Dead or Destitute (Lams)

Chapter Fifteen

The metal chains creaked as the swing swayed back and forth. The sun had long since set, the swirls of pink and orange fading into black.

A layer of dust had settled on John's worn out converse. The soles were missing and if the holes in the toe got any larger, his feet would slide right through.

John had encountered a sudden case of insomnia, the peace of sleep constantly evading him. His mind was empty, his heart numb, but as soon as his head hit the pillow, so did his thoughts. They were of everything and nothing. He thought of his new job and how every penny he set aside was for a better life. These thoughts led him to thoughts of his family. Not a single bruise went unnoticed by John's concerned glance. Every threat was perceived as the beginning of an attack. Each time Henry raised his voice, the children raised their arms to block their faces. Though the defense acted like a pile of twigs pretending to be a damn; completely useless.

So instead of staying up all night staring at a ceiling, John stayed at the park. Whether the scenery was meant to trigger some reminder of what a childhood  is, or just for the hint of fresh air, it sure seemed to be a better alternative.

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Alexander was scheduled for another surgery. It was scheduled for seven that morning so it was no surprise that the hour leading up to it was filled with preparation. The IV had already punctured his vein, flowing some sort of clear liquid into his bloodstream.

When he had his first surgery, he asked about everything. He asked what everything was called, what the purpose for each dosage was. Now, he accepted it as mandatory regardless of what substance was being pumped into him. Even now, he was only vaguely sure of what this surgery intended to accomplish. All he knew was that if all went well, it would extend his lifespan. If it failed, however, his next stop would be a morgue.

Martha wept as they prepared him. She always did. Sometimes Alexander wondered if they had already begun preparation for his funeral. Did Martha have an eulogy written? Did anyone? Did George have a tie picked out, stored away like the one from his wedding day, touched only by himself and age?

What would happen to all of Alexander's writings? He felt as though he could never sleep, never lose a moment of dedication to his beliefs. So then, how could he possibly sleep forever? He had come to a conclusion years ago. Whether or not it was true, perhaps no one would ever know. He had no religion save for this one thought.

Life was purposeless.

You live, you die, you're forgotten. The only way to maintain any sense of purpose is if you could be remembered. If Alexander died without a legacy, a story, his life would have no point, no achievement.

Did that mean in Alexander's opinion that John was right to yearn for death? By no means. He wished more than anything that John would realize he still had great things to come. Perhaps, this was unfair. It clouded Alexander's judgment. It may even have kept him from ever understanding John's longings and desires of his heart.

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"Would you like your ice cream with the meal or after?" John asked, his fingers waiting expectantly over the register.

"With is fine." The drawer slammed open change wiggling as he dug out the correct amount of money due in return.

Across from him, Evan was clocking in. He gave John a slight smile, each carrying on with their business. The sundae weighed a perfect six ounces and he noticed Evan had already trayed the food by the time he had finished making it.

"What happened there?" Evan asked curiously staring at John's freshly bandaged wrist.

"I don't know," he responded absentmindedly, acting like it was nothing of concern. As Evan walked away, John cursed silently under his breath. It was an awful idea to tear his flesh where others could see. However, he was averaging at fifty cuts a night, running out of room, on his thighs and stomach.

"People are mean," Evan announced, referencing the people whose food had just been delivered. John gave no response, causing Evan to pause, acting like he had more to say. His demeanor always seemed like an even mix of nerves and trepidation. He always seemed like he had more to say yet remained silent so as not to cause embarrassment. Anxiety resided over his face like a bad mask, one which he could never remove.

"John?" he began, voice shaky as he spoke. "Do you maybe wanna hang out this weekend?"

When John didn't respond, Evan panicked more, his words becoming a flurry of thoughts. "I mean not if you don't want to. Obviously. That was stupid to say. Sorry."

"I think that would be fun. Where to?" John smiled again, unsure if this was a good plan or not. He was trying to move away from this horrible town, but maybe he was allowed to make friends before doing so. It didn't have to be anything serious or permanent. If nothing else, maybe it was only to clear his mind of thoughts of Alexander.

Evan's face lit up, a smile appearing which seemed to have grown larger than Evan had room for. "I heard there was a new candy shop that just opened, you know, if that's okay."

"Sure. I'll meet you at your house, say seven tomorrow?"

"Okay, as long as you're sure you want to go."

That was one thing that already annoyed John. Evan wasn't straight forward. He couldn't say what he wanted as he was too nervous and indecisive.

Alexander had always been straight to the point, always saying his mind. That was something which John had taken for granted up until this point. Here and now, he realized how much of a blessing it was, even if it did get Alex into trouble.

There was no point getting worked up about it now. Alexander was nothing to him now. Another story must begin.

"It's a date."