I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. ~Gilda Radner
I can still feel the cool oil against my forehead.
The priest left several moments before, just after I had finished telling him my story. I am alone now, and staring up at the ceiling to keep myself occupied in these, my final moments. I stare at the tiles, watching as the dark specks dotting them swirl and form strange patterns.
Taking a deep breath, my fingers find the needle pressed into my skin, and I tug it free, barely feeling the pain. The heart monitor flat lines as I unhook myself from the chains that hold me to this place, this world. Quietly, I cross my small room, glancing back at the cards and sinking balloons left on the other side of my room where the other patient had been.
I find among the gifts a small lavender bear, and I pause for a moment before carefully moving to the table and plucking it from its place among the folded paper.
My feet slap audibly against the floor; the noise sounds like thunder in the silence. The grim siren of the heart monitor fades away as I close the door of the small bathroom behind me. My free hand moves from my side to grasp the knobs of the tub, and cool water soon is pouring from the gleaming faucet. While I listen to the water and the soft cry of the monitor, I turn to look into the mirror. I no longer can find my brother in the haunting, skeletal reflection I see before me, and in a way, I suppose, I am glad. I would not wish for him to see me this way.
I am pulled from my thoughts of him by a dampness about my heels, and I turn to look, finding the tub overflowing. I turn my back on my reflection, on myself, and I clutch the bear to my chest as I lower myself into the water. The freezing liquid sloshes over the edges, splashing against the floor, and I hear footsteps outside. Staring up at the blank ceiling, I sink below the surface.
Tiny bubbles issue from my nostrils and parted lips, forming soft ripples against the calming surface over the water. I feel a small stab of fear, but it is chased away as I feel the wet bear’s fur beneath my fingertips. I wonder if Shepherd felt this way when I held him beneath the water.
And then I breathe…
