A Promise Not Kept

Can’t wait any more. If I don’t get the money in 15 minutes, I’m selling it, read the text on Terrance’s phone. He sprang from his chair trying to shake off the grogginess. He has been awake for more than 24 hours and had been dozing on and off to the monotonous beeping of his wife’s heart monitor. Beads of cold sweat start to form on his brow as he paces the floor and mumbles, trying not to disturb her.

A frail voice calls from the bed beside him, “Honey? What’s wrong?” He spins around. “Nothing’s wrong,” he lies. “Something just came up and I have to leave for a few minutes.”

“Wait. What if something happens and I…?”

“Nothing is going to happen. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“But...” He places his hand on her arm being careful not to disturb the IV sticking out of it. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

She tries to protest again, but instead, exhales and collapses back into her pillow. He leans over and gently kisses her forehead, then turns to leave. The light from the hallway narrows on her eyes as he closes the door behind him. In the hallway, he stares at the door to her room for a few seconds thinking about her words. He looks down at his phone and reads the text again. He takes a deep breath and turns toward the elevators.

She is now left alone with me in the hospital room. I look at my watch. It’s three forty-one p.m. My appointment is in forty minutes. I look around the room looking for something to pass the time. On the table beside her bed are several items brought from their home. Among them, I notice a photograph taken on their wedding day. It is her favorite. In it, they are standing in an open field while a dark, ominous storm cloud looms over them.

Terrance and Stacy have been married for five years, and all five years have been full of hard times. The storm clouds that threatened to ruin their wedding day have never truly left them. They have always been there in the background threatening, menacing. But this year, times have been exceptionally hard.

I hear soft sobbing coming from Stacy’s bed. Compelled by my insatiable curiosity, I kneel beside her. She does not see me, at least, I don’t think she does. In all the time I’ve been doing this, I’ve learned the closer they are to death, the more aware they tend to be of my presence. The last minutes of a person’s life are fascinating to me. The things they do. The things they think. The things they feel. Most of the time they dread me like a cruel demon. I prefer to think of myself as an ‘usher’ guiding them from one plane of existence to the next.

Unable to resist my compulsion, I gaze into her eyes, looking beyond them and peering into the window of her thoughts. I am taken to one of her memories. In the memory, I see her husband, Terrance, standing in front of her. He is looking away as she speaks to him. Their voices sound muffled, as if I were under water. Stepping into their memories is like stepping out of a dark room into the sun. I must allow time for my senses to adjust. Soon, the sounds become clear, and I can make out what she is saying.

“What did you do with it!?” She demands.

He says nothing.

“Well? Are you going to answer me?”

He still says nothing.

“We don’t even have enough for rent now! What are we going to do!? Have you even started looking for a job?”

“Yes! Okay? No one’s responded yet. I can’t just make them call me!”

“Well, have you looked into the ones I texted you last week?”

He looks down. “Not yet.”

“Not yet!?” Her cheeks redden. I can hear what she is thinking, however, she does not say it. “So, what are we going to do about rent?” She says instead.

“I’ll… talk to the office tomorrow and work something out.”

“And will you look into those leads I sent you last week?”

Now he looks up at her, “Yes. I promise.”

Interesting. That is what she is thinking about? The memory was from last year, before her diagnosis. Before the endless doctor visits and treatments. Before never-ending nights of sickness and sleeplessness. Before they had been faced with the impossible decision to pay for lifesaving medicine or keep the lights on. They have faced many threats together. Now they must face one more, me.

I look at my watch. I still have twenty minutes. I wonder what he is doing now. I close my eyes. When I open them, I am transported to a store with a sign that reads, ‘Ray’s Pawn and Loan.’ As I enter, I hear people shouting inside. Terrance is arguing with another man at the counter. The man he is talking to is short and stocky and he speaks with a voice more intimidating than his stature.

“Where is the watch?” Terrance demands.

“You got my money?”

“I told you I would have the money by next week!”

“Yeah. And you told me the same thing last week. I’ve given you two extensions already. I can’t wait any more. If you ain’t got the money, all of it, you’ll have to find yourself another watch.”

“There is no other watch! It was my dad’s. I can’t replace it.”

“Not my problem.”

“Come on, Ray! My wife is dying in the hospital. I have 300 bucks left in my account. Isn’t there anything you can do?”

For the first time, the man at the counter notices the bags under Terrance’s eyes. “When was the last time you slept?” Terrance responds only with a shrug. The man at the counter pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine. If you bring three hundred bucks today, before we close, I’ll hold it for one more week. But that’s it. I mean it.”

Terrance glances down at his phone. “My bank is just down the street. I’ll be right back!”

I look at my watch. Four eleven p.m. It is time to get ready for my appointment. I better go too.

Eleven minutes later.



I now stand on the corner of Highway 30 and Lake Avenue. There was a car accident and Terrance is standing in the middle of the street. I walk up to him and greet him. “Hello, Terrance” I say. For the first time, he is able to see me. “Who are you? How do you know my name?”

“It is time for our appointment.”

“What appointment?”

Confusion is often their first response. I point towards the mangled scene of twisted metal and broken glass. I lead him to the driver side of one of the crumpled wads that used to be a vehicle. He sees himself in the vehicle, bloody, but still recognizable. He whispers, “No. That looks like me. And that looks like my car. But that would mean…” He turns to me, “And you are…?” I nodded to confirm his suspicion.

“But, how?”

“You fell asleep.”

He stands silently for a moment staring at the gory scene before him. When the shock starts to wears off, he resumes his questions. “What about my dad’s watch?”

I shake my head, “I’m sorry. There is no more time. Nothing can be done for that now.”

“What about my wife?”

I smile slightly hoping to reassure him. “She will go into remission. My appointment with her doesn’t come for another three years, four months, five days and...” I look at my watch, “…twelve hours, fifteen minutes.”

“Will I see her again?”

“When her time comes, you may.” I extend my hand. “I promise.”