Now, Death

“Give me a minute.”

Death here:

What does that mean, give me a minute? I can’t give you a minute; I can’t even give you a second or another day or any other measure of time. I can give you a heartbeat, but not as a measure of time.

More accurately, I can fail to take a heartbeat from you which is tantamount to giving you a heartbeat or several depending on the number of beats I choose to allow your heart to beat. You tell me you want to live a spot longer, a minute or some other inane measure of time.

For me, time is present. No, I don’t mean it is wherever I look; I mean that I have nothing other than now. Time does not flow. I have no future to anticipate nor a past on which to reflect.

Present in your history and what you imagine forward into a time unknown, I am now.

You see a heartbeat as a discrete event in a series of events that you experienced and that you will experience. For me, they occur in this instant. I can pluck a single heartbeat out of this present and you cease.

How can beings experience a past, present, and future when only now exists? Those words have no intuitive meaning for me. I can intellectualize a definition for them, but I feel no kinship with them. I cannot understand the blubbering of your kind at the instant I take your heartbeat. For me it is happening and happening and happening.

Jack hollered at his chiming cell phone, “Give me a minute! I’ve gotta get this tie tied right for my interview.”

Two chimes later, “There!”

Answering the phone, “Hello, Dave! What’s up?

“What? What do you mean, you died? That’s stupid, don’t even play like that. Now, what’s really going on?

“No, I don’t believe you’re serious. How could you be talking to me on the cell?

“What do you mean, it’s easier to communicate on the phone than through thought?

“No, I wouldn’t believe my thoughts were your attempt to talk to me. You know that’s not real. Just because I think something doesn’t mean you’re talking to me.

“No, I don’t see. I don’t believe you’re dead talking to me on the phone.

“No, a text wouldn’t make it any more real.

“Dave, quit it. What’s really going on? I’m heading to a job interview that’s very important for me. I need this job to pay off my debt, so, quit jacking around and get to the point.”

I couldn’t believe it. Here I am racing to get to this interview that came out of the blue just this morning. Of course, it’s been years since I tied a tie, so I fussed with the tangled mess I had around my neck for a short eternity. Now, one of my oldest and dearest friends decides to play some kind of macabre joke on an already overstressed day.

“No, Dave, don’t come over. Well, at least don’t come over until suppertime, around six o’clock. Okay?

“What do you mean, you can’t tell time. Use your phone. The thing you’re calling me on, for heaven’s sake! Look, I’ve got to go now; if I don’t make this interview on time I risk losing my home. Good-bye!”

Hanging up, I stuck the phone in my slack’s right back pocket and dashed out the door.

The whole time, from hanging up on Dave to getting to the interview to impressing the interview committee to getting the two deep-dish pizzas (Dave loves pizza) and beers to racing home, something about my last remark to Dave nagged at me.

It felt like I said those words to my friend before. But, I hadn’t. I don’t think I did. No, I know I never said that to Dave before. But it felt like I had pronounced that sentiment before. Like, just a minute before.

Impossible!

The cell chiming in my back pocket distracted me from that line of thinking. Loosening my seatbelt and leaning forward so I could pull it out, I took my focus of the road for that fateful split second. Nothing happened except I got the phone out on the third ring.

“Hey, who is this?

“Dave, what’s up? I got pizza and beer for supper. You’re headed over, right?

“What? What do you mean you’re bringing Tony? Tony shot himself twenty years ago. I stopped at his grave just yesterday.

“No, Dave, he used to like pizza. He doesn’t like pizza anymore and he ain’t going to eat any pizza today, because he’s dead! Dang it, Dave, quit it! I’ll see you at the house.

“I know you said you’re dead; I don’t believe that any more than I believe you’re bringing Tony over for pizza and beer. No, I don’t want to talk with him now. No, I don’t want him to text me to prove he’s there anymore than I want you to text me to prove you’re dead. Just meet me at the house and quit playing this silly game!”

Hanging up, I thought that was the weirdest conversation ever.

Then, it hit me. I knew why that comment to Dave earlier haunted me. I said the same thing to Tony twenty years ago on my way to class. He was waiting for me on my usual path into the school. He wanted to talk; it was urgent. I was afraid of being tardy again and getting expelled. I told him I’d talk with him at lunch, that I couldn’t miss my class.

Later, they determined that he shot himself at home right about lunchtime. I failed to help him because I was in a hurry. Just like I failed to listen to Dave because I was in a hurry.

Thinking about it, it felt like I told Tony I couldn’t talk with him just a second ago. A twenty-year long second.

Death here again:

I told you I only live now. Dave and Tony only live now. We’re kin. Facing the universe together, we flit hither and yon meeting Now-newbies. Jack drives his car into a parked car as he pulls his phone out of his butt-pocket.

And here he is with us.

Infinitely now.