fingers through my hair again and rub the back of my head
vigorously. "I liked feeling numb, yes."
"What were you numbing?"
"I don't know."
"What is inside that hurts you, Max?"
"Nothing hurts me."
"Max," she sits forward, stands from her chair, walks around her
desk, rests her ass on the edge of her desk, hands folded in her lap.
She is staring directly at me, nostrils flared. "Tell me."
"The memories, I guess," and slap my knees.
"Memories of what?"
"Of the war." I blink, tap my cheeks. "Death."
"Of war? Are you a veteran?" Her hand comes to her chin, her
eyes questioning, curious.
"I am," I cough.
"What happened to you? What death?"
"I was in combat, a friend of mine died."
"What was his name?"
"Frank." I shook my head. "And Jason."
"What happened to them?"
"They
died
." A smack of my lips.
"How did they die, Max," and I see her atop of me, looking
anxious but caring, her hand now on my knees, which I notice had been
bouncing furiously.
"I..." I refuse to cry. "We were ambushed. An IED was attached
underneath a vehicle along the road our convoy was traveling on and
detonated one car ahead of ours. I don't remember much, and I don't
know at all how Frank died. We ended up in a building on the street,
waiting for help."
"Were you injured?"
I nod. "I don't remember how, but my chest was bleeding. I wasn't
shot, and I didn't have any shrapnel in the wound. I might have just
bumped into something sharp, who knows."
"What happened to you once you were inside the building?"
"I..." I sniffle, rub my chin. "It was just me and Jason. We
were just waiting for help."
"And then what happened? Did help come?"
"I don't really want to talk about this," and I adjust in my
seat, put my hands to my pockets. "It was war, people die. It
doesn't matter."
"Of course it matters, Max."
"No," I shout, my eyes aflame. "It doesn't."
"Okay," she nods, removing her hand from my knee. "Okay, Max,
if you don't want to talk about it, then we won't talk about it,
okay?"
"Okay," I agree, nodding.
"But I will say this..."
I keep my eyes locked to hers. "What?"
"...it
matters
."
I say nothing.
"His heart is showing signs of weakening."
My doctor, near the window...
"What does that mean?"
I feel horrendous, every inch aching, burning, searing. If ever I
were to wish to not be able to feel, this would be the only moment of
weakness in which I would take that wish...
"His pulse is weak, he has a fever and he's pale. I think we're
coming up to the end, Mrs. Aaron."
"No, don't tell me that... he... he..."
"Mom," Brian whispers, reassuringly.
There is a long, painful silence...
"When?" Jenny finally says.
"No more than a day or two, I'd say."
"That seems so... so fast," Jenny mumbles. "He looked healthy
just yesterday."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Aaron," says the doctor.
"Mom, let's go get some coffee."
Don't leave, Jenny...
Not now...
"Can you all leave?" She asks. "Please."
"Mom, I-"
"Brian, it's okay, just for a moment. Please..."
"Okay," says the doctor.
"Okay," Brian echoes. And footsteps, a closing door and then
silence, such silence.
Ever silent, only the agony...
"Max," she finally says, immediately at my ear.
Yes, my love?
"I don't know what to say, Max."
There isn't anything to say, is there?
"The doctor... he tells me that in a day, maybe two, I won't be
able to talk to you anymore. He says that you're coming to the end."
The end of life...
"All that means to me is, I don't know which of my visits will be
the last. I don't know which talk with you will be my last. This
could be the last time I ever say anything to you, the last time I
hold your hand..." a pause; is she holding my hand? "...and it's
warm. The last time I can see you breathing, feel your heart beating,
feel your skin, soft, smooth.
Goddamnit, Max, you'll be
leaving
me soon!"
I don't want to leave, Jenny!
"What the hell am I going to do?"
She is crying, sobbing...
"What the hell am I going to do?" She repeats.
Oh, Jenny, please don't
vigorously. "I liked feeling numb, yes."
"What were you numbing?"
"I don't know."
"What is inside that hurts you, Max?"
"Nothing hurts me."
"Max," she sits forward, stands from her chair, walks around her
desk, rests her ass on the edge of her desk, hands folded in her lap.
She is staring directly at me, nostrils flared. "Tell me."
"The memories, I guess," and slap my knees.
"Memories of what?"
"Of the war." I blink, tap my cheeks. "Death."
"Of war? Are you a veteran?" Her hand comes to her chin, her
eyes questioning, curious.
"I am," I cough.
"What happened to you? What death?"
"I was in combat, a friend of mine died."
"What was his name?"
"Frank." I shook my head. "And Jason."
"What happened to them?"
"They
died
." A smack of my lips.
"How did they die, Max," and I see her atop of me, looking
anxious but caring, her hand now on my knees, which I notice had been
bouncing furiously.
"I..." I refuse to cry. "We were ambushed. An IED was attached
underneath a vehicle along the road our convoy was traveling on and
detonated one car ahead of ours. I don't remember much, and I don't
know at all how Frank died. We ended up in a building on the street,
waiting for help."
"Were you injured?"
I nod. "I don't remember how, but my chest was bleeding. I wasn't
shot, and I didn't have any shrapnel in the wound. I might have just
bumped into something sharp, who knows."
"What happened to you once you were inside the building?"
"I..." I sniffle, rub my chin. "It was just me and Jason. We
were just waiting for help."
"And then what happened? Did help come?"
"I don't really want to talk about this," and I adjust in my
seat, put my hands to my pockets. "It was war, people die. It
doesn't matter."
"Of course it matters, Max."
"No," I shout, my eyes aflame. "It doesn't."
"Okay," she nods, removing her hand from my knee. "Okay, Max,
if you don't want to talk about it, then we won't talk about it,
okay?"
"Okay," I agree, nodding.
"But I will say this..."
I keep my eyes locked to hers. "What?"
"...it
matters
."
I say nothing.
"His heart is showing signs of weakening."
My doctor, near the window...
"What does that mean?"
I feel horrendous, every inch aching, burning, searing. If ever I
were to wish to not be able to feel, this would be the only moment of
weakness in which I would take that wish...
"His pulse is weak, he has a fever and he's pale. I think we're
coming up to the end, Mrs. Aaron."
"No, don't tell me that... he... he..."
"Mom," Brian whispers, reassuringly.
There is a long, painful silence...
"When?" Jenny finally says.
"No more than a day or two, I'd say."
"That seems so... so fast," Jenny mumbles. "He looked healthy
just yesterday."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Aaron," says the doctor.
"Mom, let's go get some coffee."
Don't leave, Jenny...
Not now...
"Can you all leave?" She asks. "Please."
"Mom, I-"
"Brian, it's okay, just for a moment. Please..."
"Okay," says the doctor.
"Okay," Brian echoes. And footsteps, a closing door and then
silence, such silence.
Ever silent, only the agony...
"Max," she finally says, immediately at my ear.
Yes, my love?
"I don't know what to say, Max."
There isn't anything to say, is there?
"The doctor... he tells me that in a day, maybe two, I won't be
able to talk to you anymore. He says that you're coming to the end."
The end of life...
"All that means to me is, I don't know which of my visits will be
the last. I don't know which talk with you will be my last. This
could be the last time I ever say anything to you, the last time I
hold your hand..." a pause; is she holding my hand? "...and it's
warm. The last time I can see you breathing, feel your heart beating,
feel your skin, soft, smooth.
Goddamnit, Max, you'll be
leaving
me soon!"
I don't want to leave, Jenny!
"What the hell am I going to do?"
She is crying, sobbing...
"What the hell am I going to do?" She repeats.
Oh, Jenny, please don't
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