A Better Place
I hate this place. I hate it more than anywhere I've ever been in my entire life. I hate the hot, stale air, the constant, steady hums and clicks of the machines, the vile smell. There is nothing for me to do but sit and wait for death to come.
I can tell by the look on the doctor's face as he stares down at his charts, he's thinking hard, struggling to find some shred of good news or an easy way to put the bad. He's trying to find the words to make things better. But he can't.
The doctor begins
to speak, but his fancy words and phrases fall on deaf ears. I am
lost in my thoughts. I can pick out the words
"deteriorated" and "terminal", and have heard
all I need. As he continues, my thoughts drift further away, to
the past, back to my childhood, before the cancer began slowly
murdering my father. Back to a better place.
"Happy birthday, dear!"
I can still remember my fifth birthday like it was yesterday. I'll never forget the giant white box with the shiny bright red bow, standing nearly as tall as I was, and peering over the side to see the little figure asleep in the corner of the box.
_______________________________________________________
"Oh, wow! A puppy!"
My father reached in, pulled out the small pup, and placed it on the floor next to the box. Still half asleep, it wandered over to me, with it's little tail wagging, and curled up in my lap.
"What's its name?" I whispered.
"Well, 'it' is a she," answered my father. "And she doesn't have a name yet."
"Yes, Kevin, she's yours," my mother said. "You get to name her."
As I gently petted the puppy's head, I searched for a fitting name. Something that would let everyone know how special my new friend was.
"Princess. I'm gonna name her Princess."
As I said the name, the dog's ears perked up, and I saw it's big brown eyes looking up into mine.
"Why, I think that's a wonderful name. Don't you agree, Richard?"
"Huh? Oh yeah, it's a great name."
I can honestly say that was my only experience with love at first sight. From the moment she wondered over and curled up on top of me, Princess and I became inseparable. I couldn't wait for my mother to finish teaching my home-school lesson every day so I could take her outside to the great, wide-open field in back of our house and run around with her and teach her tricks. My parents gave me all the love and attention I needed, but my life as an only child on a farm was a lonely one, made worse by the complete lack of children within a five-mile radius of our house. But I had found a best friend in my new puppy.
In a weird way, Princess was everything I could've asked for. I loved waking up to her scratchy tongue lapping at my face in morning, and I've never slept better than when she was curled up at the foot of my bed. She was like a best friend and a sister who could never stay mad at you if you scratched her behind her ears. Princess and I grew up together, and throughout the years we forged a special bond that was unlike any other I've ever known.
But, things started to change just before my tenth birthday. Princess started acting strange. She never wanted to play with me anymore. She never really wanted to do anything anymore. If she wasn't sleeping, she was lying at the foot of my bed; the eyes that once sparkled so bright had burnt out and became obscured by her heavy eyelids. She would wake me up in the middle of the night crying for no apparent reason. I didn't know what was happening, but I knew that something was wrong.
I told my parents at dinner that Princess was acting weird, that she was always tired and all she ever did was sleep, and could tell from the look on their faces that something bad was happening. My parents had seen it too, and they knew that Princess was sick. So, with heavy hearts, my parents tried to explain dying and heaven to their nine year-old son. All I understood was that that was my last night with my best friend.
After dinner, I went my room, and sat down on my bed. Princess slowly got up and walked over to me. It was almost as if she knew we were saying good-bye.
"Oh, Princess," I said as I ran my hand down it's soft back, "this is the last time we're going to get to see each other. My dad says you're sick, and that..."
I couldn't bring myself to finish. I pulled Princess close to me, and hugged her as tight as I could as the tears streamed down my face.
"I'm going to miss you so much. You were the best friend anyone could have. I love you, Princess."
Princess looked up at me, as if she understood every word that had come out of my mouth. We sat down on the floor together, and for over an hour, I gently stroked her head, and thought back to the giant white box with the bright red ribbon, and how it had been the best surprise I'd ever had.
"Kevin."
My father's voice was softer than I'd ever heard it. "I've
got to take Princess outside now. We're going to let her free, so
she can find her way to doggie heaven."
I held her tight, and told her how much I loved her, and how she
was going to a place where she'd be happy again.
I looked up as I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"I know this is hard, son. But trust me, this is the best thing. Princess will be happy again in doggie heaven. Everything will be ok."
He bent down and gave me a great big hug. I felt better in his arms, and realized that everything would be okay.
My father walked into the kitchen, and Princess and I trailed slowly behind him. My mother was busy decorating a cake with white frosting and red sprinkles.
"Look, Kevin, I've made your favorite. Come and sit down and have a piece, dear."
"Ok, mom," I said quietly. "Princess, this is the best thing for you. I know you'll miss me, and I'll miss you, but you have to go now. Goodbye, girl."
I tried to act grown-up and hold back my tears, but I couldn't. I couldn't bare the thought of waking up without Princess there to greet me, or going through the day without Princess by my side.
"Well, I'm going to take Princess outside now. Why don't you have a piece of cake with your mother? Jean, just make sure he looks out that back window."
I gave Princess one last pet, right behind the ears, just like she liked it, and went to the back window with my mother. We could see the two figures silhouetted against the orange sky as the sun disappeared into the far off horizon. We watched silently as my father led Princess out to the field, tied his leash to the door of the tool shed, and disappeared inside, reappearing moments later with his gun.
The first shot felt like it hit me in the stomach. I gasped for breath as I watched my dog writhing around on the ground, in a cloud of dirt, becoming a struggling mass of blood and fur as her entrails leaked out the gaping hole in her stomach. Her salvation came in the form of a second shot.
"Richard! What are you doing?!?"
I couldn't speak. I couldn't move. I just stood there watching in horror until my mother covered my eyes with her hands and turned me away.
"What kind of sick joke is this?!?"
The sound of my mother's harsh yelling and my father's retaliations only made me more confused.
"I told you to keep him away from the window!"
"No! No you did not! You said, 'Jean, make sure he looks out that back window.'"
"No, you're wrong, honey! I distinctly told you to...wait...son of a! I meant to say, 'Make sure he doesn't look out that back window.' Gosh, I'm sorry."
"You
know," he chuckled, "in a way, it's actually kind of
funny."
"Oh, Richard! Well...maybe just a little bit."
I remember I could
hear my parents light chuckling grow into full, hearty laughter
as I ran to my room, slammed the door as hard as I could, and
buried my head in my pillow to cry myself to sleep.
________________________________________________________
"Son of a bitch," I muttered.
"Excuse, sir?" I had forgotten the doctor was still here.
"Can't we just pull the plug on him right now?"
"I'm sorry, sir. We can't do that."
"Come on, Doc. We can do it ourselves. Just pull one of those things right there out. I won't tell anybody."
"I'm afraid at this point, sir, that's both illegal and immoral. Now, as I was saying..."
""Son of a bitch!"
I dove toward the row of machines humming and clicking life into my father's body, hoping to grab and unplug something vital to their processes, but instead was met in midair by the Italian leather loafer of the doctor. He didn't look like the kind of man who would know karate, but he did, and he was very good. He manhandled me into a painful arm lock, which he kept me in effortlessly as he phoned security. As I lay there, arm held tightly behind my back, face pressed against the cold tile floor, I remember looking up out of the corner of my eye at my father. Although he had been unconscious for over a week, I could have sworn at that moment, the edges of his thin, pale lips curled upward into an almost unnoticeable smile.