Darling, I'm Coming

***This story deals with sensitive subject matter such as depression, mental health, and suicidal thoughts or actions. Read at your own risk. Thank you and enjoy***

-Kaden Vargo

“Oh, darling…” The old man whispered as he stare at a picture from his wedding day in an old dusty photo book. One of him and his wife from years ago, back when the old man still had reasons to get out of bed each day.

A deep, lonely sigh begun a new era of the old mans life as he sat the photo album on a small wooden table next to him. Wally sat slouched in his blue antique cushion chair in the living room, noticeably unchanged from when he first got it as a gift some 30 years ago. It seemed as though a thick fog had set in the living room, with his eyes only able to make out so much. He was in another place, another dimension, somewhere not even close to this world. He did not move from his position for quite some time.

When the old man finally did, it was to look to his right. He saw another old chair. This one was pink and of the same design of his own, but with it’s own rich history and stories, and laughter, pain, suffering, despair, and loneliness. This was the chair of his beloved wife, who he now had to come to terms with knowing would never sit beside him again. Piled high around the chair were recent newspapers, magazines, coupons and receipts, all of which happened so shortly ago he could remember it all (which he often times had troubles doing)

His eyes began to water but no tears dropped. He could see so clearly in his head, a woman, sitting in that chair with her eyes focused down onto whatever she happened to be reading or working on at the time. Wally would look over to her and smile, and she would smile back. He would talk, and she would talk back. He would ask a question, and she would give an answer. The old man asked aloud.

“Is this really it?”

No response came from the empty chair. Now a tear dropped from his eye and he reached beside his chair for a tissue to gently wipe it away.

Wally was now back in his original position, slouched down violently in his chair, seemingly an uncomfortable position yet the old man didn’t exactly care. He was already hurt too much. As he stared forward into space, his mind cleared. He had no feeling in his body at all and the only thing he could see through his cloudy eyes were his legs in front of him.

And as he drifted away, he thought of only one topic. Love. Wondering if and where he could ever find some again.

***

When the old man had fallen asleep, it was daylight. But now when he awoke, only a sliver of moonlight passed through the ancient curtains. He did not bother to look at any clock, as he didn’t have the power to do so. His neck was in a tight knot, one possibly caused from his sleeping position, but who even knows anymore, the old man thought. Now he sit straight up in his chair, once again looking forward with no intention to do anything else ever again.

He did, however, glance back at the table that had the old photo album thrown on top of it. Wally didn’t pick it up because he did not need to. He knew everything that was in it. And so now he went into deep remembrance. All the times that were grand and glorious, now just fading, blurry memories in his mind. How he wished for another moment, but deep inside he knew he would never get it. He reached out his hand and picked up the album again, holding it tightly in his hands with a grip that seemed to suggest he wouldn’t soon let go.

The photo album was was a light pink, originally a brighter pink all those years ago, but time has done it’s gentle work on the color. On the center of the front, a large picture, surrounded by a red lining that wrapped around the photo and shot off to the edges of the page. In the picture, the old man and his wife. Though Wally couldn’t remember a lot, he did in fact remember this photo. It was of the two of them, standing at the foul line of a bowling lane, backs facing the pins. This photo was old, he thought. For this was the first date they ever had. The old man remembered taking her to dinner that night. And by the time that was over, it was close to midnight. But both had enjoyed each others companies enough that thought the night was still young. So they decided to take a swing at bowling. Neither of them loved to do it, but they’d love to do it with each other. A few drinks and a few gutter balls later… this picture. Of two drunk teens as happy as can be.

Now Wally was flooded with tears. It was uncontrollable. As he wept, his hands shaking and jerking so much he felt a rip on the album. He tried to look down through the cloudiness and after a moment, his vision cleared enough to see the book. A long sharp tear ripped across the seam of the binding. The cover was hanging on by seemingly a single thread. A lifetime of memories below clinging to the thing that made it all possible.

But this didn’t last long. In the heat of the moment, the old mans hand loosened, then immediately re tightened. One hand grabbed the cover and the other grabbed everything else. In one swift motion, he ripped his hands apart, and two pieces of the photo album rest in his hands, the cover in his left and the remainder in his right.

The old man looked down in horror. He couldn’t believe what he had just done. Now the tears started up again and the blurriness came back. Without seeing where it landed, he threw the two separate pieces on the open floor in front of him. He heard a soft thud then a hard one. Wally covered his eyes with his hands and wept.

***

The cars engine seemed to be as old as Wally, in its violent shakes and loud outbursts and thrusts of energy. His car was a very dark green in color, missing the passenger mirror, right blinker and back left taillight. The car was in shambles. Just like the old man. Maybe that’s why he never got rid of it.

Wally sat in the drivers seat, nowadays very uncomfortable with all the pain he regularly went through, though not just physically now, but emotionally as well. Wally put the car in reverse as a million thoughts went through his head. His damp hands, still wet from the wiping of tears from his eyes, softly gripped the wheel as the car rolled backwards out of the small garage. It was fully night now, with about half of the moon shining down upon the Earth. The old man thought about the moon for a moment. It seems so close yet it is so far away. It’s much smaller than the Earth but it provides so much for it. Incredible, the old man thought. He put the car in drive, and started forward down and out of the residential neighborhood. He knew where he was going but he didn’t want to face the truth until he got there. The ride was silent. Wally focused on nothing but the road the whole way there.

When he arrived, no one was in sight. Exactly as he hoped would be the case. His car parked on the side of a narrow road, on a bridge that suspends about 150 feet above the Spartan River below. Along with the twinkle of moonlight, the jagged rocks on either side of the river and the rapidly flowing water added to the beautiful scenery of what would otherwise be a very sad scene.

Wally sat in the stationary car, contemplating every single thing that passed through his old brain. But all of that was just a distraction, he’d already decided on what to do. He had to go through with it now. It all hurt to much anymore and Wally didn’t know how much longer he could last, and he wondered if there was still hope for himself or everyone. He never found the answer to that question.

The old man slowly unbuckled and got out of the car, with a sharp pain running up his spine as stood up. He had to prop himself up on the hood to stay up, and from there he pattered his way along the driver side of the car back to the trunk. He reached in his pocket and grabbed a key for the lock and opened. Inside was a spare tire, oil, an empty gas can, and a blanket. He shoved the blanket out of the way. And under that blanket lay the two pieces of the album, stacked on top of each other looking as if they were still stitched together, but when he picked it up, it fell back into two pieces again. Once the album pieces when tucked under his right arm, he threw the key inside the spare tire and slammed the trunk as hard as he could. He didn’t have a spare key but that was alright, there would never be the need for one ever again.

A shiver of cold shot through the old man’s body, as he weakly walked over to the concrete wall about 2 feet tall, that blocked the road from the death drop into the river below. Wally sat the album on the ledge and put his hands down. Now he could see the river with his own eyes, a sight that at first frightened him, soon turned into no thought at all. On the opposite side of the wall, there was a ledge only about 1 or 2 feet wide, which has also made of concrete and had cracks all along it’s surfaces. Wally stood right next to the wall and used all of his remaining power to lift his right leg up over the wall and dangle it over the water. Now with a leg on either side, he moved his left over as well, sitting on the wall with his feet touching the outside ledge.

The old man stared into space ahead. A quiet rush of the water was barely audible to his aging ears, and only a faint whisper of the interstate highway about a mile to the east. These were the only things that Wally could hear. He looked next to his right leg and saw the two segments of the photo album. He took a long gaze and them and picked up the piece that had everything in it. As he started to open the page, a mighty gust of wind came through the trees behind him, blowing the cover that lie on the wall off, plummeting to its demise below. Wally watched it the whole way, falling fast to start them seemingly slowed down as it make a small yet noticeable splash in the river. As soon as it touched down, the rushing waters that were running under the bridge swept it away and never to be seen again by the old man. But Wally was okay with this. Because he knew he’d find a way to see it again.

Focusing back on the remainder of the album, he opened it on what he thought was the middle. On each page was four pictures. The left page consisted of photos from mini golf trip years ago. Wally had no recollection of these pictures. His mind didn’t even know where to begin to think anymore, though he wouldn’t have to think soon. On the right page were photos of Wally and his wife on their honeymoon trip to France. Now this he did remember. From getting to the airport late, to having a canceled flight, to arriving in Paris three days late, to a dirty hotel, to a rainy day at the Eiffel tower, and to a terrible but still pleasant time with his always pleasant wife. Wally smiled and laughed aloud, becoming unsteady on the wall but quickly re centered himself. He soon calmed down and his body calmed as well.

It must have been midnight now, and the old man begun to feel a sense of tiredness. He closed the book and rest it on his lap. Looking forward out over the water again, in the distant landscape he could see a figure on the shoreline. It moved slowly and then stopped. And from what Wally could tell, it lay down, seemingly waiting for something to happen. Out loud, Wally chuckled,

“Alright! Alright, I’ll do it now.”

As he grinned, he grabbed the album with both hands. Looking directly at him was a picture of his wife smiling. So happy to see me, the old man thought. And Wally’s smile now grew even wider. Wally spoke again, quietly.

“You look happy, please don’t ever be sad”

Wally threw his hands forward and let go of the album, sending it to the waters beneath. He did not look at it, though he heard the splash some seconds later.

Very carefully, Wally stood up on the outside ledge, with his feet barely fitting completely on. His hands gripped the wall behind him as face towards the water. His smile dimmed, and he looked to the sky. Wally spoke for a final time.

“Darling. I’m coming.”

With a final beat of his heart and breath of his lungs, Wally let himself fall toward. No thoughts. No worries. No fear. No loss. Wally was coming home.