Zombie Guy

Chapter 6: The Weekend

Saturday morning, I woke up with a strange, sinking feeling. Monday's treatment loomed in my mind, and a single thought surfaced that I couldn't shake, I could die Monday. There was a good chance that come next week, I'd be gone—or, at the very least, drastically changed. I sat there for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling, and a wild idea took hold of me. I was going to make this weekend count, do all the random things I'd never done before and, well, live.

I got dressed and headed out without much of a plan, walking into town with no real direction. First up, I decided to get breakfast at a café I'd always ignored. Their menu was full of weird, overpriced things I'd never have ordered otherwise, but today was different. I pointed at the first thing on the menu—some kind of egg-and-avocado creation on what I think was bread—and within minutes, I was staring at the green-and-yellow plate in front of me, wondering if people genuinely enjoyed eating this. I took a tentative bite, and to my surprise, it was actually pretty good. After all these years of ordering the same scrambled eggs and toast, here I was, exploring the wild world of food.

Buoyed by my small breakfast victory, I spent the day hopping between stores and stands, eating strange pastries, and attempting anything that seemed remotely interesting. At one point, I even tried my luck at a pottery place where they let you paint your own mug. It turned out to be harder than it looked—especially with my coordination—and halfway through, I dropped the mug onto the table, splattering paint everywhere. The staff didn't look impressed, but I couldn't help laughing as I wiped green streaks off my hands.

Next, I found myself at a nearby park. They were offering paddleboat rentals, and on a whim, I rented one and set out onto the pond. I must have been a sight, paddling in circles as I tried to steer with zero finesse. At one point, I nearly toppled overboard reaching for my hat, which had blown off in the breeze. An elderly couple watched me with amused smiles from a nearby bench, and I pretended not to see them, laughing to myself as I wobbled back to shore.

The day flew by, filled with clumsy attempts and little victories. I tried new foods, managed to climb a tree for the first time in a decade, and even convinced myself to ride the Ferris wheel at the local fair, despite my intense dislike for heights. By the time I headed home that night, I was exhausted but oddly at peace. It was like I'd squeezed a week's worth of living into a single day.

Sunday morning, I woke up with a different feeling. I'd done the fun stuff, the random bucket-list activities, but something about today felt... heavier. I needed something more meaningful, something that felt less like a joke and more like a last attempt at hope. I decided, after a bit of hesitation, to go to church.

I wasn't exactly a regular. I wasn't even sure what I believed. But something about the quiet reverence in the place felt grounding, and as I sat in the pew, I found myself praying, if only to cover all my bases. I didn't ask for a miracle, not exactly. Instead, I found myself praying for peace, for courage to face whatever was coming my way. I closed my eyes, and for a few moments, I felt a sense of calm settle over me, like the kind of calm I'd seen in my parents when I was a kid. When I left, I felt a little lighter, like maybe I wasn't as alone in this as I'd thought.

As the day wound down, I decided to go for a walk. There was a field on the edge of town, filled with wildflowers, and I found myself wandering there as the sun began to set. The sky was a wash of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over everything, and I couldn't help but think of Linda. I could picture her here, sitting in the grass, making some offhand comment about how sunsets make everything look like a painting. I wondered what she'd say if she were here with me, if maybe she'd find some way to make me laugh or distract me from the thoughts that were creeping in.

And then it hit me. What if this was it? What if this weekend was the last time I'd ever get to feel the sun on my face, or see colours this vibrant, or hear Linda's laugh? What if I'd never get the chance to do all the things I thought I had time for?

The weight of it all crashed over me, and I felt a lump rise in my throat. I thought about never getting to marry, never getting to build a life, never getting to watch my kids grow up. The future I'd barely let myself imagine was slipping away, and I felt tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. For a few minutes, I just let myself feel it, the sadness and the longing and the fear. I let myself cry, alone in that quiet field, as the sun dipped below the horizon.

When I finally pulled myself together, I took one last look at the field, letting the image settle in my mind like a memory. Then, I turned and made my way home, ready to face whatever the next day would bring.

But wait! There was a problem that needed to be solved before that.

I stared at my suitcase for a moment, hands on my hips. Okay, Kevin, I thought, let's keep it simple. Essentials only.

First up, clothes. Easy enough. I grabbed a couple of t-shirts and tossed them in the bag. But as soon as they hit the bottom, my mind started spiralling. What if the treatment required hospital gowns? I'd end up packing clothes for nothing. I debated pulling the shirts out, but instead, I decided to play it safe and add an extra hoodie. Just in case.

Next, I moved to the bathroom. Toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant. The basics. But then my gaze landed on my razor, and a random thought hit me. What if the treatment causes some kind of crazy hair growth? I tossed the razor into the bag, along with shaving cream, after convincing myself it was a very practical choice.

Then came my vitamins. I had this vague idea that vitamins were good for... cells, or something, right? Who knew? But I wasn't taking any chances. I grabbed the whole bottle and threw it in, right next to a half-empty container of protein powder. Not that I'd actually need protein powder, but, you know, in case they only served mystery hospital food.

I paused, staring at the random pile I'd already created. Maybe I should pack some books? What if they kept me in observation for days? I'd need something to pass the time. I scoured my shelf, eyeing my worn-out novel collection before settling on a science fiction book that had been collecting dust for years. Perfect, I thought, if I end up with three arms, at least I'll have some irony to enjoy.

My eyes wandered to my bed, where a small stuffed bear—a relic from childhood—sat propped against the pillows. Without even thinking, I snatched it up and tossed it into the suitcase. Almost immediately, I questioned my sanity. What are you doing, Kevin? But then a part of me thought, Hey, emotional support is emotional support, so the bear stayed.

As I looked around the room, my anxiety started to surge. I grabbed an old family photo from my nightstand and put it in a pocket of the bag. Then, in a fit of randomness, I grabbed my gym shoes—because, who knows, maybe I'd be inspired to work out if I survived. I could practically see Linda's expression of bafflement if she were watching me right now, which only made me more determined to be prepared for anything.

I zipped the bag halfway closed, then suddenly thought of my phone charger. I tore it from the wall and shoved it in the suitcase, telling myself that I'd need it for "emergency updates," whatever that meant. I managed to add in a pair of slippers, a scarf, and a random deck of cards, because hey, you never know when you'll need to entertain yourself.

By the time I looked at my suitcase again, it was a barely contained mess of necessities, oddities, and complete nonsense. I sat down on the floor, running a hand through my hair as I glanced around the room one last time.

"Alright, Kev," I muttered to myself. "You've got this. All the essentials are here... and probably a lot of non-essentials too."

I sighed, half-laughing at the absurdity of it all. Here I was, packed like I was setting off for some great adventure—or possibly running away from one. I took a deep breath, zipped the bag shut, and fell back onto my bed, staring at the ceiling.

Tomorrow, everything would change, one way or another. And at least I'd be ready... or, well, as ready as a guy with a stuffed bear, a protein shake, and a razor could be.