Never Let Them Define You

MEETING WITH FINALITY

"Ms. Hickory!"

"Cassandra?"

"Call me Sandy." She smiles as she slowly approaches the bed she's lying in. "I heard the news."

"Yeah...life had to get me sometime." She laughs dryly and hacks into her hand. "I guess this is an alright way to die, with the drugs and all."

"Does it hurt?"
"Just a bit. Why'd you come?"

"I had a realization this morning about God. It's not a force, or a field, or a voice, or anything. It's everything, all of the forces and fields and waves in the universe. I thought it was some voice that guides people, or a force that pushes things forward, but it just is; it's everything."

"That's good...but why'd you come here?"

"Where did you grow up?"

"A little house in Queens."

"New York?"

"Yeah, it was nice, but my parents were never happy together...I don't know if they ever loved each other, but they definitely didn't when I was around. Sometimes it felt like I was the one who broke 'em up."

"What was your first passion?"

"Dancing! Oh, if there was anything I loved, it was a nice waltz around a ballroom full of lights. That takes me back...I'm sure that's not how you kids are dancing nowadays with your jazz and what-not, but back then, slow-dancing was a way of life."

"What'd you do when you turned 18?"

"Oh, I wished I coulda gone to college, but it was so damn expensive back then, so I worked in a garment factory for a while...now, that kills your soul."

"How'd you get out?"

"Well, I didn't for a while, I spent a good couple decades working my hands to death, and I sewed through my hands a few times." She shakily raises her hands to show the backs of them. "You see those scars? That's hard work. Like anybody who made it, I had to work against the system for a bit, and I started sewing my own clothing designs and stealing them out of the factory. After a while of doing this, I had quite the catalogue, so I took 'em to some suits at a fashion business and actually managed to strike up a deal. That's how I made money after that and that's the reason I get to die in this cushy little place instead of a cardboard box."

"Wow, you have quite the story."

"Yeah, well, they don't call you old for nothing." She cackles and hacks a bit, coughing up a red spot.

"Is that blood? Are you alright?"

"Alright? I'm dying!"

She lets out a stifled laugh. "Sorry, I just-"

"No need to explain yourself; death can be a funny thing."

"How's that?"

"Well, you just die. That's it, there's no fanfare, you're just dead."

"I guess that is kind of funny, in a weird way."

"Death makes everything weird...makes you question everything you feared, every decision you agonized over, and it doesn't wrap things up. All those loose ends...well, they're not gonna haunt me 'cause I'll be dead, but I'm never gonna know why Robbie took my dalmatian when I was 13."

"I guess you won't...it's almost like death isn't as final as we make it out to be, I mean, you'll be dead, but every aspect of your life is gonna keep going. All the things you affected are gonna keep affecting other things and...nobody's ever really gone."

"Hmm, I guess you really do get God."

"Just a bit...I came here because what you said really moved me, I went to see my mother, and I ve been trying to find direction; I guess I really just wanted to see you because it felt like the right thing to do. Sometimes it's just a feeling."

"You caught me at the right time; seems like you have a good intuition."

"What do you think of the world?"

"The world? Ah, it's a beautiful mess...I don't know what to say about it really, just don't take it too seriously, 'cause it won't. There's a million things that happened that made me think I was dreaming, but there's no use pinching yourself, 'cause this whole damn thing's a dream. You're either conscious or you're unconscious, so I'd choose to keep your eyes open if I were you."

"What does that mean?"

"Don't let it pass you by, don't do drugs, I don't know how to describe it exactly...just don't forget that you're the one behind your wheel; don't live in the backseat."

"Alright, well, what about when you're down? What do you do then, when everything's defeating you? You can't just make those times go away."

"You're still behind the wheel, the windows just fogging up and the rain's pouring, but you still gotta drive. It's life or death every second you're alive, 'cause if you're not living, you're dying."

"But I'm always alive..."

"Those bad times; it feels like your soul up and died, right?"

"Yeah, kinda."

"Well, there's more to living than just breathing and letting your heart beat...you gotta feel everything, all the feelings, the pain, the sadness, the joy, everything. Once it's gone, it's gone; you'll never get a moment back. Every moment's got a unique feeling, but you take it for granted because you categorize it, and you shelve it away. If you really tune in, though, you can see the beautiful, unique randomness of the present day."

"So, what, it's not just sad days or happy days, it's just a million individual days?"

"Yeah, but that's just it; it's not a million, it's not forever. You can't take a single one for granted 'cause you never know if it'll be the last. Life is so much shorter than you think; just yesterday I was digging through the garden in the backyard with my mom, at least it feels like that. Now, it's over, you see? It's just over."

"Isn't that sad? That your whole life has amounted to nothing more than your death?"

"Is that really what you think?"

"What does it even mean to, 'make a difference?'"

"Means you made someone smile, or cry, or dance, or try something, anything at all. We're here for each other and we don't know why, so try not to think about it too hard."

"So then what do I think about?"

"What you can do for the people around you...honey, I'm tired; leave this dying woman alone before you waste too much time."

"How is this a waste of time?"

"You're not helping me and I'm not helping you; you're just confusing yourself."

"But..." She sighs and shakes her head. "You're right, I have work to do."