The End Is Now

Then he turned to Helen, tried to chuckle, but it came out as a gargling choke. “I’ve only known you for a week, Helen, but I—” He was going to say he would never forget it, but he was going to be dead in a few days. He was going to sit there until he died of thirst, but first he would have to watch Eileen and Helen die.

His chest hitched as his heart found another gear. All along, he thought he’d been facing the truth head-on, but deep down he’d always believed he’d be one of the lucky three percent.

“Shit.” The words were garbled beyond recognition.

Soon the nodding slowed, and stopped, and Ray was still.

He’d made a mistake, sitting beside Helen. He couldn’t look at her. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the merest shadow of her profile. That was all.

A fly landed on his hand. Its legs flitted along on his skin, and he felt it as acutely as ever, but he couldn’t move his hand, not even the slightest flinch to shoo it away. His chest rose and fell, rose and fell; he couldn’t speed up his breathing or slow it down, couldn’t take a deeper or shallower breath.

A wave of claustrophobic terror hit him; he wanted to scream, to flail his arms, to run from this silent lawn party, but his body remained perfectly still, breathed in and out.

Eileen was watching him. He gazed back at her. What was she thinking? Did she regret her affair with Justin? Was she wishing it was just the two of them here? She looked up, maybe into the branches of the palm trees deeper in their backyard, or maybe watching a bird fly by, envying its freedom.

He looked to his left, toward Helen, straining to see as much of her as possible, but still saw only a ghostly outline. She was there, though. If he had to die in this terrible way, in his wildest dreams, he couldn’t have guessed he would die beside Batgirl.

He clung to that thought—for courage, to dull the sting of dread. Helen wasn’t at all the person he’d thought she was, and maybe that shouldn’t have been a surprise. No one was Batgirl, after all.

* * *

The spreading, burning warmth of urine was a shock. Ray felt slightly ashamed.

It was getting dark. Soon they’d be sitting under the stars. He was afraid of what he might dream.

Eileen was looking at him again. There was something she wanted to say to him, something that had occurred to her since she became frozen and had nothing but time to think. Or maybe it was his imagination.

She looked away, over Ray’s shoulder; her gaze held steady, just a bit to his right.

“Oh hell. I was hoping you made it.” Walter stepped into view, stopped a few feet in front of Ray. “I’m so sorry, Ray.” He wiped a tear from his cheek.

When Walter noticed Helen, his brow creased. “My God.” He took a step toward Helen, studied her face. “Unbelievable. Jesus, Ray, I wish you could tell me the story.” Folding his arms, he looked from Helen to Ray, then turned and looked at Eileen. “Maybe I can figure it out for myself.”

Ray strained against the prison of his paralysis, willing his jaw to open.

“I guess I’m one of the ‘lucky ones.’” Walter grunted. “I know I shouldn’t be feeling sorry for myself. I know what you’re all going through is much worse. But I’m not feeling very lucky right now. I think I’d rather be dead than see everyone I know suffer like this.” He put his hand over his mouth as a sob escaped him.

“Here.” He went over to Ray, slid his arms under Ray’s armpits and lifted him to his feet. When Walter let go, Ray was sure he would flop back into the lawn chair, but he didn’t; his leg muscles flexed and held, keeping him upright.

Walter lifted Helen from her chair, led her across the lawn toward Ray. She moved as if there was absolutely nothing wrong with her. The easy grace of her steps was astonishing.

Walter stopped Helen in front of Ray. He lifted her right hand, put it on Ray’s shoulder, then took her left hand, raised it high and laced it into Ray’s.

“It’s all I can think to do for everybody. I’m sixty-nine years old; I can’t feed and change everyone on the street forever. I’m not sure you’d all want me to, even if I could.” Sobbing, his nose running, Walter put Ray’s left hand on Helen’s hip. “There.”

Walter attended to Eileen and Justin, setting them in an identical dancing pose.

Ray looked into his Batgirl’s eyes. Her face was flat, expressionless, but he could see the pain in her eyes, the fear. Her Xanax was wearing off, the tequila as well.

Music rose from the screened porch. Tears in Heaven. Eric Clapton. From Eileen’s Blues Love Songs CD. The music broke the weight of the silence, and unleashed a rush of memories in Ray. They’d played the CD constantly on their vacation road trip up Route 66, in 2005. Ray had bought it for Eileen when she was in the hospital with pneumonia earlier that same year.

Over Helen’s shoulder, Eileen “danced” with Justin. Her eyes met Ray’s, and again, Ray couldn’t help feeling that Eileen was trying to tell him something.