A Time to Live

“I’m going to be late again” He said for the hundredth time, knowing all too well the resistance he would be met with. Kate would always urge him home, after all Sarah had school in the morning and will be in bed soon. Neither of them see very much of him lately.

“ok, I’ll save you some dinner in the fridge” she replied with a hushed tone of defeat. She had given up, she had finally come to accept that his job would always come first. She was through fighting it. She understood that in his own way, his work was his way of being there for them. He always thought that if he worked hard enough now he could give them the life he never had. He would sometimes stay up late telling Kate about his ideas for these family vacations and how much he wants to someday take the whole summer to go traveling and spend with she and Sara. Kate knew what that hope meant to him, she just wished that he would be here now instead of someday.

John was a bit taken back by the ease of the exchange, but after a brief goodbye he went back to work. As he pounded away at the keyboard a picture that rested at the corner of his desk, mostly hidden behind a mound of paper grabbed his eye. It was of himself with Kate and Sarah last summer. It was probably the happiest John could remember being.

He decided to cut short his usual late night and have dinner with his family for a change. He shut down his computer and turned the lights off and shut the door, he was always the last to leave the office. John walked through the dimly lit parking lot toward his old white sedan. He’d had that car for ages in spite of being more than capable of affording a newer model. There was just something about his old car that gave him a sense of comfort. It was the car he drove from the church when he married Kate, it was the car he drove Kate and Sara home from the hospital in, but most of all, for him it was a constant In a world of chaos.

As John drove home he wondered what Kate would think. How surprised she would be to see him so early. He loved to see her smile; it was one of the small things in life that made him genuinely happy. He couldn’t remember the last time he sat down for a family meal and his own excitement started to bubble up.

He pulled in the garage and as he stepped out of the car he was struck by the sound of shattering glass and muffled screaming from inside the house. A deep dread filled his body and his heart was beating out of his chest as he burst through the door. A serving tray lie shattered on the floor among tiny droplets of blood. John manic gaze searched as thoughts raced though his head.

“Please!” he could make out between weeping sobs coming from upstairs. John rushed to the top of the stairs, his thoughts all but gone, acting purely in a mix of fear and defensive fury. He reached the top of the steps in what seemed like an instant and turning to he and Kates bedroom. There Kate lie, unconscious with a large gash on her forehead. A large man dressed in black standing over her as he was reaching down to tie her hands. John ran at the man with a rage he had never known and threw his body at the man with every ounce of his strength hitting the stranger in the chest with his shoulder.

They both hit the wall with a sound like thunder, crushing the drywall under the force and falling to the ground. John suddenly came to himself and felt as though he couldn’t move. His entire body ached, and he could hardly move his arm. Nevertheless, he mustered up all of his strength, he had to make sure Kate was alright.

“Dad?!” a hopeful voice rang out from across the room. It was Sara, she was peaking out of the closet, her face pale white with tears streaming down her face.

Before John could take a step he felt a blow to the back of his head that shook him to the core. He turned feebly trying to lift his arms to defend only to be met with a barrage of strikes. Each blow felt like sledge hammers raining down. He stumbled backwards as he swung wildly, hoping to land a blow. The world was spinning as his vision became crimson. One last violent strike to Johns forehead sent him tumbling down the stairs. Everything began to dim as John lie at the foot of the steps.

Faint beeping and the rustle of fabric and footsteps began to grow louder as John awoke. He struggled to open his eyes. They felt tight and John could tell they were swollen. He looked around disoriented and his gaze was met by a nurse.

“where am I?” He forced out in a dry, broken tone.

“you’re at Hopkin’s Regional. You’ve been .. “ She began, but John broke in with a panic

“Kate! Sara! Where are they?!” He sprung up, remembering the attack. Searing pain coursed through his body, half covered in bandages. He regained his focus just in time to see the nurse sink, her face so full of grief, though she tried to hide it. John knew at that moment that they were gone. Emptiness enveloped his soul as his head fell back to the pillow. He lacked even the strength to shed a tear.

In the following days John wouldn’t eat. He couldn’t eat, he saw no point in feeding himself and most of all he couldn’t find the strength. Though his body was healing his soul was broken. It hurt simply to exist, and John wanted desperately to run away, to hide somewhere. But hide from what? Reality? Truth? There was no escaping. The doctors and nurses would try to encourage him to eat and urged him to seek counseling, but John could barely withstand the sound of another voice. His brokenness was deep and burned with a flame that demanded stillness, he felt that any move, any slight jostle would enrage the flame and consume his being. Still he knew he had to carry on, they would want him to carry on.

After several days John was finally able to begin to eat again, little as it was. He quickly learned that the path of least resistance was to pretend he was ok, that he was healing. If he seemed alright to everyone else he could hide within himself, the world would stop trying to fix him with senseless advice and hollow empathy. He could fake it until he was alone and then, then he could finally rest. So that’s exactly what he did.

Soon John was able to return home. A few friends and his parents offered to let him stay with them for a while or come stay with him, but the thought of countless hours around others was far too much to handle so he politely declined and assured them he would be fine. He did however accept their kind offer of cleaning up the home before his arrival. As John drove home he passed by the school where Sara goes… went rather… his heart sank and a sick feeling of anxiety and dread filled him. He tried to shake it off “just hold on til you get home” he told himself. As he continued to drive he could feel his will draining.

Finally, the driveway was in the distance. He pulled in with a heart full of mixed feelings. Part of him thought Kate would be just on the other side of the door, in one of her comfy sundresses, working on some little project. She was always tinkering with something. John loved to see the way her face would light up when she got a new idea for a craft or she finally finished a DIY project. But as he opened the door he was greeted by silence. He collapsed to the floor and wept, tears poured out like a flood as he wailed and pounded the floor, with this came the first bittersweet relief John had experienced since the attack. As the tears slowed he raised himself to lean against the cabinets, he numbly stared across the room into space several minutes until deciding to go upstairs. As he reached the top of the stairs the sound of Kate pleading rang in his head. He turned the corner into the bedroom and stared at the spot Kate had laid. “Dad?!” he heard Sara’s call from that night. That hopeful call, she trusted him to save them. “I couldn’t protect you” John let out as tears streamed down his cheeks. He fell to his knees and cried himself to sleep where his world ended.

John awoke in terror as screams came from the other room. He quickly jumped from the floor, something was off. He was back in the kitchen, but it didn’t look quite right. “Help! Please!” came from the other room, it was a woman’s voice. John ran toward the noise to see two men standing over a young woman who seemed to be in her early twenties. The men were beating her, but why? What could she have possibly done to them? John unthinkingly ran to them yelling for them to stop. They turned to him visibly startled to find someone else in the house, but quickly regained their composure and began toward John. He readied himself for a fight, and as the first got close enough he swung with all his might and, making contact with the man’s jaw, and sent him stumbling backwards. The second tackled John and as they struggled on the ground John managed to make his way on top and began firing a flurry of punches, most were absorbed by the thugs arms covering his head, but John persisted to rain down blows. Suddenly he felt a cold, heavy, stinging pain between his shoulder blades. He toppled over and struggled to pick himself back up, but one of the men quickly leaped on him and dug a large knife into Johns chest.

John awoke in a cold sweat. He was in his bedroom, just where he had fallen asleep earlier. His chest and back seared with pain and his whole body ached as if he had the flu. He picked himself up and pondered on the crazy dream he just had as he crawled into bed. After sleeping for what felt like days John awoke feeling refreshed in body, though still broken inside. He looked around the room feeling the emptiness inside those walls as he pulled himself out of bed for a shower. He didn’t feel like showering, but it was a part of his routine, he found solace in routine. It was always his way of escaping from the world, inside of his ritualistic habits everything is the same, no tragedies, no arguments or hurt feelings, no bad news or depression, just the same comfortable things. John turned on the shower and began to undress. As he passed the bathroom mirror he noticed a scar on his chest where he had dreamed of being stabbed. John examined the scar in disbelief for a moment before brushing it off as coincidence. This must have been from the attack, he had sustained so many injuries surely this must have been one of them. After showering he did feel somewhat better, or at least numb, either way he could function well enough to put on a façade of wellness, as he was expecting a visit form his parents. His mother was determined to make sure he ate so she would be making dinner that night. He just hoped she wouldn’t mention Kate, try to bring up fond memories to help him heal. His mother was always worried about everyone else’s wellbeing, especially her kids. A part of him didn’t want to heal, that would mean letting go, accepting the way things were. In a way his pain helped him to hold onto the tiniest little piece of his family. His father was a strong man, in both body and will. He wasn’t much for talking about feelings, not because he didn’t care, but one of the few things he feared was not knowing what to say in times like these. So John knew he was safe there, the only comfort he found was in those not trying to comfort him.

As Martha and Henry arrived a little bit of Johns agony faded for a moment. It felt like he was a kid again and his mom and dad were there to pick him up in their arms, chase the monsters from under his bed, make his scraped elbow all better, and protect him from all that is bad in the world. The nostalgia of childhood and the pain of reality fought hard all night, with the latter winning. Still, it was nice having them around. Martha cooked John his favorite meal that night — broiled shrimp, corn on the cob and potatoes. For a moment he was home again, safe, the world wasn’t his responsibility. Still he ached in the midst of his comfort. As they left all the pain and more came flooding back. He watched them pull out of the driveway and with every inch that car traveled John felt the comfort of the past grow more distant with them. As they faded from sight he slumped down against the front door and wept from the very deepest part of his soul. He felt so alone. Ultimately alone. Everything ends and he would always be alone…

As John returned to work he was greeted with warm hello’s, condolences and a few sympathetic glances throughout the day. He tried to be warm in return, but it was obvious he would rather be left to his work. As the day worn on John began to feel more like himself, he could believe everything was normal for a time, and when he returned home Kate and Sara would be right there waiting. He typed away at his computer for hours, even working through lunch until the usual mass exodus from the office and the flurry of “see ya tomorrow”s. John absent mindedly picked up his phone to call Kate to let her know he would be late as usual. The phone rang twice and then Kates voice started “Hi, this is Kate. Sorry I missed your call..” John dropped the phone as the horrors of his memories flooded back into his head. Hands shaking John stood up and stumbled toward the elevator, his trembling fingers searched for the top floor. As the elevator lifted he held his head in his hands and moaned with agony. As he reached the top floor he walked to the stairs up to the roof, that was the first time he had been up there. Everything looked so different from atop the offices. He stood at the edge and imagined throwing himself over. The relief he felt as he pictured hurdling toward the ground was overwhelming. Still he had to carry on, he wouldn’t tarnish his family’s memory by ending it like this, not yet at least. He climbed down from the edge and lied down on the roof. Somehow being in an odd place removed him slightly from his darkness. John lied on the roof until morning, unable to sleep but unable to pick himself back up.