Tuesday

Today is the day I am going to die. I didn’t need to set an alarm to wake up early today - my mind was already prepared to do so for weeks. People live everyday not knowing when they will leave this earth. Most hope for a long life that is filled with joyous occasions, lived experiences, and a legacy to leave behind. Children, notoriety, a career - all are things that leave a legacy. My legacy was that I knew the exact date, time, and manner in which I will meet my end.

It was a Tuesday. Another unremarkable Tuesday. This day of the week is always forgotten and treated as if it were a stepping stone just wide enough for a toe to get to hump day Wednesday from the universally abhorred Monday. Tuesday was the lunch date people forgot about when they ran into an old friend and promised to get together to catch up. Although not midway in the week, Tuesday was the middle child of the week - the child whose parents always forgot to pack their lunch or picked them up late from school after Saturday and Friday were picked up. I should have been named Tuesday, my sister Saturday, and my brother Friday. Lunches forgotten were mine - when I opened my backpack there was none - there was nothing, nothing for me to eat. Too embarrassed to go ask for a peanut butter sandwich, I swallowed my disappointment and trudged on. One Tuesday was the Tuesday that changed my life.

I had some laboratory tests done on me some weeks prior. My doctor mentioned something along the lines of abnormal numbers in my blood work and wanted to consult a specialist for a thorough analysis of my results. I had hoped for diabetes or maybe liver disease. Those are both treatable right? The long nights in my twenties, I drowned my life in various amounts of alcohol which probably lead up to this moment. Vodka was for those nights where you wanted to shake the world away like an etch-a-sketch, quickly and violently to forget what had happened; quickly and violently I would drink vodka mixed with cranberry. The splash of cranberry was only added to cover up the alcoholism because now it was considered a cocktail. The splash of cranberry made it socially acceptable to drink what was in my glass because drinking straight vodka was problematic and people thought you had an issue. Tequila was for fun. Tequila made the music reverberate in my soul - it was the conduit for pleasure to smother the hurt. I used to say that with every shot of tequila I took, another piece of clothing would come off. My inhibitions disappeared when having a Casamigos reposado. They were put to rest and the dance floor became my ballroom. Gin was when I felt fancy and wanted to sip. The astringent taste of gin paired well with tonic water and a healthy squeeze of lime. Gin was the fuel that propelled me into being a midnight mademoiselle - I felt sophisticated and untouchable. Infallible, gin did make me. Beer for when I wanted to hide my queerness and blend into the crowd of heterosexuals. Nobody asked a guy drinking a beer if he was a top or a bottom - that was reserved for the man who held the vodka soda with a lemon twist. 

I had never liked my picture taken. I never liked the idea of having my image captured forever in a photograph. Immortalized for all to judge even after I am gone let alone while I was alive. Over the next few weeks more images were taken of the inside of my body than I had ever allowed of my outside. I was okay with this. What I was not okay with was when the doctors told me I had leukemia. I couldn’t hear anything after that. My mind went blank. My eyes were open, but all I could see was black in my peripheral vision and a faint light off in the distance. I imagined this is how a fetus felt inside the womb. Self aware of itself, but still encased in a shroud of blackness. Maybe this is how a person feels after they die when their soul leaves their body into the unknown. I don’t remember being a fetus, but eventually my death theory would be put to the test. 

Nothing changed the fact the medical team also discovered the cancer had already begun to fester in my brain tissue. I asked the doctor why I hadn’t felt any headaches in the near past if this thing, this uncontrolled uninvited guest was growing inside of my head. The doctor explained that the brain can’t feel pain itself. Unless it acted upon tissue that had pain receptors I would have felt something. I felt nothing at that moment. I felt nothing in my head and nothing in my heart.

I left the doctor’s office. It was still Tuesday. The light from the sun cut through the sky at an obtuse angle and glazed all it touched in a glow of amber. I began to walk toward an area of town where small shops lined the street like children waiting to receive candy on Halloween. I felt the coldness of the sidewalk through my shoes. It traveled up my legs and into my hips where it hindered my usual speed of walking. After the visit to the doctor I could feel my senses heightened. I thought this was my body telling me to finally be alive because soon I would be dead. The air was crisp and the odor of autumnal detritus circled around me. It wanted to dance with me, but I didn’t feel like dancing. Not today. Not this Tuesday. 

I walked into a bakery I frequented. The menu looked especially good today. I had always wanted to try everything on the menu. I doubt I have that opportunity anymore. They knew me there and pretty soon they would say they knew me there. I decided to go with a seasonal cheesecake complete with cinnamon, caramelized honey, and a golden graham cracker crust. I figured why not. After the news I received today I felt like I earned this treat. 

The wall in my apartment was white. I was staring at it like a blank piece of paper that needed an essay on it by midnight and it was already a quarter to ten. My apartment was emptied completely a few days prior. I gave all my possessions to charity because there was no time to do a garage sale and even if I had done a garage sale, who would ultimately get the money? I went to the wall and began to trace words onto it with the tips of my fingers. I wrote about my life, my wants, and what I would have achieved if I was not in this situation. My story went on the wall with invisible ink. The next tenants who moved in would be unaware that a dead person’s biography would be behind them while they watched their favorite shows every night. I wonder if they would notice it? If they held a candle up to the wall would my words appear before them? Even if they did, would they even take the time to read it? 

The last few hours I had on this earth I spent trying to leave my legacy. I looked at my phone and I had received no text messages from my siblings. I had talked to them earlier in the month, but they seemed preoccupied with their lives to attempt to care about my situation. We had fallen out of touch over the past decade, but I tried to see if anything would come out of a potential rekindling of our relationships. I should have saved my battery life and scrolled through TikTok. 

I finished my magnum opus a little bit before dawn. That’s the only thing left in the apartment - the only thing that was left of me. I had never been a morning person before. I was the type of person who would watch night slowly turn into twilight or twilight turn into night. My body and my mind were crepuscular in nature, not diurnal like most humans. I felt the most alive the hour before and after sunset and sunrise. I especially loved the twilight associated with the sunset. The sky would bathe me in a glow of marigold. It reached my bones and warmed me from the inside out. My bone marrow did a happy dance when the setting sun’s rays hit my skin and penetrated deep down where I needed healing. Maybe it was the cancer that I felt when the sun would go that deep, I don’t know. Probably not because this made me happy and I don’t think something as sinister as a bunch of cancer cells have the ability to produce a positive response. I closed my eyes and smiled and enjoyed this gift the universe gave daily. When the sun lowered over the horizon I could feel my body come alive. Golden hour had recharged me and I was ready to seize the night. This twilight - the twilight that belonged to sunset - was my dawn. 

Dawn didn’t do the same thing for me as sunset did. It was my signal that I had little time left and needed to go to sleep. The hour before dawn is unusually quiet. It felt like time stood still and any sound that you made was amplified ten fold. Nothing would move, nothing would breathe, nothing was awake. My soul, however, was awake and fed off the silence. The coldest temperature of the day happens right before dawn, right before the sun has the opportunity to warm the air and the earth. The cold would hit me deep within my body, to my bones like the warm glow of the setting sun, but in a different way. The coldness sent electricity up my spine and I shivered. It felt like I was injected with a dose of caffeine and the jolt shot up my back and into my brain. I got most of my great ideas during this time. I felt the most creative at this hour. The fog that had enshrouded my brain during the day was lifted and I was lucid. 

The sky began to turn a deep blue. If a painter was trying to make navy blue on their palette but added too much black while they mixed the paints, this was the color of the sky. I loved when this happened. I was out on my balcony watching the same show unfold in front of me like I had so many times before. This was the best sunrise unfolding I had ever seen. It was opening up slowly; unfurling its petals one ray of sunshine at a time. I sipped my tea which I knew would be my last cup of tea. I savored it just like I savored this moment. The morning chill counteracted the warmth the tea provided. The first few rays of sunlight peeked over the mountain top and that was my signal that I needed to begin my last journey. 

I lived in a state where I elected to end my life early. If I lived in a more conservative state, I would have had to live out the last year of my life writhing in pain and agony. There was nothing that could be done for me. The process was fairly quick since my medical team were all in agreement that no treatment could be done and I would eventually end up in hospice care. Hospice care in my thirties? I didn’t want to go out like that. I wanted to begin my new chapter when I looked decent. I decided that on my last day I would wake up at dawn to greet the sunrise one final time.

I looked around my apartment. Nothing was left behind and everything was clean. To keep my mind off of what was going on the last few days I went on a cleaning spree. I hope the people who come in next appreciate the condition I left it in. I wore my favorite outfit with my favorite hoodie. I shaved down my facial hair with a freshly charged electric razor. I even got a haircut the week before. I read somewhere once that a week’s old haircut looks best for photos. I followed this advice and decided that I was going to look beautiful in my final moments. I did my hair with my favorite pommade and lacquered my hair down with a super hold hairspray. I wasn’t going to let my hair get the best of me even in death. I sprayed my favorite cologne on my wrists, on my chest, and behind my ears - in all the places I hoped someone would kiss me or they would catch a breath of it when they were whispering in my ear that they loved me. Too bad that never happened. I debated whether or not to apply the cologne because I know people in hospitals are agitated by fragrances. I decided that I was the one dying so I had the ace of trump in my hand and I was going to play it on the last hand. If someone looked at me they probably thought I was going to a nightclub to try to pick up on people or dance the night away. I looked good, I looked so damn good. 

I called my ride and took one last look at my apartment. So many good times and so many bad times were had here. I became myself here. Thank you, my dwelling. I headed downstairs and by that time the sun was already up over the peak of the mountain bathing the valley in a yellow glow. I breathed in to try to capture the moment. My car pulled up and I got in.

“Good morning! Where are you going on this fine Tuesday?” my rideshare driver asked. I took a deep breath, looked out the window, and responded.

To die.