The Timer

Rain was pouring hard and loud, beating down on the roofs of houses and buildings. The street was dark, the lights from the streetlamps struggling admirably to defeat it but to no avail. The air was sharp and biting. Anyone with any sense was indoors, warm and dry.

Except for one.

A lone figure was standing at the lookout at the end of the street, gazing out over the sea. He had no umbrella and rain was running in rivulets down his body into a puddle at his feet. This didn’t seem to bother him. He had bigger problems on his mind.

However, he supposed, this wasn’t really a problem. The word problem implied that there was some sort of solution. There was no such thing in his case. Taking a deep breath he clenched his shaking hands into fists and shoved them into his coat pockets.

Dying. He was dying. They hadn’t sugar coated it or had tried to soften the blow so he could hold on to some small hope that they were wrong, that he could be saved. No, he was dying. Had only months to live. No hope of being saved. Those were the only words that had pierced his brain. Then, with a curt “I’m sorry,” they’d left, leaving him sitting, stunned and terrified, with only a timer in his head ticking away the short time he had left. If he was older then maybe he would have been able to face it. He could say he’d had a good life, seen the sights and had no regrets. But no, even that luxury wasn’t afforded to him.

He was young. He hadn’t been to any of the places he wanted to go, hadn’t seen any of the sights he wanted to see. He hadn’t had any of the noteworthy, life-changing experiences he wanted to have. Well, he conceded, he’d had one. But not the kind he would have liked. He barked out a short, bitter laugh. He hadn’t even had one of the most basic yet ultimately most amazing experiences a person could have. Being in love.

The rain had stopped now and he shivered in the cold air. There he was, a twenty-something dying accountant, about to leave his life without it really starting. And without anyone to even share what was left of it with. He kicked a rock by his feet. “Damn,” he muttered angrily, watching it roll away. He took a step forward and aimed to kick it again, as if destroying the rock would somehow ease his frustration and bitterness. He did so with such force that the rock flew down the street, cracking against the pavement. “Damn it,” he growled. Breathing heavily he ran his hands through his hair. A tear fell down his cheek and he dashed it away quickly. He grabbed the railing, trying to brace his now trembling body.

Why did this have to happen to him? Why not someone else, someone who deserved it? A murderer, a rapist, a terrorist? Why him? He was young, fit, healthy. Just staring his career. Now he was emaciated and frail as the disease ravaged his body. It made him short of breath, dizzy and disoriented. Some days he could barely even stand. Why the hell did it have to be him?

His hands tightened on the railing for a second. Then suddenly he kicked out again. However his foot caught the side of a lamp post, and he cried out as a sharp shooting pain exploded in his foot and traveled up his leg.

Suddenly it was as if a dam had burst inside him. He began to hit the lamp post with his fists, over and over, harder and harder, ignoring the pain and the bleeding. “Damn it!” he cursed between blows. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!” His cursing grew louder and louder, his hair falling into his eyes, his breathing growing harsher with the effort. Tears ran down his cheeks. Whether from the pain of repeatedly hitting the lamp post or the fear of his impending death he didn’t know. So lost in his actions he failed to notice the sound of footsteps running towards him.

“Damn it!” he shouted, his fist flying into the metal of the lamp post so hard a sharp ringing sounded through the air. He raised his hand again, about to strike, when suddenly something crashed into his chest, sending them both flying into the pavement.

“Stop it!” A voice cried.

Startled, he opened his eyes to find a young woman on top of him, her eyes wide with shock. They stared directly into his, as though looking straight into his soul. His heart gave a funny little jump, and he sat there, paralyzed.

Her gaze traveled down to his hands, her eyes widening even further. She gently picked up his hands and he was conscious of a tingling feeling running from his hand up his arm. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. He just wanted to sit there forever, holding her hand. Unable to move, he watched her as she stared in shock at his mangled hands.

They were a mess. Already his knuckles were turning blue and purple. Deep cuts lacerated his swollen fingers, blood staining his skin and dripping onto her hands. However, he couldn’t feel any pain, just dull throbbing. He’d probably feel the full force tomorrow.

Slowly her eyes traveled back to his, now more angry than shocked. “Why on Earth did you do this to yourself?”

Bewildered, he said the first thing that came into his head. “Are you…scolding me?”

The girl rolled her eyes, blowing some air out of her mouth. “Alright wise guy, get up.” She quickly got off him and pulled him up. Confused, he followed her wordlessly as she led him down the street and sat him on a bench. Sitting down next to him she pulled a water bottle from her bag and began to clean his hands. He winced as the water ran over the cuts in his skin.

“What…what are you doing?”

Her mouth turned up a little at one corner. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m cleaning your battle wounds.”

“Right.” He silently watched for a while as the blood was washed away. His hands looked a little better afterwards, though they were still mottled with blue and purple. He looked up at her again, but she had let go of his hands and was unwinding the silk scarf from her neck.

“What are you-”

“I don’t have any bandages.” She quickly ripped in in half and bound up his hands, tying a cute bow on each when she was done. He brought his hands up and stared at them silently for a moment. Then he looked back at her. He gave a start when he saw that she was already looking at him. He let is hands fall into his lap.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He glanced down at his hands. “Why did you do this?”

She smiled up at him slyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Why did you decide to beat up a lamp post?”

He stiffened. “Oh, you know. Just for fun.”

She laughed and he could feel a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “But seriously,” she said softly, taking one of his hands in hers. She stroked his skin tenderly and his eyes closed for a second at her touch. “Why did you?”

The smile dropped from his face, his teeth clenching together. “It’s a long story,” he muttered, focusing intently on his lap. His free hand clenched into a fist.

She smiled shyly. “I’ve got time.”

He blew some air out of his mouth. He didn’t particularly want to open up to a complete stranger, but her voice was soothing, her touch warm and soft. He felt like her could tell her anything, and slowly he felt the words slipping from his lips.

“I was scared.”

“Scared?”

“Scared and frustrated and angry and God knows what else…” he said softly, still not looking her in the eye. “I just…lost control. I’ve been scared for so long that I’d gone numb. I…I just wanted to feel something, even if it was painful. Just to make sure I was alive.”

“I…I don’t understand.”

He took a deep breath. “I’m dying.” He heard her sharp intake of breath. “I only have a few months to live.” His hand tightened around hers, and he felt his heart jump when she squeezed his hand back – lightly, so she wouldn’t hurt him.

“Ever since they’ve told me, I’ve been terrified. Of going outside, of going in cars because I think they’ll crash, of doing any exercise because I think my heart will suddenly stop, even of going to sleep because I don’t think I’ll ever wake up.” He took a deep, shuddering breath to steady himself, but he could already feel a tear threatening to escape his eye. He blinked rapidly. “Ever since they’ve told me I’ve been counting the hours, the minutes, in my head. I…I’ve been trying hard to stay where I can’t get hurt, so I can draw out my life for as long as I can…but then I can’t do any of the things I want to do before I die.” He took another breath but this time it didn’t work. He collapsed into the heart-wrenching sobs that he’d been keeping in for weeks. “God, I don’t want to die.”

She didn’t say anything, but she wrapped her arms around him and held him until he calmed down. He lay his head on her shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of her flowery perfume. He closed his eyes. She was so warm, so soft. He didn’t want to move. But then he remembered his tears and jerked away from her quickly. He wiped the tears from his face and turned away, unable to look her in the eyes.

“I suppose this is the part where you say you’re sorry and that you wish you could do something.” He laughed bitterly. “Don’t bother. I’ve heard it from the doctors, and if there’s nothing they can do, then there’s definitely nothing you can do.”

She was silent for a long time. So long that he almost turned to look at her, but he stubbornly kept himself turned away. However he still held onto her small hand.

“What’s one of the things you want to do?”

Startled by her question, he turned and answered without thinking. “I uh…I want to go to Egypt. To see the Sphinx.” He felt his face heat up.

She smiled. “Then why are you here?”

Again he was thrown off guard. “What?”

She laughed and took his other hand in hers. “Well, I don’t know about you, but…if it were me, I’d be long gone. I wouldn’t be beating up lamp posts and talking to random strangers. I’d be all over the place, squeezing in everything I could ever possibly want to do before I died.”

He blinked. No one had said the word “died” in front of him since he’d been told by the doctors. “Yes, but-”

“But what?” She looked into his eyes. “You say that you’re afraid and you’re counting the time you have left. But what good is that going to do you? You should be in Egypt, spending your time doing and seeing whatever it is you’ve wanted to do and see. If you only have a few months and can’t do anything about it…I mean, why should you worry? You should be spending your time doing whatever you want.” She squeezed his fingers lightly. “You only live once, right?”

He sat there for a long, long moment. Her words reverberated in his head, tumbling over and around. She was right, he realized. If he couldn’t do anything about it…what good was it worrying? It was a scary thought, yes, but an even scarier thought was dying without doing anything with his life. And, it seemed, he just may have found someone to share it with too. Slowly, he felt his fear melt away along with the doubt, the worry, the frustration. His mouth pulled into a smile, and as it did, her smile widened even further.

“You’re right,” he said, now laughing softly. “You’re absolutely right.”

She grinned. “So you’re going to Egypt?”

He laughed louder, throwing his head back. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m going to Egypt.” He paused, his grin stretching even wider. “But…”

Her smile dimmed. “But what?”

His eyes twinkled. “But I may need someone to help me with travel plans. Would you like to discuss it over a coffee?”

Her smile returned with full force. “I’d be delighted.”

They smiled at each other for a moment before getting up and beginning to walk down the street, hand in bandaged hand.

“Oh wait!” she stopped suddenly.

“What is it?”

“I shouldn’t be talking to a stranger.”

He laughed. “I’m Alan. And you?”

“Jennifer,” she replied, giggling.

“There, now we aren’t strangers.”

They both laughed and continued down the street, swinging their joined hands.

And just like that the timer in Alan’s head switched off.

 
♥~~~~~~~~x~~~~~~~~~♥

 Dear Jennifer,

If you’re reading this, I’m either dead or you’re being a snoop. You are too curious for your own good. But, if you’re not snooping and I actually am dead, there are a few things I want to say.

We’ll get the least important thing out of the way. I got the feeling back in my whole hand a few hours ago, while you were sitting by my bed with my fingers in yours. I didn’t want to say anything because it was such a lovely moment. Your hands always did have a healing quality to them. When my hands were bruised and beaten six months ago it was your touch that made the pain go away. That’s probably a metaphor for how you’ve healed me as a person or something, but I wouldn’t know. You’re the one that’s good with words. You know what you’ve done for me.

I don’t know if I ever told you this, but I kept the two pieces of the scarf you used as bandages. They’re in the table next to my hospital bed. They still have a bit of blood on them, but when I hold them to my face I can still smell the flowery perfume you were wearing. I think that’s one of the things I remember most vividly about that night. That, and the way you talked to me, so openly, not sugar coating anything. My memory is going slightly, but I can clearly remember every moment I’ve spent with you. You’ve made these last six months the most amazing of my life. Not many people would leave a job to accompany an almost stranger on his trip around the world. But you did. My God, you’re crazy. I can’t thank you enough.

In movies people always know exactly what to say in these, every word they write flows so smoothly. But my brain’s going all over the place, jumping from one idea to the next, and everything is hazy in between. I don’t know if that’s the medicine or the illness.

Do you remember the week we spent in Egypt? I do. Every single moment of it. It really is something to be in the place you love most with the person you love most. I meant to tell you there, but then that damn cough came back and we had to go to the hospital. After that no other time was quite right. I guess I haven’t quite learned my lesson about the time I had left, but I wanted to make it special for you. I did whisper it to you, while you were here earlier, but I don’t think your heard me. You smiled and nodded, but didn’t respond. I’ll have to tell you when you get back. There was a tear in your eye and you blinked it away so I wouldn’t see. But I did. Don’t cry Jen. It’s not for you. Show the world your beautiful smile, let them hear your gorgeous laugh. If your laugh was medicine I’d be the healthiest man alive.

I don’t know if you can love me after only six months, and as I’m going soon I don’t know if you ever will, but I do want you to know that I love you. More than I can say and more than you can ever possibly know. If you hadn’t talked some sense into me that night six months ago, I doubt I’d have taken that trip. I probably would have spent that time feeling sorry for myself and died miserable.

But not now. You, your voice, your touch, your eyes, your smile…they’ve helped me, healed me, saved me. I could die now and be happy. I’d have no regrets. The one thing I’d want is for you to be holding my hand, to see your smile as I faded away. We’ve spent the last six months travelling to some of the most beautiful places on Earth, but nothing compares to your smile, Jen. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. When you come back tonight I’ll make sure I tell you that. I want you to hear that from me directly.

Don’t cry when I’m gone, Jen. I want you to smile always. You’ve already done so much for me, but please do that one thing for me. I don’t want anything to take that smile away.

Oh, I almost forgot. I want you to have that jacket of mine you like so much. I don’t think I got to wear it much since you got your hands on it, so I guess it’s practically yours anyway. It’s a little big for you, but you look adorable in it.

That medicine is really starting to have an effect now. My mind is getting all foggy and the pen is slipping from my fingers, so I guess I should end it here. I’ll see you when you come back and I’ll say those two things to you. That’s the last thing I want to do.

All my love,

Alan.

Alan died two hours after writing his letter. Jennifer did not get to hear him say what he had planned. After reading his letter she did cry. But, true to her word, she made sure that she kept smiling for him. Two months later at his funeral, she stood by his grave and said the three words she’d wanted to say for weeks.

“I love you.”