by Tris
It only lasted for a few seconds. It must have been a malfunction with the respirator that caused it. A momentary lapse of judgment. Wrong call, not your time yet, that was just a test run. You failed. A harbinger of things to come. You will always fail, that's what it was telling me. Of course I wasn't really awake to start with, but I'm sure I was dead in that moment.
It's true what they say, you do look outside of yourself when you die. You gain this sight that goes beyond seeing. It's like reading braille that's imprinted on your brain. The human condition and human code is yours for the taking . You see by touching. You touch by feeling. So ultimately, what you see is what you feel and what you feel is whatever your mind decides to see. And if you see death when you look, you'll forever retreat and mourn. If you see life, you'll reach out and want to grab hold of it.
If you see what I saw you'd die a million little deaths.
I didn't really mean to die that day. I actually meant to live. As much living as I'm allowed. I meant to strengthen my resolve, resist my urges, open up my palm and let go of the grip I had on the railing that separates life and death. I wanted him to die that day, not in actuality, if only in my mind, just enough so that the separation would be easier. I'd shrug his fingers off the fine metal of the rail and I'd meet him on the other side when my time had come.
Only I held on. And I pulled him with me. That's what saved my life, saving his.
I should have let go.
I looked down and realized his hand was nowhere near my own, it was curled in a weak, defeated semi-fist. That should have been it, my skin should have bristled on the cold metal and retreated. I watched my hand move under the railing, so as not to tempt fate, as if I could just sneak over to life for a moment and then quietly pretend I'd never been there. Fall back into a graceful, small death and let him live. But the machine had stopped and the alarm had gone off and I panicked. I dug my way into his small fist and I straightened his fingers to give them the appearance of strength and slipped my own through them. I held his hand, held my breath waiting for the machine to repair itself, to give him back life.
But in that moment that felt like a lifetime, I'm sure we were both dead. The world ended and when the dust had settled, I hadn't let him go. I'd held on.
When I looked around, outside of myself, all I saw was transparency.
Everything was clear. I could see right through it all. Right through all the things that normally block my vision, my head, my heart, reality, shadows, his imagination, all of these things. I could see through him, through myself. It was scarier than anything I'd ever imagined was lurking in pitch black darkness, because it was all too apparent. What I had done wrong, what I should have done, how we'd gotten there, it was all staring me in the face. I looked right through it's transparent face and I saw a broken boy clinging to life, barely holding onto the clammy hand of a broken, dead man. Saw him counting on me to protect him once again, when I'd failed at it so thoroughly already. It took all my reserves to give him back his life.
That's when I made the decision. It was his life or my own, and I'd gladly give mine up to him, fill him with it and move back into my empty shell.
Only I'd gone under the railing, instead of over and some silly, desperate part of me was convinced that had made all the difference. Somehow I could cheat my way through death, as much I'd cheated my way through life. I'd crossed under the bridge, not over it, surely no one would notice.
I resolved then, that it would be okay to let him continue to live on, in some capacity, in my mind. Just as long as I didn't have to watch. I could slink back to pitch black darkness, block my vision and wait.
But I hadn't let go, and the machine had stopped beeping that interminable death knell. His breathing was even, and I felt weak fingers bend my own and curl to another fist, resting comfortably in my hand.
It was the first movement he'd made on his own, in the three days he'd been lying there.
And I knew he was going to live.
And so was I.
Without him.
I died that day. Whatever was me died in that moment. I came out on the other side, still breathing, barely living, but alive. Whatever was good in me, I'd given him and because he is who is he is, a selfless, selfish, obnoxious, resolute young man, he spared a little for me. Just enough to keep me grasping with fingertips.
This strange buzzing sound wound its way through the corridors and I realized it was three pairs of footsteps tapping on the linoleum floors, running towards his door. The death knell had sounded a call to arms and they were there to respond. They must have been moving quickly, but everything felt like permanent delay. Just give me one more moment, one more second, anything, before I need to let go.
They were dainty fingers that removed me from his tentative grasp. I didn't mention the movement. I stepped back and let them check all systems. Everything seemed in working order. None of them had the sight to see beyond, to see the transparent ghosts of all that was wrong. I'd only had it for a moment and it told me everything I needed to know.
They left first. I followed. I walked out slowly, exhaling on the inhale and inhaling on the exhale.
Someone was concerned about my shortness of breath and I couldn't find the words to explain that it was because I'd just returned from death, his, my own. Doesn't matter. It was all gone. Breathing was optional at that point.
It was a long walk towards the two heavy doors at the end of the hall, made no easier by dizzy, exhausted steps. I walked past two rows of them, some on the left, some on the right divided by some imaginary line, those that would pick me up if I fell, and those who'd walk right over my limp, lifeless body.
I could hear footsteps trailing behind me, voices calling my name. Didn't I want to know how he was, where was I going, when would I be back? Never, I'd never go back. I'd never step foot in that room again. I knew how he was, I'd seen right through him and I was going where I should have gone from the very beginning. Away from him.
I didn't stop to explain myself. I kept walking, filling my lungs with breath, playing with the lining of the silk at my fingertips, feeling the hard crust of his life spilled all over it.
I would never look back. Never look at that moment again. Not as it actually existed, only as I'd fashioned it.
I would never watch him die in my mind. He would always be alive, the rest would just be an aberration. Something my mind had made up. When I died that day, it all died with me.
I'm sure I'd convinced myself of that, at some point.
The doors approached and the Exit sign blinked one last brilliant shine and went dull, extinguishing itself before I reached the end. There was no more Exit, there were only two doors. I walked through, the sun singeing my untrained pupils. I walked, oblivious to the chill, but for the feel of silk encasing my fingertips, trapping me in warmth, reminding me that I needed some if I was resolved to continue living. I walked until I found the familiar black puddle of indifferent functionality. It was a tool and as long as it worked, nothing else mattered. Whatever blackness hides, as long as it works, nothing else matters. How easy it was to climb into the familiar seat, stare out the same transparent glass window, look in the same rearview mirror and see empty space behind me. Only there was sun that morning, not some imaginary replacement resting on his contented face, and I was in the place that gave him life, not brought him death. The only one who'd died that morning was me.
I drove with no sound, no heat, no air. The windows rolled up, the top covering my head, my hands steering in the vague direction of home, and I think I might have cried, because my vision got blurry and my neck was wet, and I know there was no rain. It was a perfectly spectacular day. A beautiful day to find peace in mourning.
I faced the cold, metal door as I stepped off the elevator, unimpressed by it's stature. Designed specifically to keep the fortress intact, you couldn't see in and you couldn't see out, and you could never get past it without great effort. It suddenly seemed heavier than it had ever felt before. It took me three tugs to slide it far enough for me to slip past. Not many people could get past the little space I allowed for my long, thin frame to enter. He could, he was small and compact enough.
But he wouldn't. Not any longer. I would make sure of it.
That was the price I'd pay. If he lived, then I died. A nice, clear exchange. But I'd gone under the railing, somehow he'd pulled me under, and he'd come through with a little life left for me and now it was all too jumbled and misunderstood. I was supposed to stay dead.
When I laid back on the bed that morning, spent with exhaustion and unable to unbutton my shirt further than the five buttons I'd managed, I felt the silk caress my skin under the flaps of the shirt. Felt his life slide all over my chest as I rolled onto my stomach and slept for countless hours.
It was the only night I stayed away.
I carried him with me wherever I went, whatever life of his that I was allowed to be a part of, I wore around my neck. I pretended it was my own. Pretended I was still living the life that died that morning. I used him like I'd used him so many times in the past, to remind myself that I was still alive, for better or for worse.
I walked through those doors, night after night, but not that room. Never again, never that room. I'd given him enough, all of me, and there was nothing more of me to give. Half alive and half dead, I was useless to him. I was just relearning how to live for myself, what could I do for him?
I slammed the door to the fortress closed the first time he came. That wasn't part of the deal. I died and he lived. I couldn't ask him to live half a life, surrounded by pitch black darkness, but he cheated as much as I did. I opened it up and invited him in the second time, against my better judgment. But the lines were blurred, they always had been and we'd somehow become sickly dependent on one other to keep giving each other some bastardized form of life. We'd made a pact, he wouldn't let me die and I would let him live. I failed. I should have heeded the warning of that respirator. I couldn't simply let him live his life, like I should have, he had to die a little death with his eyes closed and no hope of seeing the transparent human being he was bartering his life for. And I made sure he suffered for that mistake in judgment. Made sure I'd suffered for the mistake in my own, for holding on and opening that door.
But the exit had sputtered out before either of us could reach our intended ending.
There was just walking through open doors, with no locks, ignoring the voices of the well meaning beyond us, behind us, all around us.
When you lose one sense, the rest should become more acute, and they did after we lost the ability to see what was right in front of us, to see through each other. His voice rose up in his head and it was all he could hear. My touch became cold and indifferent, sometimes separated by a third body altogether or it touched too much when skin was not what he wanted to feel. We sniffed like dogs for evidence that the shaky pact we made that morning still existed. He would help me live and I wouldn't let him die, or I would let him live and he wouldn't let me die... I don't even know for sure anymore. It changes every time I try to recall the moment. The only thing that doesn't change is that he never dies. Never. He never suffers either. He's always fully alive, even when he's not moving.
I'm the only one who needed a rescue then.
The dream is always the same. I always reach the end of the hall and the doors are locked, the walls close in and the space gets smaller and smaller and my chest gets heavier and heavier and voices keep getting louder and louder and everything fades to black. That's when I wake up.
I had the dream again. But the doors opened this time and all that was there was a neverending hall in front of me. I closed them and went to turn back. He moved then. I must not have been entirely asleep, somewhere on the precipice between awake and dreaming, because just the slightest shift woke me from my half conscious state.
I can see him through the faint blue lights above our heads. I can see right through him. It doesn't scare me the way it did that morning. It's just settling into dark outside and he's just settling into the deepest stages of sleep. I watch him relax and curve the slope of his body so that it fits right next to mine, as if it was never gone.
His hand curls gently on my stomach and I reach out instinctively for it and watch our tangled joints rise and fall in unison with every breath I take.
I exhale slowly before I release his hand and reach for the duvet and cover us both from the draft.
I turn towards him, close my eyes and sink into everything that is his being.
It's warm there.