The Will to Live

The time in the upper right hand corner of the dully lit computer screen read: 4:50 p.m.

He mindlessly clicked back to his email feigning to appear busy for the next ten minutes of this familiar end to the week. Another glance: 4:51 p.m.

He scrolls through his email, the rolling black ball of the red mouse ever so quietly screeching with each finger stroke. 

Click.

A sinking feeling of dread filled his chest as he reads: Get prepared for your trip! Countdown to vacation time: 18 hours, 12 minutes, 15 seconds, 14, 13…

He checked the time again: 4:58 p.m.

The tabs on the screen slowly begin to close, the mouse hovering over each page briefly before being sent away. The man peeled himself from the rickety red chair, shuffling around and pushing it into its proper place behind the desk. He removed his weathered brown overcoat from the back of the chair, draping it over his tired, broad shoulders. As he approached the opening of the door, a young dark haired woman flung her head in. “Goodnight Dave!” she said cheerfully as she continued on her way out. 

“Goodnight Cindy,” he softly spoke with a gentle wave in her general direction. He kicked the doorstop from its snug resting place and stepped out of the office, surveying the cramped cubicles in the windowless basement as the door quietly closed behind him. After a long moment, he slowly made his way to the stairs. He flicked the lights off as he opened the door and began to ascend the staircase. He reached the lobby level parking garage where his vintage blue Mercedes parked just steps from the door in the spot adorned with his name. He entered the car and stared at the faded polaroid photo of a younger version of himself and a dark haired woman stuck to his dash. She loved this car he thought to himself. Seconds later the car’s engine roared to life and he silently drove home. 

He pulled into the garage next to a dusty, gray Toyota Corolla. The mud room door pushed open as he stepped inside kicking off his worn black shoes. He quickly entered the kitchen, opening the fridge to reveal the mostly empty shelves. He pulled a small black container from the confines of the fridge, throwing the remainder of a lasagna onto a plate and tossing it into the microwave. The cheese sizzled as the microwave beckoned the food’s readiness. He inhaled the plate of food while standing in the kitchen, the hot cheese burning the roof of his mouth with each bite. He might have lost a few things over the years but his appetite wasn’t one of them. Once finished he tossed the container into the half-empty trash and pulled the bag from the can placing it into the bin just outside the back kitchen door. He rinsed the plate thoroughly and jammed it into the last remaining spot on the bottom rack of the dishwasher. He then turned the knob on the dishwasher, the low level buzz filling the quiet home.

Dave meandered his way into the pitch black bedroom following the memorized path to the bathroom. He flicked the light to the bathroom on, the sudden brightness filling his eyes with scattered black spots every time he blinked. He reached into the dark abyss of the closet and pulled out his pine green silk pajama set. It was her favorite he quietly thought to himself. He slowly undressed, his knees creaking as he slipped the smooth pajama bottoms over his tired legs. Turning to the unforgiving bathroom mirror, he studied what he saw reflected back. He poked at his slightly pudgy belly, fiddling with the forest of hair covering his entire front half. He smoothed his slick gray combover, thankfully still thick and covering his entire head. He stared deeply into his own eyes, wading through the hazel depths staring back at him, searching for some semblance of his old self in there. After a painfully long look, he averted his eyes to the light switch and diminished himself to darkness once again. He crawled into bed, the giant king sized mattress largely unused since he was so used to sleeping on the left side. He turned to his left, staring at the vague outline of the picture frame on the nightstand. He couldn’t see the face that filled the portrait in front of him, but he didn’t need it. He closed his eyes, his mind ensconced in the beautiful features of his late wife.

The five o’clock alarm reared to life but did not wake him. He was already alert, staring into the depths of the white ceiling. He hadn’t slept much, his stomach a mess of tangled webs spinning uncontrollably as his mind failed to shut off. He almost had convinced himself that he shouldn’t make the trip, that it was a foolish idea. But, he decided to stay the course knowing this is what he had to do. He quickly dressed and grabbed the already packed small blue suitcase they had used for every trip of their marriage which stood routinely as it always had by the mud room door. He took a long look around the house before departing abruptly, knowing full well that if he stayed there too long he would convince himself he couldn’t do this. 

He arrived at the airport with an hour and a half to spare. A first class accommodation greeted him comfortably as he took his seat on the giant plane. He stared out of the small oval window at the rising sun over the vast metropolis of Minnesota. He drifted off to sleep before the plane took off the exhaustion of the previous night finally catching up to him. He dreamt of her luscious jet black hair sweeping gracefully in the wind covering the smile that was his personal beacon of peace and happiness. The ride was remarkably smooth, his slumber only interrupted when the wheels met the tarmac in Los Angeles. He rose gingerly from his seat, his arms stretched overhead gently soothing his achy muscles. As he stepped off of the plane, a faint flowery scent filled the air knocking him off axis. He whipped his head around, expecting to see her standing right behind him. To his disappointment, a middle aged blonde woman stared back blankly at him. His eyes sunk to the floor, despair flooding his body. 

After a long, lonely drive he reached his destination. The hotel sat near the edge of a rocky ocean cliff. He flung the car door open, instantly greeted with the salty air. Memories came flooding back like a tidal wave. Her pure excitement upon arrival, her vibrant smile hardly ever leaving her face. Everything had changed but also somehow remained the same. Even if the rooms, furniture, and people were all new, The Inn still felt innately familiar to him. He had reserved the same room they had together twenty five years ago, room 201. He entered the spacious accommodations, the enormous bed surrounded by a small couch and a desk. He shoved their tiny blue suitcase onto the stand in the closet and pulled the sliding door closed. He checked his favorite watch as he walked into the giant bathroom. He regarded himself in the mirror, pulling his blue collared shirt taught to try to get rid of the wrinkles of the day. Satisfied, he left the bathroom heading for the restaurant on the first floor.

The restaurant sat almost entirely empty, a quiet start to the evening. He sat at a small table towards the back wall. A young, energetic woman approached the table with a huge smile. “Can I get you started with anything?”

“A glass of your best Cab,” he responded quietly. Wine wasn’t much to his liking, but it had been his wife’s favorite.

He ordered the filet mignon, the house special and the exact same dish they ordered all those years ago. The memory of her eyes lighting up upon her first bite drew a slight smile to his lips. He stared into the red liquid, mesmerized by the rich hue contained in the glass. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the faintest glimpse of a woman entering the restaurant. As he looked up, their eyes met. They held each other’s gaze for what felt like an eternity until she flashed a sly smile and greeted the host for her reservation. Her slightly graying blonde hair flowed to the small of her back, her black jeans and pristine white shirt complemented her perfectly. Her bright blue eyes sat behind slightly round, dark framed glasses. His stomach tingled as he shifted slightly in his chair. A warm smile formed as she was walked to a table on the other side of the restaurant, seemingly a galaxy away.

The plate that came out looked like they had ripped the memory out of his head and sat it in front of him. The brown, flowing ooze draped over the succulent meat on top of a perfectly circular pile of mashed potatoes and garnished with one baby carrot. He cut a small piece of steak with the perfect amount of sauce and placed it in his mouth. It melted away, perfectly cooked and seasoned. But it didn’t quite taste the same. Maybe, he realized, the missing piece was the woman baked into every moment he remembered here. A cloak of sadness draped over his shoulders as he struggled to finish the meal in front of him. He scanned the restaurant as it quietly filled up around him. At the table next to him, a young couple contemplated each other lovingly, lost in their own special place and time. He remembered how she used to gaze so lovingly at him once.

He continued to scan the room until he locked eyes once again with the striking gaze of the woman from earlier. The air thrummed with an invisible electricity as they meticulously perused over each other. Suddenly, he yanked his eyes to the table as he felt a grenade of guilt penetrate his system. He motioned for the bill and quickly paid, exiting the restaurant at nearly a jog. He reached the safety of his room, the door slamming behind him as he struggled to catch his ragged breath, solemnly sitting on his bed. His heart ached. He stared into the soft carpet as he pondered the one question he always came back to but was too scared to answer, what would she want me to do?

He rose before dawn. He removed a small brown box from his suitcase and slid it snuggly into his jacket pocket. He took a deep breath and strode out into the silent hallway. The sliding glass doors slid quietly closed as he made his way out of the back exit. The cool ocean breeze gently kissed his face as he walked along the lamp lit path. The wind grew stronger as he approached the cliff edge, the sound quieting his hectic mind. As the sun began to slowly peak its head over the horizon, he felt instantly transported to this same exact spot twenty five short years ago. Her hand in his. The butterflies rattled around in his stomach as he fought the urge to wretch. Her beautiful green eyes locked on the horizon, her beauty basking in the effervescent rays of the warm sunlight. The distinct feeling of her hand leaving his as he dropped to one knee and brought the box out from behind his back as if it were a magic trick. She turns, staring at him in stunned silence. The way his heart leapt as she told him yes, she will spend forever with him. 

The crashing waves below brought him back, tears streaming down his frozen cheeks. He pulled the wooden box from his pocket, slowly opening it. He removed the bag of ashes from the box and promptly emptied the contents over the cliff. He fell to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably. He lifted his head and stared at the rising sun, basking in the sudden warmth of the orange glow. He took a long, heavy breath as he wiped the tears from his wet face. “Goodbye baby,” he whispered to the wind. He sat motionless for a long while, the finality of the end of this chapter of his life floating back out to sea with each crash of the ocean against the rocky cliff face. He made his way to his feet, his body feeling lighter. He smiled knowing the memories were forever with him but couldn’t hold him back any longer.  

He made his way back to the hotel, the restaurant once again nearly empty as he sat down for breakfast. He sat alone. A nervous energy filled his body as he eyed the lobby, silently waiting. Finally, it was time to deliver an honest answer to the question that always plagued him. It was the answer he had always known but was too scared to admit. She would have wanted him to Live.