"It's supposed to be stuff you'd never have done otherwise," Carol said, "things that you might've been interested in doing or scared to do, but now are willing to, given the circumstances."
"Why though?" Boris asked, "why's it got to be things I wouldn't have done otherwise? Why can't it just be simplistic, mundane acts? Why does everything have to be so grandiose?"
Boris and Carol were seated in Carol's office at the home, Carol behind her desk and Boris in a chair off to the side of the wall, his legs crossed, a clipboard with paper on it resting on his lap as he tapped a pen against the arm of the chair. Lately he'd been spending a lot of time at Carol's office simply so he didn't have to be at home around Whittle, and make her feel more uncomfortable with the fact of what was happening to him. Carol picked up her mug and sipped her tea.
"Because your life is ending," Carol said flatly, "that's why. That's when the grandiose becomes acceptable. Try to do these things beforehand in perfectly good health and people just call you crazy. Do them at deaths door and suddenly you're a hero, living life to its fullest."
"There's a rarely seen double standard for you," Boris muttered, making her laugh.
"I don't think enough people acknowledge how actually terrifying facing down the barrel of mortality is," Carol said, "they don't want to, and why should they. Nobody wants to admit they're not going to live forever. Nobody wants to accept that nonexistence is the longest stretch of time. So nobody thinks about these things. But that being said, in the moment, in the face of utter uncertainty, your bravado is what's rewarded. People who go silently into that good night certainly aren't remembered."
Boris nodded slowly, chewing on the end of the pen as the door to the office opened and Burt walked in. He shut the door behind him then leaned against it and wiped his arm across his brow.
"It's hot as hell in here," Burt said, "any room I'm in, I start sweating."
"Yeah, the air conditioner needs to be fixed," Carol said, "I've been meaning to get that dealt with. The whole system is down."
"Maybe I could put that on my bucket list, become air conditioner repair man. Actually learn an employable skill before I expire," Boris said.
"You could install a unit in your coffin, have it temperature controlled for a peaceful rest," Carol said, smirking. Burt seated himself beside Boris and Boris handed him his list. Burt looked down the list while Boris looked back towards Carol, tapping the pen on the arm of the chair.
"So what do you genuinely suggest I do?" Boris asked, and Carol looked up from her paperwork.
"You really wanna know?" she asked, smiling.
***
Ellen was sitting with Miranda in a restaurant having lunch. Miranda had a client to get to after work, and Ellen had to get back to the office, but they tried to have lunch every day even with their schedules. They felt that private time together that wasn't strictly in the evening was important. Ellen was drinking from her cup while Miranda explained her latest client.
"I just can't stand that other people in my profession are like 'well they have to WANT to get better in order to do so!', like, that's such a sickening mindset, putting all the pressure on the person who's already struggling. It's like saying nobody will love you if you don't love yourself first. Gross. Way to make someone feel even worse than they already do. I can promise you that I've been loved even at my absolute lowest when I hated myself," Miranda said, stabbing at her pasta, frustrated; she tossed her bangs from her eyes, exhaled and added, "it's just sad. This is supposed to be a profession where we help others, not judge them for not doing better quicker."
"It sounds gross," Ellen replied, "I agree, that isn't right at all. And it's weird that it varies so drastically depending on the condition. Like, for example, when I was unable to walk, people knew that that was something I had no choice in. I was just in a wheelchair. End of story. But then, when I was trying to regain my memory, some of the people working with me would get frustrated for not managing to make progress at a faster rate. It's strange that other peoples expectations of your abilities changes depending on what your disability is."
The chair beside Ellen pulled out, and Boris seated himself, surprising both of them with his presence.
"Hi dad," Ellen said, smiling, leaning in and kissing him on the cheek.
"What are we talking about?" Boris asked, picking up a piece of bread and spreading butter on it.
"The medical professions complete inability to respect the very people they claim to care for," Miranda said.
"Wow, you don't sound bitter or anything, good on you," Boris remarked, making her laugh.
"It's just gross," Miranda said, "I spent so much of my life getting my degrees, getting the skills and ability, and then I have to stand and watch others in the same field - others who've been in this field for far longer than I and thus should know better - have no compassion for the people they're supposed to be helping."
"I'm old, and so that means I'm gonna give you advice whether you want it or not," Boris said, wiping his hands together, "here's a cold, hard, sad fact of life...people, more often than not, don't care about one another, especially those in your line of work. As someone who's spent a lot of time with so called 'medical professionals', yeah, you're not wrong about their attitudes. We're more often seen as a nuisance than anything else. And while that's so sad, it also is a good thing, because by recognizing that's how most people are...you can strive to be better. To not be like them."
Miranda nodded slowly, taking it all in. She hadn't spent much time with Boris, admittedly, but she was beginning to feel sad that she wouldn't get to either. Here she was, preparing to marry his daughter, and yet she'd never really get to fully know the complexity of the man who helped bring her into this world.
"I try," Miranda said, "I try very hard to be different from that. I care about my patients on such a deep level that...that it feels like I'm somehow the outsider, and maybe that's because I am, and that's sad. But at least I can walk away with the moral superiority of that fact."
"That's the spirit," Boris said, smiling as they continued eating. One thing he'd put on his list had now been scratched out. Spend some time with his family.
***
Lorraine was sitting at her kitchen table, going over bills, when she heard the front door open. She cautiously turned towards the doorway of the kitchen, because who enters a home uninvited, before she saw Boris appear and she then felt fine again. Lorraine smiled at him as he seated himself, looking at the papers she had laid out before her.
"Nice of you to drop by," she said, "I was thinking of calling you up and-"
"I wanna tell you how sorry I am," Boris said, "I know I've said it before, but...facing the end, now, makes me really realize how necessary it is for me to take full responsibility for everything that happened in our lives as a direct result of my actions."
Lorraine nodded, set her pen down, and stood up. She headed to the kitchen area and opened the fridge, pulling out a tupperware housing a cake inside it, and set it on the table, removing the lid, before retrieving two forks and two small plates from a nearby drawer and cabinet, respectively. She handed one of each to Boris, then sat back down as they each cut themselves a slice.
"Well," Boris said, chewing, "I know it's the right thing to do, but I don't necessarily think it deserves a treat."
Lorraine smirked as she poked at hers, and said, "when I was young, my mother always told me to deal with bad situations with good food. When my grandmother died, I came home from school that afternoon and she'd already baked a pie, and I learned why it was called comfort food from that point on. Needless to say, she wasn't wrong."
Boris smiled as she scooped some cake into his mouth and chewed. Lorraine sighed and shook her head.
"Feels like it's over before it starts, doesn't it? Life, I mean. You finally start to want to change, to do more, be different, and then it's over, before you even have the chance. Course, you did get the chance. You're much different than you were a few years ago. Almost unrecognizable, even. I'm proud of you, I hope you know that."
"I do, and I'm thankful," Boris said, "but I didn't do it for recognition. I did it because, at a certain point, you realize that you want to change because you want to change. Because you dislike the person you were and realize they aren't who you want to be remembered as. I think that's what was so admirable to me about Polly. She just...knew who she was and didn't let anything change that. She spit in the face of convention. It was something to appreciate. I wanted to be like that, to know who I was with such certainty, and be proud of it, that nobody could convince me otherwise."
Lorraine smiled as she rested her elbow on the table and her chin on her fist.
"She meant a lot to you, didn't she?" Lorraine asked, and Boris smiled.
"She really did."
"You think you loved her?"
"I mean, I did, but not like that," Boris said, "no. I think...I think the thing I've come to recognize myself the most - which may or may not be partially in thanks to her, ironically - is that I don't really like women all that much. I think I married you because I felt pressured to. Don't get me wrong, I love you. I do. That was never fake. But you're probably the only woman I could ever really feel that way for. There was a woman at the home for a bit, her name was Leanne, but I think she just reminded me of you. If it had been a different time, if I had been a different person...I think I'd have been like Polly. To watch Ellen be herself, that feels somewhat vindicating. Talk about living vicariously, right?"
Lorraine laughed and nodded, taking a sip of her coffee. She didn't need to say anything in response, and he didn't need to say anything more. They had known one another for slong that they understood eachother, often better than they understood themselves. In the end, all Boris wanted was to be a better man for the women he had hurt, and he felt like he'd finally accomplished that. After the visit, Boris climbed into Polly's gremlin and scratched off the next item on his list. Make peace with his wife. Something he'd done a while ago, but something he felt was truly finished now.
Onto the next item on the list.
***
Father Krickett was sitting in his office with his legs up on the desk when the door opened and Boris entered. John smiled and waved at him as Boris put his hands in his pockets and paced around the room, admiring it. He had only visited John's office a few times before, so it was still somewhat new to him.
"That's not very professional of you," he said, pointing towards John's legs.
"Well, to be fair, I don't really work in a business where professionalism is highly sought after," John remarked, "I mean, who's my boss? God. You think he's gonna fire me for being a little too relaxed in the office?"
Boris chuckled and pulled a seat over to the desk, sitting down.
"What're you doing here anyway?" John asked.
"I've been going through the day scratching things off a bucket list. Went and saw my daughter, went and saw my wife. Figure I should come see you next. See what you've been up to today, besides casually lounging on Gods furniture."
"Just cause it's in his house doesn't make it his furniture. I paid for it," John said, smirking, lifting his drink to his lips; after finishing, he set his mug back down on the table and asked, "so, what's it been like, wrapping up unfinished business? Or is that just something ghosts have?"
"Wouldn't know, not a ghost, but when I am, I'll ask one and let you know," Boris said, "either way it's been...interesting. It's...it's kind of hard to reconcile your mortality when it's not directly in your face, and when you're doing things that spit in its presence. I'm out here, living life, giving my time to others, instead of preparing to be six feet under. I think death finds that somewhat insulting, despite knowing he'll get me in the end."
John nodded, chewing on the end of his pen. He then pulled his legs off the desk and sat upright, leaning forward a bit.
"You don't think, perhaps, this bucket list is just a way to avoid the things you don't want to actually face? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm proud of you for facing up to other truths that may be uncomfortable, but...maybe you should focus on what's coming up. All you've done today so far for this list, it seems like, is be there for others. Why not be there for yourself?"
Boris sighed and crossed his legs, looking up at a nearby stained glass window of a beautiful female angel in a robe.
"I, uh...I don't know that I can," Boris said, his voice cracking, as he sniffled, "I don't know that I can openly acknowledge it further than I already have. I don't want to think about it."
"It's gonna happen whether you wanna think about it or not," John said, shrugging, "Boris, think about it like this. I know you're not a God fearing man, but just allow me the chance to propose this to you, even as a hypothetical. We're mean to worship God, right? Praise him, love him, accept him into our hearts? Our salvation, as they put it. But we're also told that we're made in God's image. If that's the case, there's nothing wrong loving ourselves, because we're part of God. We can be our own salvation at the same time. We just...we just need to allow ourselves the chance."
Boris looked down at the floor, now crying. John was taken aback, he hadn't expected Boris to come into his office unannounced, much less break down. Boris buried his face in his hands and exhaled, as he spoke between sobs.
"It isn't fair," Boris said.
"What isn't fair?" John asked, getting up from his chair and walking around to the front of the desk, sitting on it in front of Boris now; he continued, "what? To have you die like this?"
"To have me live like this," Boris mumbled, "to...to go through an entire lifetime and never once be satisfied. That isn't to insinuate that I'm not happy with having helped make my daughter, or the friendships I've forged, but...everything...everything I've ever done has been for the benefit of others, and while that's not a bad thing necessarily, it also...it isn't fair. I never got to be me. Born at the wrong place in the wrong time. You're young, you have the chance. Ellen is young, she has a chance. But me...people from my generation...we weren't really given the chance. We missed the boat by a handful of years. And while some managed to live their truths brazenly, flying in the face of societal heternormativity, like Polly, most of us were simply too scared to do the same."
John nodded, listening, his hands cupped in his lap, his heart breaking.
"So right now, all I want to do is finish my bucket list," Boris said, finally looking up at John, his old, weathered face stained with tears, adding, "and just say that, of all the people I've ever met, have ever known, none have done so good for my soul as you. And not because you're a priest. But simply because you're a man like me. And I don't mean that in a masculinity sense. I mean-"
"I know what you mean, Boris," John whispered, reaching out and holding the old mans hands in his, massaging gently, "I know what you mean, it's okay."
Boris leaned in and buried his face in John's chest, as John held him and stroked his back. They sat there in the priests office, two men, separated by a generation but brought together by sexuality. John nodded, thinking about it. It wasn't fair, he wasn't wrong. And just as much as Boris didn't want to die, John didn't want him to die either. Neither one wanted to face the inevitable eventuality that was rearing its ugly head, soon to descend upon them in full force. But right now they had this. Right now they had love. And that was comfort enough.
***
Carol was sitting at her desk, still finishing up paperwork. It was almost 11pm now, and she had hoped to be done a few hours ago. She grumbled, frustrated, and finished one page, then flipped to a new one when her office door and Boris entered. She checked her watch and then set her pen down.
"What are you doing here? It's so late," Carol said.
Boris shut the door behind him and approached the desk.
"Boris?" Carol asked.
"...thank you," Boris whispered, sniffling, "thanks for the bucket list ideas. Thank you for forcing me to do something. Are you still working?"
"Yeah, a lot of insurance paperwork for various things," Carol said.
"Can I just...stay here, until you're done?" Boris asked, "frankly, there's nowhere else I'd rather be."
Carol smiled and nodded. Boris pulled a chair to the opposite side of the desk and sat down as Carol picked up her pen and continued. Boris pulled his hat off and set it in his lap.
"I love you, Carol," Boris said.
"I love you too, Boris," Carol replied.
"Why though?" Boris asked, "why's it got to be things I wouldn't have done otherwise? Why can't it just be simplistic, mundane acts? Why does everything have to be so grandiose?"
Boris and Carol were seated in Carol's office at the home, Carol behind her desk and Boris in a chair off to the side of the wall, his legs crossed, a clipboard with paper on it resting on his lap as he tapped a pen against the arm of the chair. Lately he'd been spending a lot of time at Carol's office simply so he didn't have to be at home around Whittle, and make her feel more uncomfortable with the fact of what was happening to him. Carol picked up her mug and sipped her tea.
"Because your life is ending," Carol said flatly, "that's why. That's when the grandiose becomes acceptable. Try to do these things beforehand in perfectly good health and people just call you crazy. Do them at deaths door and suddenly you're a hero, living life to its fullest."
"There's a rarely seen double standard for you," Boris muttered, making her laugh.
"I don't think enough people acknowledge how actually terrifying facing down the barrel of mortality is," Carol said, "they don't want to, and why should they. Nobody wants to admit they're not going to live forever. Nobody wants to accept that nonexistence is the longest stretch of time. So nobody thinks about these things. But that being said, in the moment, in the face of utter uncertainty, your bravado is what's rewarded. People who go silently into that good night certainly aren't remembered."
Boris nodded slowly, chewing on the end of the pen as the door to the office opened and Burt walked in. He shut the door behind him then leaned against it and wiped his arm across his brow.
"It's hot as hell in here," Burt said, "any room I'm in, I start sweating."
"Yeah, the air conditioner needs to be fixed," Carol said, "I've been meaning to get that dealt with. The whole system is down."
"Maybe I could put that on my bucket list, become air conditioner repair man. Actually learn an employable skill before I expire," Boris said.
"You could install a unit in your coffin, have it temperature controlled for a peaceful rest," Carol said, smirking. Burt seated himself beside Boris and Boris handed him his list. Burt looked down the list while Boris looked back towards Carol, tapping the pen on the arm of the chair.
"So what do you genuinely suggest I do?" Boris asked, and Carol looked up from her paperwork.
"You really wanna know?" she asked, smiling.
***
Ellen was sitting with Miranda in a restaurant having lunch. Miranda had a client to get to after work, and Ellen had to get back to the office, but they tried to have lunch every day even with their schedules. They felt that private time together that wasn't strictly in the evening was important. Ellen was drinking from her cup while Miranda explained her latest client.
"I just can't stand that other people in my profession are like 'well they have to WANT to get better in order to do so!', like, that's such a sickening mindset, putting all the pressure on the person who's already struggling. It's like saying nobody will love you if you don't love yourself first. Gross. Way to make someone feel even worse than they already do. I can promise you that I've been loved even at my absolute lowest when I hated myself," Miranda said, stabbing at her pasta, frustrated; she tossed her bangs from her eyes, exhaled and added, "it's just sad. This is supposed to be a profession where we help others, not judge them for not doing better quicker."
"It sounds gross," Ellen replied, "I agree, that isn't right at all. And it's weird that it varies so drastically depending on the condition. Like, for example, when I was unable to walk, people knew that that was something I had no choice in. I was just in a wheelchair. End of story. But then, when I was trying to regain my memory, some of the people working with me would get frustrated for not managing to make progress at a faster rate. It's strange that other peoples expectations of your abilities changes depending on what your disability is."
The chair beside Ellen pulled out, and Boris seated himself, surprising both of them with his presence.
"Hi dad," Ellen said, smiling, leaning in and kissing him on the cheek.
"What are we talking about?" Boris asked, picking up a piece of bread and spreading butter on it.
"The medical professions complete inability to respect the very people they claim to care for," Miranda said.
"Wow, you don't sound bitter or anything, good on you," Boris remarked, making her laugh.
"It's just gross," Miranda said, "I spent so much of my life getting my degrees, getting the skills and ability, and then I have to stand and watch others in the same field - others who've been in this field for far longer than I and thus should know better - have no compassion for the people they're supposed to be helping."
"I'm old, and so that means I'm gonna give you advice whether you want it or not," Boris said, wiping his hands together, "here's a cold, hard, sad fact of life...people, more often than not, don't care about one another, especially those in your line of work. As someone who's spent a lot of time with so called 'medical professionals', yeah, you're not wrong about their attitudes. We're more often seen as a nuisance than anything else. And while that's so sad, it also is a good thing, because by recognizing that's how most people are...you can strive to be better. To not be like them."
Miranda nodded slowly, taking it all in. She hadn't spent much time with Boris, admittedly, but she was beginning to feel sad that she wouldn't get to either. Here she was, preparing to marry his daughter, and yet she'd never really get to fully know the complexity of the man who helped bring her into this world.
"I try," Miranda said, "I try very hard to be different from that. I care about my patients on such a deep level that...that it feels like I'm somehow the outsider, and maybe that's because I am, and that's sad. But at least I can walk away with the moral superiority of that fact."
"That's the spirit," Boris said, smiling as they continued eating. One thing he'd put on his list had now been scratched out. Spend some time with his family.
***
Lorraine was sitting at her kitchen table, going over bills, when she heard the front door open. She cautiously turned towards the doorway of the kitchen, because who enters a home uninvited, before she saw Boris appear and she then felt fine again. Lorraine smiled at him as he seated himself, looking at the papers she had laid out before her.
"Nice of you to drop by," she said, "I was thinking of calling you up and-"
"I wanna tell you how sorry I am," Boris said, "I know I've said it before, but...facing the end, now, makes me really realize how necessary it is for me to take full responsibility for everything that happened in our lives as a direct result of my actions."
Lorraine nodded, set her pen down, and stood up. She headed to the kitchen area and opened the fridge, pulling out a tupperware housing a cake inside it, and set it on the table, removing the lid, before retrieving two forks and two small plates from a nearby drawer and cabinet, respectively. She handed one of each to Boris, then sat back down as they each cut themselves a slice.
"Well," Boris said, chewing, "I know it's the right thing to do, but I don't necessarily think it deserves a treat."
Lorraine smirked as she poked at hers, and said, "when I was young, my mother always told me to deal with bad situations with good food. When my grandmother died, I came home from school that afternoon and she'd already baked a pie, and I learned why it was called comfort food from that point on. Needless to say, she wasn't wrong."
Boris smiled as she scooped some cake into his mouth and chewed. Lorraine sighed and shook her head.
"Feels like it's over before it starts, doesn't it? Life, I mean. You finally start to want to change, to do more, be different, and then it's over, before you even have the chance. Course, you did get the chance. You're much different than you were a few years ago. Almost unrecognizable, even. I'm proud of you, I hope you know that."
"I do, and I'm thankful," Boris said, "but I didn't do it for recognition. I did it because, at a certain point, you realize that you want to change because you want to change. Because you dislike the person you were and realize they aren't who you want to be remembered as. I think that's what was so admirable to me about Polly. She just...knew who she was and didn't let anything change that. She spit in the face of convention. It was something to appreciate. I wanted to be like that, to know who I was with such certainty, and be proud of it, that nobody could convince me otherwise."
Lorraine smiled as she rested her elbow on the table and her chin on her fist.
"She meant a lot to you, didn't she?" Lorraine asked, and Boris smiled.
"She really did."
"You think you loved her?"
"I mean, I did, but not like that," Boris said, "no. I think...I think the thing I've come to recognize myself the most - which may or may not be partially in thanks to her, ironically - is that I don't really like women all that much. I think I married you because I felt pressured to. Don't get me wrong, I love you. I do. That was never fake. But you're probably the only woman I could ever really feel that way for. There was a woman at the home for a bit, her name was Leanne, but I think she just reminded me of you. If it had been a different time, if I had been a different person...I think I'd have been like Polly. To watch Ellen be herself, that feels somewhat vindicating. Talk about living vicariously, right?"
Lorraine laughed and nodded, taking a sip of her coffee. She didn't need to say anything in response, and he didn't need to say anything more. They had known one another for slong that they understood eachother, often better than they understood themselves. In the end, all Boris wanted was to be a better man for the women he had hurt, and he felt like he'd finally accomplished that. After the visit, Boris climbed into Polly's gremlin and scratched off the next item on his list. Make peace with his wife. Something he'd done a while ago, but something he felt was truly finished now.
Onto the next item on the list.
***
Father Krickett was sitting in his office with his legs up on the desk when the door opened and Boris entered. John smiled and waved at him as Boris put his hands in his pockets and paced around the room, admiring it. He had only visited John's office a few times before, so it was still somewhat new to him.
"That's not very professional of you," he said, pointing towards John's legs.
"Well, to be fair, I don't really work in a business where professionalism is highly sought after," John remarked, "I mean, who's my boss? God. You think he's gonna fire me for being a little too relaxed in the office?"
Boris chuckled and pulled a seat over to the desk, sitting down.
"What're you doing here anyway?" John asked.
"I've been going through the day scratching things off a bucket list. Went and saw my daughter, went and saw my wife. Figure I should come see you next. See what you've been up to today, besides casually lounging on Gods furniture."
"Just cause it's in his house doesn't make it his furniture. I paid for it," John said, smirking, lifting his drink to his lips; after finishing, he set his mug back down on the table and asked, "so, what's it been like, wrapping up unfinished business? Or is that just something ghosts have?"
"Wouldn't know, not a ghost, but when I am, I'll ask one and let you know," Boris said, "either way it's been...interesting. It's...it's kind of hard to reconcile your mortality when it's not directly in your face, and when you're doing things that spit in its presence. I'm out here, living life, giving my time to others, instead of preparing to be six feet under. I think death finds that somewhat insulting, despite knowing he'll get me in the end."
John nodded, chewing on the end of his pen. He then pulled his legs off the desk and sat upright, leaning forward a bit.
"You don't think, perhaps, this bucket list is just a way to avoid the things you don't want to actually face? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm proud of you for facing up to other truths that may be uncomfortable, but...maybe you should focus on what's coming up. All you've done today so far for this list, it seems like, is be there for others. Why not be there for yourself?"
Boris sighed and crossed his legs, looking up at a nearby stained glass window of a beautiful female angel in a robe.
"I, uh...I don't know that I can," Boris said, his voice cracking, as he sniffled, "I don't know that I can openly acknowledge it further than I already have. I don't want to think about it."
"It's gonna happen whether you wanna think about it or not," John said, shrugging, "Boris, think about it like this. I know you're not a God fearing man, but just allow me the chance to propose this to you, even as a hypothetical. We're mean to worship God, right? Praise him, love him, accept him into our hearts? Our salvation, as they put it. But we're also told that we're made in God's image. If that's the case, there's nothing wrong loving ourselves, because we're part of God. We can be our own salvation at the same time. We just...we just need to allow ourselves the chance."
Boris looked down at the floor, now crying. John was taken aback, he hadn't expected Boris to come into his office unannounced, much less break down. Boris buried his face in his hands and exhaled, as he spoke between sobs.
"It isn't fair," Boris said.
"What isn't fair?" John asked, getting up from his chair and walking around to the front of the desk, sitting on it in front of Boris now; he continued, "what? To have you die like this?"
"To have me live like this," Boris mumbled, "to...to go through an entire lifetime and never once be satisfied. That isn't to insinuate that I'm not happy with having helped make my daughter, or the friendships I've forged, but...everything...everything I've ever done has been for the benefit of others, and while that's not a bad thing necessarily, it also...it isn't fair. I never got to be me. Born at the wrong place in the wrong time. You're young, you have the chance. Ellen is young, she has a chance. But me...people from my generation...we weren't really given the chance. We missed the boat by a handful of years. And while some managed to live their truths brazenly, flying in the face of societal heternormativity, like Polly, most of us were simply too scared to do the same."
John nodded, listening, his hands cupped in his lap, his heart breaking.
"So right now, all I want to do is finish my bucket list," Boris said, finally looking up at John, his old, weathered face stained with tears, adding, "and just say that, of all the people I've ever met, have ever known, none have done so good for my soul as you. And not because you're a priest. But simply because you're a man like me. And I don't mean that in a masculinity sense. I mean-"
"I know what you mean, Boris," John whispered, reaching out and holding the old mans hands in his, massaging gently, "I know what you mean, it's okay."
Boris leaned in and buried his face in John's chest, as John held him and stroked his back. They sat there in the priests office, two men, separated by a generation but brought together by sexuality. John nodded, thinking about it. It wasn't fair, he wasn't wrong. And just as much as Boris didn't want to die, John didn't want him to die either. Neither one wanted to face the inevitable eventuality that was rearing its ugly head, soon to descend upon them in full force. But right now they had this. Right now they had love. And that was comfort enough.
***
Carol was sitting at her desk, still finishing up paperwork. It was almost 11pm now, and she had hoped to be done a few hours ago. She grumbled, frustrated, and finished one page, then flipped to a new one when her office door and Boris entered. She checked her watch and then set her pen down.
"What are you doing here? It's so late," Carol said.
Boris shut the door behind him and approached the desk.
"Boris?" Carol asked.
"...thank you," Boris whispered, sniffling, "thanks for the bucket list ideas. Thank you for forcing me to do something. Are you still working?"
"Yeah, a lot of insurance paperwork for various things," Carol said.
"Can I just...stay here, until you're done?" Boris asked, "frankly, there's nowhere else I'd rather be."
Carol smiled and nodded. Boris pulled a chair to the opposite side of the desk and sat down as Carol picked up her pen and continued. Boris pulled his hat off and set it in his lap.
"I love you, Carol," Boris said.
"I love you too, Boris," Carol replied.