment behind it would come to fruition, that I would awaken, suddenly, and be her husband again. But I never did...

  Eventually, her anguish dimmed, but the routine of daily visits never ceased. Every day she came, at first never speaking at me directly, only to the doctor, to Mary, to Brian, to my brother, to my parents, never at me. But soon enough, she turned toward my body, and spoke her first time to my mind only:

  "I miss you."

  She was crying as she said it.

  I almost died a few days later. I don't remember what happened; in my thoughts, it was a mere blip in experience, but there was much panic in Jenny and Brian, their voices hysterical, doctors working on me in furious fits, the squish of metal on flesh.

  An odd sound, indeed.

  It was weeks until I was relatively stable; stable enough, anyway, to allow regular visits. I was then transferred to another department- I remember the sound of the rolling bed wheels against the hallway linoleum, the opening and closing of doors, and the inane chatter of nurses, patients and doctors.

  Jenny was always by my side.

  Once in that new department, I changed rooms seven times, all within the first few months. Time slowly lost all definition, and days began to bunch together and string apart, losing shape and form. Often I would find Jenny at my side, a flash of days that spanned weeks, even months, but occupied only a fleeting moment of my thoughts. So odd to have reality slip from it's usually solid foundation and yet still be able to perceive my place in the universe, however small and wasteful it may be.

  Jenny is my constant.

  She has always been there for me...

  "What's happening?"

  Oh, Jesus! What is- argh!

  Something... hurts...

  Oh, Jesus!

  "His heart is severely weakened," my doctor mumbles, a hint of sadness in his tone, surely aware that my end is now imminent.

  My every instinct is to grip my chest, my throat, flail my arms at an unknown enemy; I hurt thoroughly, down to my center and radiating out. Everything burns, like matches are being struck against my skin, in my joints, and allowed to singe my every nerve.