I am forty-four years old, and I’m dying.

   I turned forty-four today, actually — how’s that for irony? Death wasn’t high on the list of birthday presents I wanted. About all I dared to wish for was a day of easy saves, and I didn’t even get that.

   I quit being cold some time ago; now my body is just numb. I can’t feel my fingers any more; I have to look down at them to make sure they’re still holding on, still wrapped stubbornly around the metal pole I’ve been clinging to for endless hours.

   I think of Marissa; I wonder if she’s worried about me. I didn’t tell her where I was going this time, or she probably would have sent someone after me by now. I wish I’d told her, but it’s a little late for wishing.

   Marissa … I hurt for her because I know how much I mean to her. I’ve never quite been able to understand why she loves me so much, but she does, and it will be hard for her to carry on after I’m gone. I wish I could write her a note … no, I wish she was here. I wish I could say a lot of things to her, things I should have said years ago. Funny how life works, isn’t it? When I finally want to tell her how much she means to me, she’s not here to tell.

   I’m drifting away, sliding lower into the icy water until it comes up to my chin, by the time I hear the sirens. At first, they don’t register; when they do, I think that they’re going to pass by, that nobody could possibly know I’m here. When they stop just a few feet away, I hardly dare to hope.

   Feet run toward me. I hear voices calling. “Mr. Hobson! Mr. Hobson, are you there?” Another voice, a woman’s voice laced with a note of panic, calls, “Gary! Gary, please talk to me!”

   I try, I really do, but I’m too cold. I just can’t … I can’t do this any more. It takes them a few minutes, but they find me; they pull me out of the water and drape blankets over me but I see the look on the paramedic’s face, the look that says I’m too far gone. Tell me something I didn’t already know, I think.

   “Gary. Gary.” Marissa is beside me. I want to ask her how she knew where I was; I want to ask her a lot of things. I want to ask her if the kid is okay, the one I saved, the one who ran off without making sure I got out. He’s just a kid, got his whole life in front of him. I hope he doesn’t feel responsible for what happened to me.

   “Gary, please talk to me!” Marissa is crying … she’s a strong woman and I’ve rarely seen her cry. I look at my numb hand, and I see that she’s holding it, rubbing it with both of hers, trying to get it warm. It’s too late, Marissa, I want to say. Just let me go. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Too late for words, too late for … for everything.

   I hear the paramedics yelling, some type of monitor screaming in alarm, but I block out all those sounds and, fittingly, Marissa’s voice is the last thing I hear.

   “Gary … I love you … ”

   I love you too, Marissa.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

   Gary Hobson is dead.

   It doesn’t sink in, really, even though I’m standing next to his grave. Rain is falling gently, pattering on my umbrella, and a gentle breeze brushes my hair away from my face.

   Somewhere beside me I hear Lois crying; no sound comes from Bernie. I envision him standing quietly, staring at the ground, just as Gary would have done. It’s too strange, Gary’s father being so silent. I wish he would cry or scream or shout; I wish he would say … anything. I wish I would say anything.

   I wish I’d seen Gary’s face. Just once, just for a moment. Right now I wish that more than I’ve ever wished anything before. Desperately, I cling to the few memories I have of him — his voice, somehow rough-edged and gentle at the same time, and the way his leather jacket felt against my cheek when he pulled me into a hug.

   I remember the faint smell of him, cologne and Old Spice, and the way he paced nervously back and forth across the office when he was worried about something in the paper. I’ve heard him do that so many times I can pinpoint the exact route he took, around the desk and back again. Once I get back to McGinty’s, I will trace his route over and over until my legs give out and I have to sit.

   I wish he had said something to me in those last moments. His hand was so cold, but I felt his fingers twitch slightly; I like to hope that means he knew I was there. I begged him to speak, but no sound came, and in the moments since I have been locked inside a cocoon of silence. I can’t speak because if I do, I’ll fall to pieces, and if I fall to pieces, I’ll have to admit he’s really gone.

   Somewhere out there, Lindsay is trying to learn how to deal with the paper. She’s still too young, really, but right now, I don’t care, because Gary is gone. I, Marissa Clark, who cares too much about everyone, don’t care today. About anyone. Anyone except the one person I can never bring back.

   It’s still raining when I turn and walk away from Gary’s grave. I think maybe it will always be raining.
 

*FINIS*

Email the author: eternallyfaithful@juno.com
 

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