ACCEPTANCE

ACCEPTANCE

I packed my lunch and two beers in the ice chest on my twenty foot Sears aluminum boat. Then I loaded my favorite Penn rod and reel and my tackle box. I went back into the house and collected my wallet, checkbook and keys before taking Sarah into my arms and hugging her tightly. I looked into her eyes and said, “Old girl, you are still the love of my life. Don’t you ever forget that!”  

She laughed and brushed the gray hair from her eyes and said, “After fifty-three years, I’m not likely to forget!” Then I tenderly kissed her lips and walked out the door. 

Before going to the boat ramp, I headed to the local State Farm Insurance office. When I walked in, my current agent, David Beam III, greeted me. His grandfather and father had been my agents before but I had outlived them. Like I’ve outlived so many people. 

“I’m here to pay my premiums, David!” I said, as I began writing out a check. 

“I wish all of my clients were as conscientious as you!” he said. “So many let their policies lapse. But you’re actually a couple of days early.”

“Well I want to make sure Sarah is protected, in case anything happens to me.” I replied. 

“Heck, you’re indestructible!” he stated. “Bet you survive me!” 

(TERMINAL!)

“Don’t bet on it,” I said, as I handed him my check. “That covers everything, right? Cars, property and life ?” He confirmed it and handed me my receipt. I went back to my truck. I put the receipt where it would certainly be found.

I started driving to the boat ramp. 

(HOSPICE!) I shook my head and turned on the radio to banish the doctor’s words from my brain. It didn’t work. 

At the boat ramp, I carefully launched my boat and on the second attempt, the twenty-five horsepower Evinrude outboard motor roared to life. When I bought the boat and motor forty years ago, the salesman told me that if I maintained the motor, it would last me a lifetime. I had to smile. It seems he was right.

I headed towards the jetties and from there ran out into the Atlantic Ocean. The seas were flat, the sun was shining, the boat was running smoothly and it was a wonderful day (STAGE 4!) to be alive.

I ran due east for two hours. The motor began to sputter as the gas tank started to empty. Normally the twelve gallon tank was faithfully filled before I ever launched the boat. But this would not be a round trip. I figured I was around forty miles offshore. This would suffice. 

The engine stalled out as I prepared my rod and reel and after baiting up with a frozen sardine, I cast the bait out. So many happy memories in this boat. I had bought the boat and motor after I mustered out of the Marines in ‘63. Three tours of duty in Vietnam was enough. Dozens of firefights and more hand-to-hand combats, usually at night when we were overrun by Charlie. The only way to survive was with your K-Bar knife. Him or me! (CANCER!) All of that time, all of those fights and never a scratch. I was the only jarhead in my unit to not win a Purpleheart. 

No wonder I began to believe I was invincible. Untouchable. Almost immortal. 

I came back from the war and started racing cars. Everybody called me The Man With No Fear. I’d cut in between cars with barely an inch between us, while going 180 mph. Won a lot of races too. But there were miscalculations as well. One resulted in a seven car pile up. Four dead drivers, one crippled for life and one hospitalized for two weeks. Not even a bruise on me. 

I began to get cocky. Nothing could get me. 

I was in The Twin Towers on 9/11. I was in town on business and I had some time to kill before my appointment that was two blocks away. A cousin worked on the thirtieth floor of the first tower and I went up to say hello to her. But she was going into a meeting and begged me to come back at lunchtime. I agreed and was walking out of the building when the first plane struck. She did not survive. 

Suddenly my reel began screaming as line ran from it. I had a big fish on and I (METASTASIZED!) began fighting it. I instinctively knew this would be an amberjack and it would serve my purpose beautifully. Twenty minutes later, I pulled a forty pound “jack” into the boat. It began rapidly flipping its head and tail against the bottom of the boat, desperately trying to avoid its death. But a couple of deep cuts from my fillet knife ended its quest for life. 

I tied a rope around the amberjack’s forked tail and secured it to one of the boat’s cleats. Then I held the lifeless fish over the side of the boat before expertly slashing and stabbing the fish on both sides. Then I let the fish down into the water where it floated alongside the boat.  

Amberjacks have tremendous amounts of blood and oil in their bodies. Sharks like blood and oil. 

I re-baited the hook and started pursuing another. 

I tried not to reflect on my mission today but it was impossible to not. 

I had met Sarah at a party and fell hard for her. While she was intrigued by my death-defying lifestyle, she also was fearful. When I proposed, she said she’d marry me, only if I settled down. And I did. 

But it seemed Death was still chasing me. I was in a corporate jet that mysteriously crashed. I was the only survivor. My Fiat was literally run over by an eighteen-wheeler. I suffered a concussion and a broken foot. Witnesses said it was impossible to survive (Pancreatic) the crash but I hobbled away. 

In Tampa, I was accidentally in the middle of a gang shoot-out. The target and four of his “posse” were walking ten feet behind me when an Escalade coasted up and three uzis poked out of the passenger side windows. The shooters emptied their magazines into the five men. A few late shots barely missed me. Those bullets hit the wall of the building I was about to enter but all I suffered were a few minor lacerations from splinters caused by the bullets ricocheting around me. 

I had a physical with my primary doctor fourteen months ago. “Amazing that a man of your age is in the condition you are!” he proclaimed. “You have the vitals of a man fifty years younger. You even have all of your hair although it is starting to turn gray. You obviously have fantastic genes. I’m frankly mystified and very jealous. I can see you living to be a hundred and twenty years old. Try not to step in front of a bus, you lucky bastard!”

I walked out smiling and feeling wonderful. A hundred and twenty years! I hoped he was right. 

But six months ago, I started feeling like something wasn’t quite right. I started coughing and hacking. I was weak and my legs were trembling. My appetite was off  (Advanced) and I saw blood in my stools. A lot of blood. 

I didn’t let on to Sarah but secretly starting Googling my conditions. Then I made an appointment to get another physical, but with a doctor two states away. I gave a fake name and paid cash for everything. 

I had a reason for being secretive. 

I was informed the tests would take two days so I told Sarah an old war buddy was dying and asked to see me. She wanted to accompany me but I told her no. I said I wanted some privacy before seeing the dying man. 

Especially since I might be the dying man.

During the six hour drive, I refused to believe I was possibly ill. If I was, it certainly would be minor and require a daily regimen of a pill or two. After all, I had cheated Death so many times, certainly I would keep on doing it. My doctor’s words, “A hundred and twenty years!” kept ringing through my head. Surely he would know. 

I had no doubt I was wasting my time and money. But I had to know for sure. 

I was not prepared for the hospital bill that was presented to me. I handed over all the money I had and signed a promissory note for the rest. However it was under a fake name and address so good luck to them for collecting. 

But I was especially not prepared for the diagnosis. Stage four pancreatic cancer. The doctor gently informed me this was the most deadly cancer and the survival rate was measured in months. Plus it had spread into my lungs and intestines. “Sounds serious.” I jokingly said. He said not to give up hope as medical advances were being discovered all the time. But he also mentioned quality of life and enjoying what time was remaining. His nurse gave me several pamphlets on hospice care. 

At least he was upfront and spared me a bunch of hypocritical bullshit. 

He shook my hand and wished me well and marched away, leaving me to digest the death sentence I had been given. 

The drive home was mostly a blur. I was prepared for possible bad news, but not that bad. Surely it was a mistake. A lab technician had bumbled a test. Or my records were mislabeled or inadvertently mixed with somebody else’s file. Yes! That had to be the explanation. I could not be dying!

 I hadn’t survived all I had to end up unconscious in a hospital bed with a catheter and diaper keeping me clean. NOT ME! And the image of Sarah, sitting by my bed, keeping a vigil as I withered away made me nauseous.

So I drove home, convinced that I had given a great deal of money to an uneducated quack. He was wrong. It was as simple as that. 

I was not dying!

But when I pulled into our driveway, I got out of the truck and had to rush around the corner of our garage and vomited violently. 

It was a bright red color. 

OH SHIT!

Sarah greeted me with a tender hug and a kiss and asked how my trip was. I told her how depressing it was to witness a man wither away. 

And suddenly I realized the truth of my statement. I was dying! I had lived my entire life dodging, avoiding and giving Death the finger, and the bastard was claiming His prize sooner than I planned. 

That night I lay next to Sarah in our bed unable to sleep. If she learned about my condition she would demand that I submit to every possible and very expensive test and treatment. It would bankrupt us and I’d die anyway. So I made my plan. 

I spent the next week working around the house. I fixed the leaking faucet, squeaky door, hole in the fence, painted the bathroom and all of Sarah’s “honey-do” list. I took her to dinner at her favorite restaurant and even drove her to see her cousin, whom I did not care for. I mowed the yard and weeded the flower beds. And twice we made love. She jokingly asked me what had earned her so much special attention. I could only smile in reply.

The final thing to handle was our life insurance. It paid triple for accidental death. And I needed to ensure there was no way the insurance company could avoid paying. 

That was why I was so secretive about my identity. I didn’t want anybody but especially Sarah or my insurance company to think this was anything but an accident. I want to make sure Sarah is financially comfortable after I’m gone.  

I get another solid bite and reel in a nice red snapper. Perfect! This will help complete the idea that this was nothing more than an ordinary fishing trip with a tragic ending. I slipped the fish into the icebox.  

I pulled out one of the sandwiches and a beer and enjoy them as I savor the peace and beauty of the ocean. Fishing was one of my greatest pleasures and I’m glad to be having this last time.  

Suddenly the boat had a hard jolt that caused it to start rocking and me to drop my sandwich and the beer. 

They were here!

I stood up unsteadily and peered over the side of the boat. Half of the amberjack was missing and several long gray forms could be seen flashing in and out of the cloud of blood trailing from the remains of the fish. Several large fins were zig-zagging along the surface as more sharks came to join the feeding frenzy. 

I untied the rope that held the partial amberjack in place and pulled the carcass closer to the boat. Another shark, about a seven foot hammerhead, came up and ripped off several pounds of the ‘jack and more blood flowed out.  

It was time. 

I quickly checked the boat to make sure I hadn’t overlooked anything that might raise alarms or questions. Everything looked right but then I saw the shadowy black shape standing at the stern. 

“Hello,you old bastard. I’ve avoided you all of these years but you always win, don’t you? So you’re here to claim your prize, right?” It might have been my imagination but I’m sure that Death is watching me. Waiting. 

I released the rope and the remains of the amberjack then pulled out my pistol, a Smith and Wesson .38. I held it in my hand and jumped into the water.  

I came to the surface and treaded water long enough to see several sharks finishing off the amberjack. I muttered, “I sure hope that damned doctor was right!” Then I put the gun’s barrel against my temple and squeezed the trigger.