Death is Hard to Come By

Ryan Hayes

    "I still can't believe you only have a week left and you're nt completely losing control and stuff! If I had that short of a time left, I would be partying it up or breaking a bunch of laws because what are they gonna do? Lock me up for a week?" My best friend, Jacob, grabs a granola bar bar from my pantry and sits down on the chair across from me. I shrug as he tugs the wrapper off the bar and takes a bite from it.
    "They probably would lock me up, honestly. There's not really anything that I want to do," I reply, faking the steady in my voice.
    "Oh come on, dude, there's gotta be something! Going to a few more parties, bed a few more girls. Think about all the pity sex you could get, Rye! Like, any girl you want." Jacob has a big goofy grin on his face but I can tell he's not really as excited as he's trying to seem. Although, in his defense, why should he be excited? He has over 60 years left and his best friend isn't even going to make it to his 18th birthday.
    I shrug again and his smile dissapears and his sad face matches his sad eyes; it hurts my heart but there's nothing I can do about it. I look down at the number tattooed neatly on my left wrist with a thin barcode under it, just like everyone else. The barcode is able to be scanned whenever attendance or something like that has to be taken. The date is the day we'll die. 07/10/2993. One week from today. There's been rumors floating around of babies without numbers and even one or two of people living past their dates but I know that's just bull shit to get us all riled up and fight against the system like when it started just over a hundred years ago. Just empty hopes for people like me who are going to die much too young. Those who believe those lies are true are foolish. How could that be true? It can't, that's how. I've seen people try to live, struggling to keep their eyes open as they bleed out from a gunshot or their lungs just stop working; trying to watch the clock turn to midnight for the next day so they can say they lived past their numbers, but it just doesn't happen.
    "Maybe you'll live past your dates, you know, like those people Mea was talking about the other day," Jacob whispers, as if he could read the thoughts circling around in my mind. My eyes snap up to his from my numbers I had been looking at as I was lost in thought. For some reason the desperation in his eyes just made me angry. Shouldn't I be the one grappling for answers in even the most unstable thoughts?
     "Oh please," I spit, standing up from the couch. "You know that's just a false hope." I pase back and forth. "You and I both know there's nothing that can be done, Jacob, so why bother even think like that? Why bother even trying to make my last week "worth it". There's nothing anyone can do to make this stop!" I don't know why I'm yelling at my friend, it's not his fault, not even close, but I can't seem to stop myself until he jumps up from his chair.
    "You don't know that, Ryan! There could be a way, we just have to find it. Since the government has started doing the numbers, no one has really done much more than riot as a way to fight it. No one has tried to find cures, as far as we know anyway. We just have to poke around a bit, we've done that plenty of times, remember?" The desperation creeps back into his voice as he asks if I remember all the times we got our noses in people's business because we wanted to know something they wouldn't tell us. Like he thinks my memory is leaving me just because I'm getting close to death. I mean, I suppose that could happen, people die in different ways, but I'm not like that. So far I've showed no symptoms, but that means nothing. People died out of nowhere in their sleep even before we were assigned death dates like birthdays.
    "Jacob, that's different. That was getting into my dad's office with a key he just left laying around so we could feel like spies eight years ago. That was creeping around the corner while our moms talked on the phones so we could see if we heard anything interesting about each other or the other kids."- Jacob's mom is a teacher for juniors in high school- "This is completely different. Depending on what you're thinking of doing to "get information", this could get us in jail for my remaining week and your many years left. I don't think you want to spend the rest of your life in the same cell your best friend died in." My fists clench and unclench at my sides as I lecture/ yell- whatever you want to call it- at my friend.
    "It's be worth it... Everyday, I'd think, at least I tried," he mumbles. My heart swells. He really is a great friend. I would hug him if it wouldn't be awkward. "Jacob, this isn't your fault. I don't even know why you would even think that, okay? So don't think that. I know, 100%, if there was anything you could do, you would. Just... Don't treat me different. I don't want this last week to be people treating me different because I'm gonna die. I just want to be treated like Ryan."
    He looks away at the last sentances. "How can you expect everything to stay the same? I mean, you're dying, dude. I just..." He's stopped short by the garage door opening.
    "That's my mom. Don't talk about this in front of her; she'll get emotional." I sit back down on the couch and turn on the TV so it looked like nothing was happening between Jacob and I. He sits next to me and nods but his eyes tell me that this conversation isn't even close to over.
    We both sit on the couch, looking at the TV but not really watching it; I guess I don't really know what Jacob is thinkng about but I'm thinking about how my family will be in a week. I mean, I have five siblings and the one who will be dying after me still have 30 years left, which is just before my parents die.
    "Hi, boys!" My mom calls from the entryway. She isn't even visible but she knows Jacob is here, he always is. Or I'm at his house, but she knows we're here because my car is in the driveway. We both call out hello's and go back to "watching" TV.
    After setting her stuff down in the kitchen she comes into the living room and looks at us. "I think it says something when I know that Jacob is here without me even having to see him." She winks.
    "I think it's because you're so smart, ma'am," he responds. They both laugh and I smile so they don't think something is wrong but really I would like for him to go home so I can go to my room and think about all the stuff I'm going to have to do this week to prepare everything for... well, you know. And, just like usual, it's like he can read my mind.
    "I actually think I have to go. I have a lot to do at home and I think mom wants me home early tonight anyway. I'll see you tomorrow, Rye." He waves at me and shows himself out. Mom sighs softly and looks at me, and I look back. She looks old, tired. Her son is dying so I get that but that doesn't mean I have to like it. And I don't, but just like Jacob can't stop me from dying, I can't make her feel better. I so wish I could. I wish I could take the sadness from her eyes. Wish I could take the deep lines around her tight frown and soften them with her smile, but her smile has dissapated recently. As I get closer and closer to my date, she seems to lose more and more that makes her happy; which of course brings us all down. I hate seeing her like this.
    I walk over and wrap my arms around her, the only thing I can do that might make her feel even just a small bit better. Every small bit helps.
    "Awe, hi, Rye-Rye," She says into my shoulder. She's tall for a woman but I am still much taller than her at an inch or two over six feet tall. "Hi, mama." That's something I haven't called her in a long time, so I know that that will also make her happy, but probably just a small bit, just like the hug. I pull away and look at her, and she looks at my number, as if hoping that maybe it has changed since this morning, the last time she looked at it.
    "What's for supper?" I ask, pulling my arms away, hoping to distract her.
    "Oh, I was thinking just ordering pizza. I don't really have anything to make and I can't go get groceries until Friday when I get paid..." She trails off. It's Wednesday today, she's thinking about my numbers again, I can just see it in her eyes. I nod. "That sounds good. Let me know when it gets here." I step around her before she gets too emotional because, call me a bad son if you want, but I can't deal with her breaking down again right now.
    When I get to my room, I plop down onto my desk chair and spin it so I'm facing my desk. There's a pile of papers I need to go through, but have been putting it off the last few weeks. The scientists in charge of the shot- they call themselves the World Curists Inc. or WCI- send you and your family papers to go through and sign and stuff. Gotta do it before I die but that doesn't mean I want to. Nonetheless, I open the folder and sort through the things I have to sign, leaving the ones my parents have to do in the folder.
    One hour later and I'm finally through all my papers and more upset than ever. All my friends are applying to college and planning vacations and I'm signing death papers because I'm gonna be dead soon. It doesn't at all seem fair but like wat I told Jacob, there's nothing I can do. Still not fair.
    "Ryan, dinner!" Mom yells from the kitchen. Or living room. Not really sure, but what I do know is I am hungry. But do I bring the folder full of the rest of the papers that need to be filled out, or should I wait and give it to them when the whole family isn't around. Probably that one. Yeah, definatly that one.