Sunrise, Sunset

I couldn’t sleep that night no matter how much I tried. No amount of music, melatonin, or sheep was going to lull me to a peaceful slumber after the absolute sucker punch that was the night before. So there I was at 5 in the morning watching warm colors seep into the dark sky, inch by inch, a borderline scalding cup of tea in my hands. As the times steadily march by, the sky becomes lighter and the world starts to wake up with it. I’ve always found that middle ground where the sky is no longer suffocated by the dark but isn’t yet overwhelmed by light to be the most peaceful moment. People working the night shift have just gone to bed and most others haven’t yet awoken. The glimpses of color that start to appear feel like they are made to be seen by me and only me. I breathe in the cool, crisp air and with a stab to my heart, I realize this is the last time that I’ll ever see a sunrise.

              I look down at my wrist to see the tattoo that appeared last night. No one was should why or how it started, but about 50 years ago, everyone would get a 24-hour countdown to their death. Nobody knew when that countdown would appear, just that once the 24 hours were up, that was it. Some people, in the end, simply passed on, and others not so much. Most would take that window of warning to get their affairs in order, check some things off their bucket list, and say goodbye. They panicked, cried, tried to find ways to avoid it, but not me.

              When that tattoo showed up, it was obviously a shock, but I also felt a kind of peace with it. My parents and my friends had all passed on years ago and without them, life just hadn’t been the same. I missed each of them so much that at times it felt like my insides were being stabbed with the pins and needles of grief. Within a month, I lost my parents to old age, my two best friends to a hurricane, and three other friends to a car crash, an allergic reaction, and a lightning strike. I didn’t leave my house for a month after that. I’ve moved on the best that I could, but without them, life felt empty. So when I got the countdown, it was less of a countdown to death and more of a countdown to seeing everyone who mattered to me.

              Yet, I was in no rush to speed things up. I finished the last sip of tea and with the sun now fully out, I walked back inside to my desk in the living room. I grabbed a little key from the pencil cup and unlocked the bottom filing cabinet. Inside held a nicely color-coordinated set of folders. I grabbed the black one- fitting, I thought- and opened it up. Within the folder contained my will and other important files. The writing on the will was far too formal than what was needed to say that most of my possessions were to be donated to this place or that after my death. My paints and art supplies would go to an at-risk youth center. My books would go to the elementary school that I teach -taught- at. My money would go to a series of research funds, shelters, programs, and foundations. Car goes here, other knickknacks go there. Clothes go to the homeless shelter. With no other relatives, no husband, and no kids, it wasn’t too hard to divvy up my belongings. I had it all set to donate my organs and as for my body, it would go in a grave next to my parents.

Nicole Loretta Douglas: a beloved daughter, friend, and teacher. May she always be loved and remembered.

              I sadly smirked as I read the inscription that would be on my tombstone. Who’s really going to remember me. Maybe some of my old students if I’m lucky. The writing wasn’t my idea. It was my parents’. They wrote it when they were updating their own wills and buying the plots of land for us. It was a little plain for my taste, but then again, it wasn’t like I was the most exciting person in the world.

              Giving everything one last look over, I put the pile of papers front and center on my desk to be easily located tomorrow.

              As I got ready for the day, the ‘finals’ of everything were really starting to hit me: this would be the last time that I get dressed. Last time I do my hair. Last time I do my make-up. Last time I eat breakfast. Yet, that also was kind of freeing. If this is the last time I get to do any of these things, I’m going to wear and do whatever I would like.

              This is how I ended up in my favorite diner in a full ballgown, a crown, and a full face of elaborate make-up. I’m sure I looked like a delusional princess that chucked out of a fairytale, but I couldn’t be bothered with other people’s opinions anymore.

              “Well don’t you look like the prettiest princess at the ball. What the occasion, darling?” asked Jenna. Ever since I found Buddy’s Diner, Jenna had been my waitress about 90% of the time. How she took care of two kids and worked the diner round the clock, I’d never know.

              “I’m dying. Can I get the chocolate chocolate chip pancakes with a side of bacon, please? And an orange juice.”

              Her notepad fell to the ground and she looked frozen stiff. Her eyes were searching mine for any sign of a joke, but unfortunately, I couldn’t give her that relief.

              “You got your countdown,” she said sadly, in devastated understanding.

              “Last night. I have,” I looked down, “15 hours left.”

              “I can’t believe it. I mean, I know these things are random and a bunch of people die every day, but you never expect someone so young or someone you’re friends with.”

              The last thing she said pulled me out of my own death-centric thoughts. Did she think we’re friends? Were we friends? Huh. After my other friends passed, I suppose Jenna became the person that I would talk to most often about her life and mine. And I did see her on an almost daily basis (they have really good pancakes ok?). I guess that would make us friends. And now I was leaving her. A certain grief tugged at my stomach. Not grief for myself, but grief for the friendship we could have had if I was given a few more years, but now will never exist.

              I must have gotten back into my head because I was brought back to reality by Jenna’s hand on my arm.

              “Are you ok, sweets?”

              I just nodded.

              The heartbreak in her eyes was deafening, but she just nodded back in understanding and went back to get my food.

              As I waited, I looked out the window at the people walking by. Parents with small children, friends out shopping, couples strolling and holding each other. I thought about how some other people I’d known had talked about when they get their countdown, they just want to spend time with their significant other. As my final hours were now here, I couldn’t help but reflex back on that part of my life. I was 44 and while I had a couple of long-term relationships, there weren’t any boyfriends that I could imagine wanting to spend my last day with. And surprisingly, I was fine with it. Having a partner was never the more important thing to me. I would have much rather spent the night inside painting or reading than out on a date.

              I was taken out of my reverie when I smelled the most decadent pancakes arrive. The chocolate chips were perfectly gooey and I could tell there were more included than usual. Jenna set the bacon and orange juice on the same, gave me a smile, and said, “enjoy,” before leaving to take care of other patrons.

              And enjoy I did. I very rarely got these pancakes because they were so rich and wildly unhealthy, but what does it make when you have less than a day, right? I savored every single bite and let it melt in my mouth. By the time I finished my food, I was filled to the max and couldn’t eat another bite.

Jenna came back over and took my plates away, leaving the bill behind. When she came back, I handed her the tray and said, “Keep the change.”

She looked at it and her eyes turned to saucers and her jaw went slack. I think she stopped breathing for a minute.

She looked between me and the tray over and over.

“Are you sure?”

I gave her the most genuine smile, “I’m positive. From a friend to a friend. You and your kids deserve it. Use it for a vacation or sports or toys or whatever they’re into these days. And use some of it for yourself. You have to promise me you will use part of it to treat yourself to a spa day.”

Jenna was now widely grinning, tears gushing. She grabbed my hand, pulled me up, and wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug.

“I promise. Thank you, thank you so much. This means more than you know.”

I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed. “You are an incredibly strong woman. Your kids are so lucky to have you and I can see so much potential in you. There’s more than enough there to set aside some for yourself so you can go back to school and finish your bachelor’s.”

Her tears were definitely staining my dress and I figured that the tears that were now pouring down my own face were staining her uniform, but neither of us minded. The love that I felt at that moment was nothing short of overwhelming and I was nowhere near ready for it.

After a few more minutes of hugging, we released each other, looking thoroughly unglamorous with both of our mascaras leaving black streaks down our cheeks and snot trying to run out of our noses.

Voice cracking and coming out barely louder than a whisper, she said, “Bye Nicole. I’ll miss you.”

Tears were rushing back again, “Bye Jenna. You’ll do amazing things. Never forget that.”

Before we could fall back into another round of tears, I grabbed my bag and left the diner.

I didn’t have much of a bucket list, but I did have a list of options for where I wanted to be when I died for a variety of times. In a weird way, I was kind of lucky because with my death time being at sunset, I would get to go out in one of my favorite places.

About a three-hour drive and mile hike away was a lookout point that gave a perfect view of the skyline over the mountains. There, the sunset was unbeatable.

I drove to a couple of stores to pick up the last few supplies I needed and went back home to grab a backpack. I walked inside, picked up a bag, but before I left, I made one last tour of the house. At the end of the house was my room which was once decorated with woodland creatures, then flowers, then a turquoise and peach theme. I thought of the playdates, the bedtime stories, and the dress-up times that happened in this room. I remembered sobbing into my pillow after getting my first C on a test. Getting ready for prom and graduation in front of that mirror. Moving back in after my dad broke his hip. With a final glance, I placed a kiss on the doorframe and closed the door.

Next was my parents’ room, still untouched even after all these years. The boudoir where my mom would braid my hair still had her make-up scattered around it. Their bed where I would snuggle with them was perfectly made. The second round of tears was now fully in motion as I whispered, “See you soon” and closed the door.

The bathroom was thankfully a little less emotional, but memories of bath time, my first time shaving, and my black hair sprinkled around the sink after cutting it myself still snuck in. I closed the door.

I gave myself a moment to look around the living room picturing being picked up for prom, painting as the sun shone through the windows to make my canvas glow, and performing fashion shows with my friends when we were little.

I moved on to the kitchen and porch. When I closed my eyes, I could still smell my dad’s famous stew and see him at the counter making cookies. Some days, all three of us would be in the kitchen making dinner and we would sing along to whatever was on the radio as we worked in unspoken harmony. Outside, I looked up at the robin’s nest in the tree above and mentally said goodbye.

I turned off all the lights, grabbed the bag and a couple of photos of me with my parents, my friends, and my students, and walked out the door for the last time. I pressed my forehead against the closed door and pressed my lips to it mumbling, “thank you for the memories.”

I took a breath and stepped back. After giving myself a minute to compose my emotions, I got back in the car and started my final trip.

Along the way to the lookout point, I played all of my favorite songs as loud as my speakers would let me. I didn’t care that my singing sounded like a dying cat. I belted out every single word to those songs. Before I knew it, I had reached the parking lot at the bottom of the trail. I grabbed my bag, now filled with all my favorite food for my final meal and my pictures, and closed the car door. Continuing the pattern, I kissed the roof of my little blue car and gave it thanks for all the safe travels.

Then I embarked on my last mile of walking. It may not have been the best idea to hike in a ballgown and heels, but I did it anyway. When I reached the top of the lookout point, I set up the blanket from my bag and got out my food. All of it was wildly unhealthy: brownies, a bottle of wine, fettuccini alfredo, a slice of cake, a heat-sealed container of the best-seasoned fries, a box of roasted chicken, and a can of root beer.

For the next few hours, I took my time devouring my feast. I savored and appreciated each bite as I listened to the wildlife around me. As the day started to draw to a close, I knew my time was near. I neatly put away the trash in a pile next to me and pulled out my pictures and my phone.

I knew I had one last phone call to make.

“911 what’s your emergency?”

“I would like to report a death at Parker’s Point.”

“Ma’am, do you know the victim?”

“It’s me. My countdown expires in 30 minutes.”

“I see. Officials will be there by then. May you pass peacefully.”

“Thank you.”

With that, I hung up and set my phone to the side.

I looked out over the forest and mountains in front of me. The sun was slowly making its descent below them and the sky was being painted with reds and oranges. The few clouds there were looked like they were covered in paint. There were layers of mountains and as each ridge grew closer, the darker it got, resulting in the skyline becoming multilayered and the definition between the more prominent. If I had more time, I would have loved to take pictures and paint this sunset, but alas, having it as my final view would have to do. As it approached the top of the furthest ridge, the sun became a brilliant red, lighting the rest of the sunset on fire more than it already was.

I looked down at my wrist.

00:10

A warm breeze blew over me, gently pushing my hair back.

00:08

I grabbed my pictures and looked at the smiling, loving faces of those who cared about me.

00:04

I pressed my pictures to my heart and looked out at the sunset one last time.

00:03

I smiled, completely at peace.

00:02

I took a final breath.

00:01

I closed my eyes.

00:00