A DEAD MAN’S DANDELION

I am going to die tomorrow, so what do I do today? It’s an important question, because what if I just do nothing? Nothing too important—nothing too time consuming—nothing too enlightening, I hate nothing and I hate knowing nothing. I am going to die tomorrow, so today I will live. What does it mean to live exactly? To be alive? Is all you need breath in your lungs and wonder in your eyes? I think so.

This field is nice. Or I think it’s a meadow. Maybe I’ll just lie here and watch the clouds drift by—watch the dandelions change. From their vibrant sunflower-yellow, to their white capped corpses as they close up. A wish. Maybe I’ll make a wish today.

A ladybug lands on my nose. I laugh and stare at it cross-eyed. I go to pet the ladybug but it twitches. It flies off. Away and away…further and further. But before it gets too far, my hand whips through the air and I catch it. I can feel its panicked fluttering as it tries to escape the darkness I put it in. Slowly…very slowly…and with control, I make a tight fist and feel its fluttering falter…and then stop, I sigh with relief and lie down, the grass is soft.

Is this how my God will hold me...when I die tomorrow?

This is how I held her…I remember… with control and strength, with blood as red—as sticky as strawberry syrup, on my clothes, on my hands, on my future—up until tomorrow…Stained forever, passed onto my kin, my clothes can’t keep a candle lit, unlike my sins…I don’t want that.

My breathing grows shallow, my mind is rattled. With urgency and realization I jolt away from my relaxedness. I go to grab the dandelion to make my wish, but the wind whistles a wicked melody and whips the wisps away. I am mad, I reach for another, put it in my mouth, and like the taste, there is no point. I laugh and I yell…I run and I skip and I kick. The round balls of silver-tufted fruits of the flower fall like snow around me—In my hair and my eyes. I laugh, I yell, I cry.

There. Is. No. Point.

I finally find one—pristine and whole and perfect—I don’t touch it, I can't. The sun descends behind the dandelion—its shadow is cast on my face, its existence mocking and teasing, I stare at it unblinking, willing my breath into existence but my lungs are empty. I can’t move to grab it, why can’t I move?

Darkness stretches across the sky, its hands grow and reach like the ocean peeling toward a beach, until they catch me and drag me under the sea. I see fingers as large as mountains and nails, sharp and grimy, a giant hand wraps around me. The Giant lifts me slowly…very slowly, his teeth glint, his smile unforgiving, his skin as red, as rough as dried blood on old carpet.

I feel my chest rise and fall—up and down and up and down, the air gets thinner, the judgment simmers, boils over and chokes me with thick mucus in my throat. And above me are the stars—I make a wish. And below me are the dandelions—I make the same wish, but where am I? Why can’t I move? My eyes open, when did they close?

The machine beeps slower and slower—I’m in a room, realization hits me, the meadow melts away, it was never real, I was never there—and slower and slower.

I hear my daughter’s sigh of relief, her heels on the tiled floor are so alien after waking from that fever dream. I think she leaves. What have I done? I squint and see her light brown hair swaying as she walks, just like her father. Further and further….away and away. Come back, I can’t speak. All that comes out is a miserable squeak. I just want to see her smile at me one last time; I'm going to die today.

My hand reaches out—my last effort to make amends—but metal bites around my wrist, forcing me to remain on the white bed, no.

Forcing me to live, to live my life knowing, I try to break the chain, she needs to know, she needs to see how sorry I am—it's futile, I know what’s coming. My eyes close without my command, a smug voice whispers in my ear, Yes, it's hot and clammy, I break out into a sweat.

With no eyes to see, no lungs to breathe, no heart to wish and no hands to reach, I can’t even think—much less take a breath to make a wish and hope that the wind will set it free. I get no last words, I hear the long beep before everything stops.

Tomorrow has come. The Devil has me.

I plead…Let me say goodbye!

He doesn’t listen, His hold doesn’t loosen,

I’ll be here forever, darkness closes in

I weep…let me say goodbye…

and on my grave will grow weeds of regret.

Dead

men’s

dandelions—

the wind

will spread.