The Best Life The Best Life By Gregory Allen There was a blinding flash, a spasm of unbelievable pain and then, only empty darkness. There was no light, no sound, nothing to give him more grief. There were just thoughts, simultaneously smaller than the minutest particle and as big as the entire universe. Nate was sure he was dead. Death was not what he expected. There was no life-review, no flashes of long-forgotten life experiences, no beckoning white light waiting to enfold him in its comforting embrace. He could recall nothing from his life, not where he lived and worked, not whom he loved or lusted after, nor even how he came to this place. There was only the unrelieved darkness of a featureless void where he drifted bodiless and free of care. After some immeasurable time, Nate noticed an imperfection in his void. Below him (if there were such a direction), he could see light. Even across this seeming distance, he could feel anxious thoughts and urgent activity, an affront to the peace of the eternal void. Nate felt no interest in the light or the life that might be occurring there, it was no longer his concern. Rather, he was annoyed that anything would interrupt his peaceful non-existence. His annoyance was a thought and therefore gained reality in the void. Whatever attractive force existed in this world was activated and Nate was drawn unwillingly and irresistibly toward the imperfection. Nearing his destination, Nate saw the light condense into a spider web of interconnected tubes pulsating with undefined life-energy. The activity seemed to flow along the tubes to a round, bubble-like point and then, flow out the other side in multiple directions, each new tube flowing toward still more bubble points with even more branches of activity. The complex, interrelated network stretched eternally to all horizons. Nate descended toward and into the network; the light strands growing larger as he neared. As he drifted past, he could see colors and indistinct activity. His forward motion slowed as he neared one particular strand. Nate hovered outside observing the scene inside. The images were blurred colors of indeterminate motion, like he was watching a movie through the waters of a shallow, dirty lake. Nate reached out the mental concept of his hand, and touched the living strand of light. His touch on the warm tube clarified the images inside. The scene revealed to him was that of a generic, unremarkable office site, complete with cubicles assembled out of prefabricated, white plastic walls. This cheese-less, human maze, was inhabited by a variety of races and sexes, unhurriedly going about their daily routines, differently but uniformly dressed in what passed for business-casual attire. The scene extended outwards into space, the width and length in dimensional contrast to the relatively narrow tube that seemed to contain it. He could not discern any voices or sound, but from his position outside the scene he felt the omniscience of perspective and could see the real truth behind the feelings and attitudes of the actors in this private, little reality show. To Nate�s right, two women carried on a conversation, most likely about non-sensible topics such as shoes, soap operas or the inadequacies of their current sex partner. The thinner, brunette would likely have more options in the relationship area, being able to choose among most the single, and even among some of the married men (and women), while the shorter, thicker woman would by necessity be limited in her choices to the leftmost portion of evolution�s Bell-curve, her life forever complicated by undesirable drug-users and other social deviants. The attractive, well-dressed brunette seemed oblivious to the hostile attitude of her female co-worker as they engaged in conversation, just as she did not seem aware of being watched covertly by the nearby men. The attention she was ignorant of was well noted by her conversation partner, her pleasant smile masking seething jealousy and deeper, self-loathing. Nearby, another woman stared at the same typewritten page for minutes, her eyes not moving down the page, her focus only shifting to eye the wall clock that seemed to be moving as slowly as if she were trapped in an alternate dimension where time and space were conspiring to piss her off. Within the hour, she planned to be online, playing the role of her exaggerated self to an audience of other self-deceivers and companionship hopefuls, hopelessly dreaming they were someone else. Seated to the far left of Nate, with his back to him, was a man physically and socially isolated from his co-workers. This man had sweat wetting his shirt on the back and underarms, despite the near refrigerating temperatures generated by the building�s overworked air-conditioning system. The source of the man�s distress was partially the cramped quarters of the over utilized office feeding into his blossoming claustrophobia. However, the majority of the sweating man�s anxiety was an older man, dressed in a crisp suit and tie, leaning over him, speaking earnestly to the seated man in a quiet but urgent manner. Finishing his quiet tirade, the standing man straightened, needlessly adjusting his perfectly knotted tie, before walking briskly back to his corner office, taking no notice of any of the underlings except for a quick visual examination of the attractive brunette. The seated man visibly relaxed. Looking at the retreating man, his expression a mix of relief and masked anger. Nate was shocked, not by the interaction he had witnessed or by the understandably resentful expression on the man�s face. It was the shape of the nose, eyes and jaw that caused Nate consternation. The facial features were familiar to him. They were his own. It was not the same face that he remembered reflected back at him every morning from the bathroom mirror. The face was fuller, had more lines of care and worry around the eyes. The body was rounded and thicker, the lean, hungry muscles of his youth transformed into soft flesh by years of restaurant food and inactive evenings on the sofa. Nate lost his grip on the tube and tumbled forward as if blown by the breath of some wrathful deity, the life below him passing with dizzying speed. Eventually, he slowed again, coming to rest further along the tube. Nate grasped the tube and looked inside, clarification and understanding of the life below entering his mind. Once again, Nate was looking at himself. He was even older, balder, and fatter. Nate watched himself, still dressed in his expensively-tailored office attire, eating a well-prepared meal off of fine, hand-painted china. A handsome woman almost equal to his years sat at the opposite end of the table, with four chattering children of differing ages seated on the sides between them. The family had the lifestyle appearance of prosperity. The teenagers wore designer labels from the most pretentious department stores, ironically manufactured by similarly aged, less geographically fortunate, counterparts in third world countries. While these well dressed teens could look forward to college, drunken vacations and immediate middle-class induction, their counterparts could look forward to exploitation, early motherhood, and premature death. Nate�s older self was distracted, not participating in the family banter about such important issues as fashion trends or the latest cinematic releases. His older self appeared to be pre-occupied with his latest business transaction; work upon which forced him to work nights and weekends, taking him away from his wife and family. The truth of the matter was that his business had been finished long ago, and now the only deal he was closing was with the young payroll clerk in accounting. The older Nate suspected that his wife knew exactly what he was doing, but acquiesced, as she did for everything, out of her duty as wife and mother. As long as the older Nate helped her maintain their lifestyle and their perceived, wholesome, happy family, she would tolerate his activities rather than face the social embarrassment of his nefarious wanderings made public. She was, indeed, the perfect wife. His grip slipped and, again, Nate slid forward in time. Now, he found himself near the end of the this tube life path. His touch revealed himself, this time at a home for the aged and incontinent. Nate�s oldest self was seated in a wheel-chair, his feet propped up on the footrests, a worn blanket covering his legs. This self was much thinner, having lost the girth of well-fed prosperity to the consumption of illness, age and neglect. Old man Nate sat amongst the photographs of his departed, faithful wife and those of the children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren that their union had sired. The old man�s glazed eyes no longer saw the pictures; physical evidence a long and successful life; nor could his eyes see the flickering television screen he was thought to be watching. He did not make any note of the string of spittle that hung from his slack, toothless mouth, pooling on his age-spotted, old hand. The old man�s mind was mostly gone, this near the end. Most of his coherent thoughts were now memories of past loves and conquests, and of those opportunities that were missed. It would have surprised middle-aged Nate that his wife was often included in these fond remembrances. Very soon, the facility�s administrator would make that sad, but expected call. Nate�s relatives and few remaining friends would gather, dressed in their Sunday finest, to pay their last, obligatory respects. Many would secretly be relieved that they would no longer have to make any more uncomfortable visits to that smelly, depressing home where old people were sent to die. Again, Nate was out into the void, among the many twisting strands of time. He drifted, looking back along the strand of this life, seeing it as one long statement of existence, all things occurring in one breath of time. He could see all along the almost perfectly straight, long line from its end to the branching junction-point nearer the beginning of this life path. Satisfied that his destiny of long life and prosperity had been secured, Nate let himself float out into the darkness. Whether the things he had seen had come to pass, or would yet come to pass, he did not know or care. There were few concerns in the non-dimensional void. As he drifted slowly away, Nate noticed a smaller, much shorter strand of existence exiting the same bubble, obviously representing a much poorer life choice. Curious, he reached out with his mind and touched the much thinner strand. Revealed to him was a different scene, himself possessing an age roughly equivalent to that of the cubicle-dwelling Nate. There the similarity ended. On this path, his hair was longer and unkempt, his waist narrower, and his shoulders thicker. He was dressed in worn jeans and dirty sweatshirt, relaxing on the sofa, smoking a cigarette, a satisfied look of accomplishment on his face. On the scratched coffee table beside him, was a pad of paper, its top page filled with scribbled writing and many corrections in the margin. It looked like what it was: a poem. On this time line, it seemed he was a poet, a non-paying occupation for those not afflicted with ambition or the ability to form complete sentences. Nate was so disgusted by the uncharacteristic development in his other self that he almost didn�t see himself stir from his comfortable couch as someone else entered the room. He watched his other self�s face light up with an unrecognizable expression as the smiling young man moved to embrace and kiss a short woman with long, red hair. From his perspective, Nate could only see the back of her head, but the look on his other self�s face was description enough. The other self had the look of a man who had seen the world in black and white his whole life and had just discovered the wondrous world of color. As the young man drank in her face, Nate finally recognized the unfamiliar expression: it was joy. The woman reached out and placed a long-fingered hand on the young man�s chest. She then, gently but firmly, pushed the young man backwards. Never losing his smile, the other Nate stumbled back onto the sofa, falling heavily onto its worn cushions. The red-haired woman grasped the bottom of her shirt and pulled the garment slowly and smoothly over her head. She shook out her long hair, Nate catching a brief glimpse of her profile and unbound breasts bouncing briefly into view. As the scene faded from his sight, Nate easily recognized the hungry expression on his other self�s face. The scene faded and Nate slid down the short tube, stopping near the end. The scene quickly resolved before him. He looked down upon a hospital room. All was quiet except for the electronic rhythms of hospital monitoring machines. A lone figure occupied the room, laying upon the stainless, white sheets of the hospital bed. Only the head and shoulders were visible above the folded sheet. Much of the person was covered in white hospital gauge, making the bed�s occupant look more like an extra from a poorly funded horror movie than a human being. The little flesh exposed to the air on the face and shoulder was swollen and red, bearing little resemblance to its former shape. It took a few moments for Nate to realize that the horrible looking creature in the bed was him, the future and ultimate destination of this time line. He knew with precognitive certainty that this was only a few months later in time. He was also certain that whatever had caused him to come to this condition had also claimed the life of the red-haired woman. His other self was resting calmly now, unconscious. The massive drug doses were the only way the medical staff could prevent their patient from the disturbing screams of un-relievable pain of massive tissue damage and the deeper pain of irretrievable loss. Nate knew the prognosis was not good. Soon, the twin traumas of physical and spiritual suffering would cause massive system failures in the damaged body, and death would follow a few hours later. Death would be a mercy in this case, the alternative being suffering the anguish of existing as a hapless, melted-faced freak, counting the days until he was released from the earth for the gentler treatment of an eternity in hell. Depressed beyond all measure, Nate was grateful when the vision faded and he once again found himself drifting in the void. No longer did he feel free and carefree in the void, it was now polluted by the thoughts of what he had seen. Nate moved again. He rose above the network, watching its pulsating lines and junctions receding quickly in the distance. He was accelerating toward something, praying it was the peace of the white light that could annihilate the memory of his last vision. The sound of voices caused him to turn to see the destination he was being dragged toward. It was a hospital bed, himself in it. In horror, Nate struggled to slow or change his flight, but all efforts were futile. The void was filled with his mental screams as he crashed into his body and darkness took him once more. *************** The first thing Nate noticed when he awoke, was that the tube down his throat shifted uncomfortably with each breath. His awareness expanded. He felt himself lying on a soft surface and there was also a tube piercing his arm and another in the back of his hand. Something was clasped onto his right index finger. He lifted his hand in a weak attempt to shake the pinching object from his hand. Almost immediately, Nate felt both of his hands clasped by warm hands and a gentle stoke upon his brow. He heard a voice and words, but it took his sluggish mind some moments to assemble the information into recognizable form. The word was his name, someone was saying his name. �Nate, honey, please wake-up,� a sincere feminine voice implored him. Nate really felt much too tired to attempt anything so laborious as opening his eyes, but still felt compelled to obey. He opened his sticky eyelids. The fuzzy silhouette he saw soon focused into a face, one he recognized. The blue eyes looking back at him were so similar to his, but in all other physical traits he took after his departed father. �Welcome back honey,� his mother said to him, continuing to gently caress his brow. Nate looked at her, and then past her, pleased to see his older sisters each holding one of his hands and smiling down at their little brother. He saw that his arms were bare of any bandages, as must be his face as he continued to feel his mother�s cool hand against his warm forehead. Nate relaxed, relieved that he had not waken up in the body of the sideshow freak of questionable human origin. His mind begged a question that needed to be asked. Even though his throat ached and his mouth tasted like he had spent two days licking the restroom floor of the world�s seediest tavern, Nate was able to spit out a word. �How?�, is as far as he got before his mother put her fingers to his cracked lips, stopping the question she knew he would ask. �You were in a car accident, dear,� she explained. �Two days ago. You are in the hospital and are going to be fine�. Nate looked from one sister to another, seeing the confirmation in their eyes. He looked down the length of his body, seeing that all the basic parts of his anatomy, thankfully, seemed to be intact. He could move his legs and wiggle his toes, finding the effort difficult, but pleased that he could make the movements. He could feel plastic tubing moving across his thigh that could only be coming from his penis. The other end of the tube disappeared off the edge of the bed, probably leading to a plastic bag hanging on the side of the bed, collecting his excretions for all to see. He prayed that his favorite body part had not been damaged too much, thus depriving himself of his favorite hobby. He was too embarrassed to ask his mother about the catheter especially in the presence of his sisters. That inquiry into the health of his male appendage would be the first thing he asked of when a doctor arrived. The room door opened. Standing in the doorway was another woman he recognized. She looked differently than she had appeared to him so recently. She was the younger version of the handsome woman he had seen in his unconscious vision. She was the woman with whom he had seen sharing a table, a home, and a life with. Her appearance stirred memories from before the accident, memories of dinners and movies, memories of parlor games played with other couples, memories of passionate entanglements and her soft and warm places. They had been together for over two years, seriously dating for one. Her name came to him and he spoke it in one raspy breath. �Ellen!� That was her name. Nate�s mother smiled knowingly as she rose and collected her daughters, hustling them out of the room. Ellen gave little notice to those leaving, she continued to stare at Nate as if she were seeing a ghost come to life. The door closed quietly behind Nate�s family before Ellen finally moved from her stance by the door. She rushed to the bed and threw her arms around Nate, nearly choking him as she sobbed mostly incoherent words into his shoulder about being frightened of losing him. Nate comforted her and she calmed after a while. She curled up next to him on the bed and soon fell asleep, comfortable at his side, the place where she seemed to belong. *************** Through the next months of physical therapy, Ellen was constantly at his side, supporting him when he needed it, encouraging him when he did not. Most of his memories returned, although some gaps remained that he had been told may never come back. He retained no memory of the accident. More quickly than anybody expected, he recovered. Within two months, Nate could walk, dress himself, and go to the bathroom as well as any five-year-old. His favorite body part worked just fine, thank you, once they thoughtfully removed the plastic tubing. That same day, Ellen had helped him take it out for a test drive. A week later, he was declared fit, and the hospital released him. His release date oddly coincided with the last day that he would be covered by insurance. Nate got the customary wheelchair ride to the front door, accompanied by Ellen and his family and a half dozen �get well� balloons. They returned him to his apartment, but not to his life. Things were different to him now. As with many who have close brushes with mortality, Nate no longer valued the same things in the same way. The shiny, expensive possessions that he had worked for so hard and prized so highly, had lost their grip on his imagination. Now, he found the less materialistic aspects of life more interesting and important. With his new philosophy, Nate gave up his sales career and took up more reliable employment with a large payroll company. After two weeks of training and the required seminars on sexual harassment and intolerance for intolerance, Nate was installed into his white-walled cubicle, complete with computer and coffee-stained desk. It was not lost on Nate the similarity of his situation to the, now, almost forgotten vision of his comatose mind. He had long relegated the vision to the status of a drug-induced dream, whose reliability was as probable as any other outcome in the likely outcomes of life. The short life-path had been a warning from his own mind not to stray from the right path. No significance other than that should be ascribed to such coincidences. Ellen fit well into the direction he had now taken. The old Nate would have soon tired of her warm places and gone out in search of new, untried places. Now, she had become an indispensable part of his life and new identity. She was a �June Cleaver� of women, a vision of perfected womanhood from half a century ago. Like the woman in the canonized, classic television show, Ellen was supportive of his career, patient and forgiving of his faults, and appreciative of her household duties, both in and out of the bedroom. Nate really couldn�t imagine cheating on her as did his middle-aged counterpart of his vision; at least, not too often. She really would be the perfect wife. The first Saturday in June, they went shopping. Ellen�s main intention was the replacement of the stained and torn shower curtain that currently adorned his bathroom curtain rod. Nate had owned the plastic sheet since college, and found nothing wrong with it, but Ellen found the naked lady silhouettes to be offensive when using the stall after their occasional love-making. She would not consider the rational notion of moving herself, and her more acceptable furnishings, in with him until they were properly licensed as a couple by the state and approved of by the church. They parted ways in the mega-department store, her to acquire the accessories that would promote his bathroom to a status somewhere above outhouse. Nate was to entertain himself in the tool department, fondling high-powered, labor-saving devices that might someday populate his garage, silently gathering dust next to his exercise equipment and the other things that he couldn�t find the time or energy for. He turned the corner into the tool department and everything changed. There, standing by the plumbing supplies, was a woman. It wasn�t the fact that a female was inhabiting a department usually exclusively populated by males that gave him pause. What stopped him was the odd fact that she looked so familiar, even though he was sure he had never before laid eyes on such a wondrous creature. Nate stood there, looking as thunder-struck as a pedophile at his first boy-scout jamboree. His mind slid rapidly back through time until it came to rest at the, now remembered, occasion of striking familiarity. The body and profile were identical. Her long, red hair was currently shorter and black, but there was no doubt about it, he was looking at the red-haired woman of his short-life, alternative destiny. Nate continued to stare, remembering the expression on his other self�s face, now believing that the expression of appreciation had been understated to what he was seeing now. The woman was far from perfect, but her flaws, rather than subtracting from her appearance, added individuality and personality in a combination that made his chest ache. The magical moment extended as he studied every line and curve of her face and watched the movement of her dark eyes. Her eyes stopped reading, tilting slightly in his direction, as if sensing someone watching. Nate knew he should leave, and leave now before she turned her head and saw him. He was obligated to Ellen and their children unborn, and the lives they all should have. He should also leave for the sake of this unknown woman, for surely she must have a longer life-path, one unshadowed by miserable pain and early death. Nate could feel his longer destiny moving away from him. He must leave now while he could still catch it. Nate�s legs and heart refused to respond to reason as he helplessly watched her head turn. Her expression of mild irritation turned to surprised recognition. Their eyes locked for a long minute, Nate a willing prisoner in the pools of their dark depth. His life was about to be turned upside down again. He could now only be sure of two things: One, the short destiny was a true vision and would come to pass. Two, any price that had to be paid, any suffering that had to be endured, would be well worth it.
Copyright © 2006 Gregory Allen |