Chapter X (Epilogue): A Date with Redemption
The ending we deserve…
Before I could even open my eyes, I knew something was different. My body felt as light as a feather. I recalled subconsciously turning to my side upon waking, but how?! I hadn’t been able to move my body in over a year. My eyelids finally parted to reveal a blurry hand lying on the pillow next to my head. The fingers began to move, and I soon realized that it was because I was manipulating them! I worked my way down my body, taking inventory of everything else that I could pilot. Stunningly, all systems appeared to be a go!!!
Nevertheless, a massively deep breath reminded me that I had one final test to pass before I was officially whole again. So as I lay there, holding back a torrential downpour of pure bliss, I launched into Iris’s favorite song, "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star." Singing again was a lot like riding a bike after a long layoff, with the first verse surprisingly more steady than expected. I managed to get through two full cycles when my emotions made their sudden, yet inevitable, release.
"Thank you!" I cried out into an empty room to no one in particular. Or at least I assumed the room was empty. My eyes had been clouded by the formation of tears from the moment I initially moved that finger. Completely overwhelmed, I curled into the fetal position and started bawling. I’d never been happier.
It’s a miracle!
My unfettered joy, however, was interrupted by utter bewilderment once the room, at long last, came into focus. This wasn’t my Leawood living room in which I was imprisoned once I could no longer walk. Rather, this was the bedroom of my city condominium that I had owned during my bachelor days. Cautiously, I sat all the way up, rotated my body and placed both feet onto the filthy shag carpet.
Okay, what in the hell now?
I slowly stood up and took a few wobbly steps. Holding back the waterworks was hard, but letting go of my fears was remarkably easy, for before it even fully registered, I was WALKING! My euphoria was again cut abruptly short, when not a moment after regaining my confidence, I whacked my shin on the corner of the platform bed, effectively putting to rest any notion that this was all a dream.
I need to call Jamie.
All I could find was an iPhone 6 which was disconcerting as well, especially since the wallpaper was undoubtedly mine. When I searched for my own wife in the contacts, she was nowhere to be found. I knew her number by heart but at the same time I also knew something was clearly wrong. That’s when it slowly sank in. With a trembling thumb I opened the iCal app and proceeded to slump down the wall till I was seated on the floor.
Wednesday, November 25, 2015.
AKA the day before Thanksgiving; seven fucking years ago!
AKA the night I’m supposed to first meet Jamie.
FIVE MONTHS PASS…
I’d settled into my post-apocalyptic routine as well as could be expected for a broken, burned-out shell of a man. I wouldn’t get out of bed till noon unless I had work to do, so mornings were for training clients. Mid-day consisted of getting my own workout in before leaving the gym to hit up one of my favorite lunch spots. Every restaurant in that rotation had a breakfast menu, a killer latte to re-caffeinate with and, most importantly, a comfortable spot for writing.
Even in this alternate universe I still had a compulsion to get my voice out there, so I remained steadfast with my writing. When fiction proved too difficult, my hand was forced to work on a nonfiction piece. Only problem was I suffered from a bad case of imposter syndrome. Gone was the terminally ill hero fighting a corrupt system for a chance to live in peace with his family. As far as everyone else was concerned, I was a nobody with nothing to say. But writer’s block certainly wasn’t the issue, so onward I forged.
Especially when the writing actually went well, late afternoons would sneak up on me. I’d frantically pack up my gear, walk/run home, hurriedly shower, and then dive simultaneously into dinner and a three-hour video game session. I desperately needed that amount of escape time (minimum) at the end of the day. Without it my mind would wander to a dark place. Afterwards it was bedtime. Rinse and repeat.
I had worked my ass off to get into this more stable routine. Chaos consumed my life following the awakening into my past. That very night I made the decision to opt out of going to the party that ultimately would have set me and Jamie on a collision course. After blowing off my date with destiny, things went downhill pretty quickly following a brief grace period. Obviously the first few days were ecstasy filled and fueled by the flaunting of all the things stolen by ALS. Like I’ll never forget my first run…
Out my condo door I trotted. Trot turned into jog. Jog turned into run. And run? Well, run turned into full-out, dead fucking sprint! As I tore through a nearby park, tears streamed horizontally across my face like rain on a windshield going 80 mph.
I could get used to this!
But sooner than anticipated I did "get used to this" and my knowledge of the future was left unabated to cast a shadow over everything. First of all, I knew a storm was coming, and not just for me. Everyone I loved would be pulled in. Therefore, I isolated myself from any meaningful relationship. I would never get married or have a family ever again. That dream was dead.
The first Xmas celebration (shortly after we met) that would never be…
Secondly, I could exploit what I knew was going to happen for financial gain. This was no perk. If you understand anything about people who feel hopelessly depressed, then you know handing them a bunch of money is akin to pouring gasoline on them while they’re already on a fire. It only kills them faster.
Subsequently there was a fair amount of debauchery that took place after I opened my eyes in 2015. Despite consuming all the glitz and glamour I could ever fathom, everything seemed meaningless without Jamie, Hope and Iris. So empty was my soul, there was even a night I got so high on drugs that I actually planned out EXACTLY how I was going to kill myself.
I have no family. No legacy. No future. No reason to go on.
Fortunately, a strange presence pulling at me halted every attempt on my life. Between the shine to my hedonistic lifestyle wearing off and my futility at suicide, I had no choice but to change course. It only seemed logical to go back to what worked in a previous existence: a schedule. Hence, I transitioned to my aforementioned post-apocalyptic routine. Might I add, it was working quite well, especially at keeping the demons at bay. That is to say, right up until it didn’t.
I’d been on the train, workout, write, game, repeat cycle for about a month when the darkness I alluded to reared its ugly head. I had already collected what I needed to leave this world at a moment’s notice. My "tools" were housed in the closet of the second bedroom. And on Hope’s birthday, of all nights, as I was in the kitchen cleaning up after dinner, I could hear them calling to me from all the way down the hall. Though this phenomenon wasn’t unusual, the intensity of the calls was. I got so scared that I did something I never do: I grabbed my keys and hoofed it down the street to the bar district.
I don’t trust myself right now.
A crisp spring breeze wafted the scent of stale booze my direction, reminding me of better times when friendships were plentiful. It also foretold my destination to be directly in front of me. I ended up landing on an establishment of particular sentimental value. The memorably heavy door did not disappoint when I opened it yet as I stepped inside I felt a chill run its fingers over my body, and that part was less familiar.
Bellied up to the bar, it wasn’t long until I was fully in my cups. I tried in earnest to focus on happy thoughts in the spirit of Hope, but with every muddling of a fresh Old Fashioned, I could swear the barkeep was adding more and more bitters to my drink. To press that metaphor again, the despair from this life had been unavoidably ground into the celebration of a former one, thus I returned to my obsession with planning my early exit from both.
I didn’t even realize I was mumbling my morbid strategies aloud until I heard an unmistakable voice from the adjacent seat to my right, "Do you always talk to yourself?"
I did so as a courtesy, but there was no need to turn my head to confirm whom I already knew was sitting there.
Be careful. Do NOT wrap her up in all this.
"Hey! I’ve actually seen you before!" Jamie exclaimed.
The smile she was wearing gave away the fact that she’d obviously been drinking a fair amount too. Meanwhile, my face sported the bizarre mixture of equal parts lovestruck and shocked.
Jamie just plowed through my awkward expression like it was totally normal. "Yeah, my friend, who says she knows you, showed me some of your fitness modeling photos." She then leaned so far back to look me over, I honestly thought her stool was going to tip over. After centering herself she finally shared her report. "You had less clothes on."
I could no longer resist, "Are you disappointed?"
"Actually, I thought you looked like a real asshole! But hey, I wouldn’t stop you if that shirt began to come off!"
We both started laughing uncontrollably.
What have you done?!
To be continued…
A note from the author: God willing, this won’t be the last chapter, just a teaser for how the book will end. Let me know your thoughts in the comments!