Chrissy had finished lunch and was now headed to her next class. She'd shuffled all her trash to the nearest bin, then gathered up her things and was heading down the hallway. Her next class wasn't for about fifteen minutes still, but she liked that. It'd give her a chance to check up on her homework, make sure everything was in order, and nothing was incorrect. As she walked down the hall looking at her textbook, knowing she also had a test today, she couldn't help but think about how much her life had changed in the last year or so. She was at a nice school, with friends, and her family was back together, actually working hard to be a family. She felt lucky. Chrissy looked up and stopped dead in her tracks. There, sitting on a bench in the hallway, was Boris, with a wrapped gift in his lap. She smiled and approached him.
"Hey," Boris said, coughing, "sorry to come so unannounced, but I really wanted to give you something. How long do you have until your next class?"
"...who cares," Chrissy said, "this is more important."
Boris laughed. That's the girl he remembered helping raise.
***
"How about this one?" Whittle asked, and Father Krickett stopped at a coffin, running his hands down it, feeling the wood grain. He sneered and pulled his hands away, giving the very visual impression her didn't approve of it. Whittle sighed and they continued further into the mortuary, looking at all the available coffins. John stuffed his hands in his pockets and shook his head.
"This doesn't feel real," he said.
"You of all poeple shouldn't feel strange in a place like this, considering how adjacent you are to it on a regular basis via your career," Whittle said.
"Yeah, sure, but that doesn't make it easier when it hits so close to home," Father Krickett said, "I don't know, Reggie, the whole thing just feels like it isn't happening, like it's some fucked up dream I keep hoping I'll wake up from. I know it isn't. I know that's wishful thinking, but..."
He stopped and looked at a nearby casket, one with black ivory handles and gold trim across the front. He felt his eyes tear up, and he bit his lip. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked over at Whittle.
"Hey," she said, "I have a lot of experience in helping people deal with their grief, so if you need to talk about it-"
"What would ever give you the impression I wanted to talk about it?" John asked, "seriously, I'm doing my best to avoid thinking about it and not engaging whatsoever, and you think I wanna talk about it?"
"It's happening whether you acknowledge it or not," Whittle said, "John, it's going to happen."
"Let's just keep looking," Father Krickett said, continuing down the hall. Whittle sighed and followed from behind at a near distance. She knew he didn't want to accept Boris was dying, but at some point he was going to have to, and when that time came...she just hoped he didn't regret denying it for so long.
***
"How're things going?" Boris asked as he and Chrissy sat on the bench in the hall.
"It's good!" Chrissy said, "Actually I'm really happy here. I do miss you guys though. My parents don't even want me to see you. They say it's healthier if I just act as though nothing happened, which, of course, isn't healthy, but whatever. What do parents know."
"That's the spirit!" Boris said, laughing, "I'm glad you're doing well. I was so worried that after they took you away you wouldn't manage to adjust, and you'd just...collapse. But I can see now you're stronger than that."
"I was sad," Chrissy said, "devastated, actually. Being torn away from you guys after so long...that sucked."
"I'm sure. I didn't like it either."
"Then why didn't you come see me sooner?" Chrissy asked, looking at him, and Boris exhaled. He knew he'd have to answer this question eventually, he just...he didn't want to. She'd already lost him once. Then again, perhaps the distance would help to create a barrier that would help her not feel so bad. He looked at his shoes, his fingertips tapping on the gift in his lap.
"There's...a handful of reasons, most bad, but...uh," Boris said, struggling to say it, "...phew, um. I'm sick. I'm very sick. I'm...I likely don't have much more than a few weeks left, maybe a month or so. I had to come see you now, and I'm sorry I didn't before. It's just hard when you're focusing on the end of your life."
The hall filled with silence, as Chrissy looked at her hands in her lap.
"You're dying?" she asked softly.
"Yes," Boris said, "but! I came here to give you something."
With that, he picked up and put the gift from his lap into hers. Chrissy looked at it, a bit confused, before looking back at Boris, who just smiled weakly at her. For the first time since she'd known him, she finally saw his oldness. This elderly face. Boris wasn't going to be here much longer.
"It's not much, but...it means a lot to me, and so do you," Boris said, "so I want you to have it."
Chrissy carefully unwrapped the gift, then stopped, a confused look on her face.
"It's a book," she said.
"It's much more than a book," Boris said, "it's my book."
"The one you published?" Chrissy asked, "Couldn't I just get that at the store?"
"No, not that one. This is from long before that," Boris said, and that got her interest.
***
Father Krickett had stopped at a totally black casket, with bright hold lining on the outside and inlayed golden flower details on the front all the way down to the bottom. He sucked on his teeth and put his hands on it, admiring its smoothness. Whittle was nearby, looking at a different one, but he tried to ignore her proximity. A man who worked there, presumably to sell these coffins and grave spots, approached her, and John could hear them talking but he did his best to tune it out.
Boris. Underground. Nonexistant. He couldn't fathom this.
The idea that the last few years he'd spent of his life with this man would suddenly cease to be, that the man in question would no longer be around, that scared the hell out of him. Why did he continue to lose the most important parts of himself? His boyfriend. His brother. His Boris. Anytime, it seemed, he allowed himself to love something, something took it away. It wasn't fair and, quite frankly, he was sick of the universe not playing fairly. John rested his hand on the top of the black casket, the coolness of the wood calming him down. Maybe he too should go away. Maybe he and Boris should go together.
What was he thinking. He was a priest and here he was, contemplating suicide. Absurd. He, of all people, shouldn't even begin to debate whether or not life was worth living, but when you love someone so much and they go away...it feels like life isn't worth living. John sighed and rubbed his eyes with his other hand. Frustrated. He was frustrated at his lack of crucial thinking as of late. God. Boris. Either way an old man was dictating his life, and he was beginning to grow infuriated at the fact. Whittle suddenly stopped by his side and sighed.
"He said that we don't have to pay everything upfront," she said, "he knows how costly funerary expenses are, and-"
"I shouldn't be doing this," John said, sounding on the verge of a panic attack.
"He literally asked you be the one to do it," Whittle replied.
"I know, and that's the only reason I am, sticking to my word, but," John said, refusing to look at her, "...but I don't think it's right. I don't think people so close to the soon to be deceased should be the ones making these decisions. It's too difficult. It's too painful. I shouldn't be planning for his death. I should be appreciating his life. I feel so confused."
Whittle nodded, listening. John turned and leaned against the casket, looking out at all the others, crossing his arms. He took a long breath, like he was trying not to cry, and then he wiped his face on his shoulder sleeve. Whittle took the same position, if only because she didn't know what else to do with her body at this point. She figured she'd just wait for him to say something, anything, before trying to resume communication.
"You never think it comes for you," John said quietly, "even after you've experienced it, you still are naive enough to believe that you're untouchable, that the people you love are immortal. But you're always wrong. And it always comes back. You can't stop it and you can't slow it down. It comes with the full force of a wrecking ball, because that's what it does, it wrecks things. He shouldn't be dying. He shouldn't be able to be dead. I can't...I can't lose him too."
Whittle nodded, putting her hand on his back and rubbing. She didn't exactly know what to say, she just knew that she should be here for him. John was clearly struggling with some complicates issues regarding morality. After a few moments of silence, she opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off.
"What kind of God wants to take people away from people they love, that's so selfish," John said, "I've spent my life dedicated to a greedy selfish being who just takes what they want and always asks for more, like a spoiled child. What am I even preaching at this point? To give in to the delusional whims of a self appointed maniacal power hungry overseer? Why should anyone follow that?"
Whittle was surprised. She certainly hadn't expected John to start speaking ill of his religion.
"...maybe this is just Gods way of telling me it's okay to let go," John said, "of Boris...and religion."
Whittle chewed her lip. She didn't know what to say. What do you say to someone who's not only losing the person closest to them, but the thing they most believe as well? There's no Hallmark card for that situation.
***
Chrissy slowly opened the book and started to flip through it, its pages delicate and all the words appearing handwritten. She didn't really understand what exactly it was Boris had gifted her. After turning through a handful of sections, she finally stopped, closed the book again and looked back at him.
"I don't...I don't get it," she said.
"I wrote poetry my whole life," Boris said, "ever since I was a little boy, I've written poetry. It was a form of release I always turned to when things got their worst, or when I felt the best. I wrote poems for others, for myself, for special occasions. Whatever. This book is all of those. I compiled everything and took it to my publisher and asked them to make this one copy. It's the only one that exists, and it's all the poetry I ever wrote that didn't get published in that other book. I wanted you to have it."
Chrissy looked back down at the book and ran her hands across it's smooth, black cover with the gold indented titling.
"You...you want me to have this?" she asked, "Why? Why not your daughter or Whittle or-"
"Because the one thing I screwed up most in my life was raising my daughter, and you gave me a chance to make up for that. I know it wasn't perfect. I know I messed up a few times. I recently finished a bucket list that Carol made me do, and...and it was easy to make those ammends, but the one thing I never could fix was the one thing I wanted to fix the most, and you allowed me to do that just by being in my life. I tried so hard to do right by you, because I did so wrong by her."
Chriss smiled and opened the book back up, then stopped. On the first page was a dedication that simply read "To Chrissy, love Boris. You can do anything." She bit her lip and started to tear up. Boris really had been there for her when she needed someone, and proven to her that the adults around her were capable of caring about the kids in their lives. Hell, his interferance might've been what convinced her parents to get their shit together so she could have a home again. She really did feel like she owed him a lot more than she'd given back.
"I wish you weren't dying," Chrissy said, "it'd be nice to be able to see you more."
"I wish I weren't dying either, believe me," Boris replied, making her laugh as he added, "but I'm here right now. That's what matters. I was never where I needed to be when I was needed, but I'm here right now. I was there for you when you needed someone. That has to count for something. If I screwed up everything else in my life, I can at least comfort myself with the truth that I didn't screw things up for you."
"You sure didn't," Chrissy said, hugging him. Boris stroked her hair and shut his eyes, wanting to cry; Chrissy whispered, "I had the best time living with you guys."
"Having you with us was the happiest time of my life, thank you," Boris mumbled through his tears.
Chrissy didn't make it to her next class. The way she saw it, school would always be there.
Boris wouldn't be.
***
"You look like hell," Boris said, entering the diner and seating himself across from John, who was drinking coffee. He was wearing a turtleneck and black slacks. After his day out with Whittle, he needed to change into something, anything, that wasn't related to the church. John scratched his forehead and sipped from his mug.
"You don't look too good yourself," he replied.
"Yeah but I'm old and decrepit, that's expected of me," Boris said, making John smirk; Boris asked, "what did you do today?"
"Went shopping for coffins," John said, "...for you. Found a few you might like, but wanted you to see them first. Figured you should have a say, considering you'll be inside it for eternity."
"I'll be inside it for a maximum of however long it takes me to decay, and then I'll go somewhere else," Boris said.
This statement struck John between the eyes. Boris, talking spiritually? That he'd never expected.
"Are you saying you're eager to moving onto the afterlife?" John asked, folding his arms on the table.
"I'm saying that life was so hard, whatever comes next can't possible be as brutal. If anything, it's a reprieve. I should embrace that. Jenn told Whittle once about how she views the afterlife as The Inevitable Whatever, becase frankly she doesn't know what comes next and, frankly, it doesn't matter. It is what it is and what's done is done. We have no choice but to endure the next thing that the universe throws at us. I wouldn't say I'm excited, and even eager is probably too strong a word, but I can't say I'm not curious. I'm not Leanne curious, but I'm curious."
"...I've been questioning my faith a lot," John whispered, looking down at the table.
"Good," Boris said, "question everything. That's the one thing this society convinces you not to do, so you should absolutely do it. Just because you question something doesn't mean you inherently disbelieve it. You're looking for contextualization. Rationalization. Not proof of it being wrong. Kids get told not to talk back to parents, adults get told not to give grief to authority figures, religious people get told not to wonder about God, but in reality, questioning is the most human thing one can do. Question it all, John. Never stop questioning."
John smiled, nodding. Boris was right. Just because he saw inconsistancies, oddities, things that didn't match up, didn't mean he couldn't still believe. Faith was faith regardless of questioning, and if anything, the fact he still believed in his faith, unshaken from it at the end of the questioning, only proved how powerful it was. John picked up his mug and took a long sip.
"So lemme see these coffins," Boris said.
"Alright but I gotta tell ya, they're pretty gaudy," John said.
"Eh, I didn't splurge much while I was alive, why not go out in style," Boris replied.
So the two men sat together, looking over the photos John had taken of the various coffins, discussing what they each thought about them. Because Boris had been right, when he'd talked to Chrissy. He might be dead soon. There was no avoiding The Inevitable Whatever. But the fact of the matter was right now, he was right here, and he might as well have some fun with the time he had left with the people he loved most.
Those are the moments they'll remember forever.
"Hey," Boris said, coughing, "sorry to come so unannounced, but I really wanted to give you something. How long do you have until your next class?"
"...who cares," Chrissy said, "this is more important."
Boris laughed. That's the girl he remembered helping raise.
***
"How about this one?" Whittle asked, and Father Krickett stopped at a coffin, running his hands down it, feeling the wood grain. He sneered and pulled his hands away, giving the very visual impression her didn't approve of it. Whittle sighed and they continued further into the mortuary, looking at all the available coffins. John stuffed his hands in his pockets and shook his head.
"This doesn't feel real," he said.
"You of all poeple shouldn't feel strange in a place like this, considering how adjacent you are to it on a regular basis via your career," Whittle said.
"Yeah, sure, but that doesn't make it easier when it hits so close to home," Father Krickett said, "I don't know, Reggie, the whole thing just feels like it isn't happening, like it's some fucked up dream I keep hoping I'll wake up from. I know it isn't. I know that's wishful thinking, but..."
He stopped and looked at a nearby casket, one with black ivory handles and gold trim across the front. He felt his eyes tear up, and he bit his lip. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked over at Whittle.
"Hey," she said, "I have a lot of experience in helping people deal with their grief, so if you need to talk about it-"
"What would ever give you the impression I wanted to talk about it?" John asked, "seriously, I'm doing my best to avoid thinking about it and not engaging whatsoever, and you think I wanna talk about it?"
"It's happening whether you acknowledge it or not," Whittle said, "John, it's going to happen."
"Let's just keep looking," Father Krickett said, continuing down the hall. Whittle sighed and followed from behind at a near distance. She knew he didn't want to accept Boris was dying, but at some point he was going to have to, and when that time came...she just hoped he didn't regret denying it for so long.
***
"How're things going?" Boris asked as he and Chrissy sat on the bench in the hall.
"It's good!" Chrissy said, "Actually I'm really happy here. I do miss you guys though. My parents don't even want me to see you. They say it's healthier if I just act as though nothing happened, which, of course, isn't healthy, but whatever. What do parents know."
"That's the spirit!" Boris said, laughing, "I'm glad you're doing well. I was so worried that after they took you away you wouldn't manage to adjust, and you'd just...collapse. But I can see now you're stronger than that."
"I was sad," Chrissy said, "devastated, actually. Being torn away from you guys after so long...that sucked."
"I'm sure. I didn't like it either."
"Then why didn't you come see me sooner?" Chrissy asked, looking at him, and Boris exhaled. He knew he'd have to answer this question eventually, he just...he didn't want to. She'd already lost him once. Then again, perhaps the distance would help to create a barrier that would help her not feel so bad. He looked at his shoes, his fingertips tapping on the gift in his lap.
"There's...a handful of reasons, most bad, but...uh," Boris said, struggling to say it, "...phew, um. I'm sick. I'm very sick. I'm...I likely don't have much more than a few weeks left, maybe a month or so. I had to come see you now, and I'm sorry I didn't before. It's just hard when you're focusing on the end of your life."
The hall filled with silence, as Chrissy looked at her hands in her lap.
"You're dying?" she asked softly.
"Yes," Boris said, "but! I came here to give you something."
With that, he picked up and put the gift from his lap into hers. Chrissy looked at it, a bit confused, before looking back at Boris, who just smiled weakly at her. For the first time since she'd known him, she finally saw his oldness. This elderly face. Boris wasn't going to be here much longer.
"It's not much, but...it means a lot to me, and so do you," Boris said, "so I want you to have it."
Chrissy carefully unwrapped the gift, then stopped, a confused look on her face.
"It's a book," she said.
"It's much more than a book," Boris said, "it's my book."
"The one you published?" Chrissy asked, "Couldn't I just get that at the store?"
"No, not that one. This is from long before that," Boris said, and that got her interest.
***
Father Krickett had stopped at a totally black casket, with bright hold lining on the outside and inlayed golden flower details on the front all the way down to the bottom. He sucked on his teeth and put his hands on it, admiring its smoothness. Whittle was nearby, looking at a different one, but he tried to ignore her proximity. A man who worked there, presumably to sell these coffins and grave spots, approached her, and John could hear them talking but he did his best to tune it out.
Boris. Underground. Nonexistant. He couldn't fathom this.
The idea that the last few years he'd spent of his life with this man would suddenly cease to be, that the man in question would no longer be around, that scared the hell out of him. Why did he continue to lose the most important parts of himself? His boyfriend. His brother. His Boris. Anytime, it seemed, he allowed himself to love something, something took it away. It wasn't fair and, quite frankly, he was sick of the universe not playing fairly. John rested his hand on the top of the black casket, the coolness of the wood calming him down. Maybe he too should go away. Maybe he and Boris should go together.
What was he thinking. He was a priest and here he was, contemplating suicide. Absurd. He, of all people, shouldn't even begin to debate whether or not life was worth living, but when you love someone so much and they go away...it feels like life isn't worth living. John sighed and rubbed his eyes with his other hand. Frustrated. He was frustrated at his lack of crucial thinking as of late. God. Boris. Either way an old man was dictating his life, and he was beginning to grow infuriated at the fact. Whittle suddenly stopped by his side and sighed.
"He said that we don't have to pay everything upfront," she said, "he knows how costly funerary expenses are, and-"
"I shouldn't be doing this," John said, sounding on the verge of a panic attack.
"He literally asked you be the one to do it," Whittle replied.
"I know, and that's the only reason I am, sticking to my word, but," John said, refusing to look at her, "...but I don't think it's right. I don't think people so close to the soon to be deceased should be the ones making these decisions. It's too difficult. It's too painful. I shouldn't be planning for his death. I should be appreciating his life. I feel so confused."
Whittle nodded, listening. John turned and leaned against the casket, looking out at all the others, crossing his arms. He took a long breath, like he was trying not to cry, and then he wiped his face on his shoulder sleeve. Whittle took the same position, if only because she didn't know what else to do with her body at this point. She figured she'd just wait for him to say something, anything, before trying to resume communication.
"You never think it comes for you," John said quietly, "even after you've experienced it, you still are naive enough to believe that you're untouchable, that the people you love are immortal. But you're always wrong. And it always comes back. You can't stop it and you can't slow it down. It comes with the full force of a wrecking ball, because that's what it does, it wrecks things. He shouldn't be dying. He shouldn't be able to be dead. I can't...I can't lose him too."
Whittle nodded, putting her hand on his back and rubbing. She didn't exactly know what to say, she just knew that she should be here for him. John was clearly struggling with some complicates issues regarding morality. After a few moments of silence, she opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off.
"What kind of God wants to take people away from people they love, that's so selfish," John said, "I've spent my life dedicated to a greedy selfish being who just takes what they want and always asks for more, like a spoiled child. What am I even preaching at this point? To give in to the delusional whims of a self appointed maniacal power hungry overseer? Why should anyone follow that?"
Whittle was surprised. She certainly hadn't expected John to start speaking ill of his religion.
"...maybe this is just Gods way of telling me it's okay to let go," John said, "of Boris...and religion."
Whittle chewed her lip. She didn't know what to say. What do you say to someone who's not only losing the person closest to them, but the thing they most believe as well? There's no Hallmark card for that situation.
***
Chrissy slowly opened the book and started to flip through it, its pages delicate and all the words appearing handwritten. She didn't really understand what exactly it was Boris had gifted her. After turning through a handful of sections, she finally stopped, closed the book again and looked back at him.
"I don't...I don't get it," she said.
"I wrote poetry my whole life," Boris said, "ever since I was a little boy, I've written poetry. It was a form of release I always turned to when things got their worst, or when I felt the best. I wrote poems for others, for myself, for special occasions. Whatever. This book is all of those. I compiled everything and took it to my publisher and asked them to make this one copy. It's the only one that exists, and it's all the poetry I ever wrote that didn't get published in that other book. I wanted you to have it."
Chrissy looked back down at the book and ran her hands across it's smooth, black cover with the gold indented titling.
"You...you want me to have this?" she asked, "Why? Why not your daughter or Whittle or-"
"Because the one thing I screwed up most in my life was raising my daughter, and you gave me a chance to make up for that. I know it wasn't perfect. I know I messed up a few times. I recently finished a bucket list that Carol made me do, and...and it was easy to make those ammends, but the one thing I never could fix was the one thing I wanted to fix the most, and you allowed me to do that just by being in my life. I tried so hard to do right by you, because I did so wrong by her."
Chriss smiled and opened the book back up, then stopped. On the first page was a dedication that simply read "To Chrissy, love Boris. You can do anything." She bit her lip and started to tear up. Boris really had been there for her when she needed someone, and proven to her that the adults around her were capable of caring about the kids in their lives. Hell, his interferance might've been what convinced her parents to get their shit together so she could have a home again. She really did feel like she owed him a lot more than she'd given back.
"I wish you weren't dying," Chrissy said, "it'd be nice to be able to see you more."
"I wish I weren't dying either, believe me," Boris replied, making her laugh as he added, "but I'm here right now. That's what matters. I was never where I needed to be when I was needed, but I'm here right now. I was there for you when you needed someone. That has to count for something. If I screwed up everything else in my life, I can at least comfort myself with the truth that I didn't screw things up for you."
"You sure didn't," Chrissy said, hugging him. Boris stroked her hair and shut his eyes, wanting to cry; Chrissy whispered, "I had the best time living with you guys."
"Having you with us was the happiest time of my life, thank you," Boris mumbled through his tears.
Chrissy didn't make it to her next class. The way she saw it, school would always be there.
Boris wouldn't be.
***
"You look like hell," Boris said, entering the diner and seating himself across from John, who was drinking coffee. He was wearing a turtleneck and black slacks. After his day out with Whittle, he needed to change into something, anything, that wasn't related to the church. John scratched his forehead and sipped from his mug.
"You don't look too good yourself," he replied.
"Yeah but I'm old and decrepit, that's expected of me," Boris said, making John smirk; Boris asked, "what did you do today?"
"Went shopping for coffins," John said, "...for you. Found a few you might like, but wanted you to see them first. Figured you should have a say, considering you'll be inside it for eternity."
"I'll be inside it for a maximum of however long it takes me to decay, and then I'll go somewhere else," Boris said.
This statement struck John between the eyes. Boris, talking spiritually? That he'd never expected.
"Are you saying you're eager to moving onto the afterlife?" John asked, folding his arms on the table.
"I'm saying that life was so hard, whatever comes next can't possible be as brutal. If anything, it's a reprieve. I should embrace that. Jenn told Whittle once about how she views the afterlife as The Inevitable Whatever, becase frankly she doesn't know what comes next and, frankly, it doesn't matter. It is what it is and what's done is done. We have no choice but to endure the next thing that the universe throws at us. I wouldn't say I'm excited, and even eager is probably too strong a word, but I can't say I'm not curious. I'm not Leanne curious, but I'm curious."
"...I've been questioning my faith a lot," John whispered, looking down at the table.
"Good," Boris said, "question everything. That's the one thing this society convinces you not to do, so you should absolutely do it. Just because you question something doesn't mean you inherently disbelieve it. You're looking for contextualization. Rationalization. Not proof of it being wrong. Kids get told not to talk back to parents, adults get told not to give grief to authority figures, religious people get told not to wonder about God, but in reality, questioning is the most human thing one can do. Question it all, John. Never stop questioning."
John smiled, nodding. Boris was right. Just because he saw inconsistancies, oddities, things that didn't match up, didn't mean he couldn't still believe. Faith was faith regardless of questioning, and if anything, the fact he still believed in his faith, unshaken from it at the end of the questioning, only proved how powerful it was. John picked up his mug and took a long sip.
"So lemme see these coffins," Boris said.
"Alright but I gotta tell ya, they're pretty gaudy," John said.
"Eh, I didn't splurge much while I was alive, why not go out in style," Boris replied.
So the two men sat together, looking over the photos John had taken of the various coffins, discussing what they each thought about them. Because Boris had been right, when he'd talked to Chrissy. He might be dead soon. There was no avoiding The Inevitable Whatever. But the fact of the matter was right now, he was right here, and he might as well have some fun with the time he had left with the people he loved most.
Those are the moments they'll remember forever.