Chapter Three

Another chapter with the setting of Michael in the hospital. The end is drawing near and at a last attempt to save him, Christie comes back. Michael finally comes to peace with his demise and somebody in his life

 

     Eyes’ rolling beneath crusty lids, Michael tries to awake from one of the deepest REM cycles he’s had in years. He feebly lifts his hands to his face and rubs away the tears from last night that have dried uncomfortably to his eyes. They fall away from his face like the horrible memories he had to revisit the previous evening. He tries prying open his dry eyes but is unable due to the harsh overhead lights. Through a forest of lashes he catches a blurry silhouette perching stiffly in the metal chair beside his bed. It seems small in stature and paper thin. Mentally, he thinks of all the people that would waste valuable time visiting him. Nobody comes to mind so he decides to make a mad guess.

“Christie?”

            “You’re awake?!” He pins down upcoming sarcastic words with his teeth and simply replies, “Yeah…I am.” He feels the awkwardness creeping in around the edges of his vision and their forced conversation—rolling in like the thickening morning fog. He can almost see the mist slipping through his window and enveloping them before he clears his throat to speak.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you yesterday,” he says in a raspy tone. Luckily, for him, Christie hears the forgiveness coating his tongue and words.

            “It’s okay, I understand,” she replies hastily, clearly uncomfortable in the given situation.

            “It kind of just hit me that I’m going to be dead in two days…two days until it’s all over, no more life, no more living; saying goodbye to everything and everyone. I wish that I hadn’t spent half my life wishing and begging for death only to find out that I’d be here begging for life.” He feels a single stinging tear teetering on the edge of his lid and begins blinking furiously to prevent it from trailing down his colorless cheek. But to no avail it slides down anyway and comes to an end by slipping between his cadaverous lips. Christie’s head is bent and she doesn’t witness his battle of emotion. 

            For a long while the room was still and silent. The only sound is the steady beep…beep…beep from the machines designed to keep Michael barely alive and barely

conscious. Only beeping and breathing echo through the room before Christie’s timid whimper breaks the suffocating silence.

“Michael…just think of the good times…not the times you felt like dying.”

            “You know, I wish I could, but my mind is blank. The only happiness I’ve ever had was with Emily and every time I think of her all I can remember is the look on her face when she died.” He pauses. Christie picks up her head, anticipating a more positive answer to come. The look on her face hints that she desperately wants to help him, but she doesn’t know where else to turn. This is her last chance at bringing him an ounce of peace before his departure; her last chance to do some right by him. He glances up at her; his deadening eyes straining to focus on her features.

            “Actually, there is one…” he utters. Christie scoots to the edge of her seat, awaiting the break-through she’s been praying for. He sees the anticipation collecting in her dilated pupils and continues his recollection.

“For some reason this memory really stands out to me. When I was a young boy, my father took me into the city to see a marching band. It was an amazing parade that I’ll never forget. I remember sitting on his shoulders and watching the men banging bass drums and marching along the sides of brightly coloured floats. The heavy beats echoed through my ears and sometimes, at night, I can still hear them through the darkness.” He stops speaking and looks up at Christie, whose eyes have grown wide with fascination. A measly smile spreads across his face and he continues his story.

            “After it was over my father turned to me…I remember it almost perfectly. He got down on one knee, stared me straight in the eye, and said, “Son when you grow up, would you be the savior of the broken, the beaten, and the damned? Will you defeat them, your demons, and all the nonbelievers and the plans that they’ve made? One day I’ll leave you a phantom, to lead you in the summer, to join the Black Parade.” I never knew what he meant until I got older when I did in fact become that savior, but to this day, I still don’t know what he meant by the Black Parade.”

            A look of confusion washes over her face, wiping away her once eager expression. “The Black Parade?” she replies. 

“I don’t know, but it’s a little too late to find that out now,” says Michael. He lingers, giving careful thought to his words before spilling them in front of Christie. “Christie…I really appreciate you being here for me. You’re the only friend I’ve got left.” Her mouth falls open slightly and he can see a small stream of tears collecting in her eyes. She lets out a deep breath and her shoulders give way to gravity, lowering drastically from their previous uptight position. She isn’t ready to let go of her emotions yet as she begins batting her eyelashes furiously to catch the unwanted tears forming beneath her lids. It is then, that Michael speaks up and says, “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s to never hold back tears. It’s better to drain tears than blood.”

Tubes snake through his nose and arms and make her wonder if they tie the sickness into him; that maybe if he could break free and experience a happier time he would rid himself of the cancer that has befallen him. She wipes her puffy eyes and raises her head, hoping to see the new Michael detached from the many hoses protruding from his paper-like skin. However, she only sees an emaciated face, weary with sickness, despair, and depression; a face seeming as if no ray of sunshine ever had the pleasure of soaking into its skin. Black hair hangs around his inanimate atramentous eyes and she can almost feel his sickness, like death, constricting her own body. It’s this image that forces her to lose her composure.

            “I just can’t believe this. The last time I saw you, you were a senior in high school. You were so laid back and relaxed about life; a lone wolf, always sitting against a wall writing in your journal. Although we weren’t close, I remember seeing you being so friendly. And now…fifteen years later, you’re here. You don’t deserve this…” she tapers off before burying her head in her hands to block out his image. But she can’t escape it. His former self appears in the darkness of her closed eyes; it sits at the back of her mind; and plays in the front. She knows there is no escaping it and eventually she will have to come to terms with the fact that his appearance will forever poison her dreams. She hears him let out a large sigh and feebly lifts her head to see him again.

            “I don’t know what to believe. I stopped believing in the ordinary a long time ago, but I’m fortunate you came into town to be here so I wouldn’t have to die alone. Now the hardest part of this is going to be leaving you…my last true friend in the world.”

            “Oh Michael…” she utters after a long silence. She doesn’t feel the need to hide her emotions anymore and runs to his bedside to bury her head into his bony chest. Tears slip freely past her lids, clumping her eye lashes together with streaking black makeup.  Within moments his shirt becomes wet with the only emotion she has been clinging to for days. Between gasps and sobs she feels his shallow breathing slowly raising and lowering her head. He places his hand on the back of her head for comfort and whispers one last thought to her.

            “Christie, I don’t want you to beat yourself up over this. Look at me…” he raises her chin until her glistening eyes meet his. “I’m going to die. You’re going to live. I don’t want you to be upset about this. I want you to live the best life you can. I want you to fall in love and raise a family. What about traveling the world like you’ve always wanted to? You can do that! Just live each day like it’s your last; not like you wish it were your last.” She looks at him, inside him, and realizes he is right. It will hurt but she knows that she can’t quit because of him. As his last wishes she knows how much it means to him for her to understand.

            “Okay…I will,” she whispers into his ear. He flashes a weak smile and simply says, “You better, I’ll be watching over you.” She lets out a chuckle of relief and begins collecting her coat and purse. He studies her through blurry vision as she puts on her black pea coat, buttoning up the front, and wraps a plaid scarf around her delicate neck. Once her shawl is securely knotted she turns back to face him. She smiles, displaying straight, pearly whites, and begins speaking.

            “I’ve got to go now. My plane will be here in a few hours. I guess this is goodbye.”

            “I guess so…goodbye and have a good flight,” he says in return.

            “Goodbye Michael. Be brave. Tell Emily I said hi,” she replies, choking on her last sentence. Shimmering tears collect in her eyes, adding sparkle to her already brilliant blues. She quickly wipes them away and makes her way towards the door. However, she stops; hand hovering above the handle. Michael waits patiently   

            “I will. Goodbye Christie,” whispers Michael. He is unsure if she hears him but either way it doesn’t matter. It might be for the best that she is unaware of his last words. It saves her the heartache and money spent on another box of tissues.            

   

Author's Note

Grammar concerns are greatly appreciated as well as tense. I have a bad habit of changing the tense half way through a story so if that is a problem here please let me know. Thank you