Whittle rolled onto her side and stretched. She felt her leg leave the safety of the blanket and her skin touched the cool morning air of the bedroom. She opened one eye, and smiled, seeing Jenn laying on her side, watching her. Jenn reached out and put her palm on Whittle's face, stroking it gently.
"I used to think,"Jenn whispered, "that all the beauty in the world derived from the power of God, but now I know that even God couldn't create something as beautiful as you."
Whittle buried her face in her pillow to hide her blushing face. After a moment she resurfaced, biting her lip, trying not to laugh at Jenns sweet romantic cheese. Jenn put both hands on Whittle's face and kiss her right on the lips, and Whittle didn't fight it a bit. For as long as she could remember, all Whittle had wanted was to be absolutely adored by the person she was with, and now she had that after a lifetime of disappointing relationships, and she couldn't be happier.
"I love you," Whittle whispered, and Jenn blushed.
"I love you too," she said quietly.
Right now, during a time of such fraught uncertainty, surrounded by death, it was nice to have something as comforting as love to fall back on. Life felt safe, and understandable, here in bed with the woman she loved, and that was more than could be said for Boris at that moment, who was working on one of the hardest things anyone ever has to do...writing a will.
***
"I've never done anything like this so please cut me some slack," Carol said, "I'm not even an attorney, you're gonna have to get someone to look this over after the fact to make sure everything is on the up and up."
"That's not a problem," Boris said, sitting in his chair, Melody in the wheelchair beside him; he straightened his tie and added, "I just wanted help from someone I really know and trust first. That's all. Next to John, you're it, so I figured you'd be the best option."
"What do you even own?" Carol asked, "who am I bequething any of this stuff to?"
"My belongings mean jack shit," Boris said, "I don't care about my clothes, nobody wants them, give them away. What matters is the money."
Carol looked up, a bit surprised.
"The money?"
"From my book sales," Boris said, "ever since that released, my bank account has grown steadily fatter and fatter. That's what it all comes down to. I want some of it to go to the church, of course, to help John with his expenses, and some of it to you, for the home, but the rest..."
Boris chewed his lip and looked at his shoes. Ellen was getting married, she'd be fine. Lorraine lived a cushy enough life without his help. He knew where the money really needed to go. He sighed and shut his eyes.
"The rest is going somewhere else," he said, and that was all he would elaborate on. Carol nodded and started penciling some of this down in her notebook; Boris looked around the room and his eyes landed on Melody, where he smiled and added, "and of course, there's Whittle. Wouldn't have made it this far without her, can't just leave her out entirely."
"How thoughtful," Carol said, "and what do you want to leave her?"
That was the million dollar question. What could he possibly leave Whittle?
***
"I like a woman who can make breakfast," Whittle said, sitting at the kitchen table as Jenn dropped a plate in front of her filled with various breakfast foods before plating her own and joining her, chuckling. Whittle picked up her fork and started eating while Jenn poured them both some coffee.
"The church opens in a few days," Jenn said, "you should come with me to see it. It's so beautiful."
"I'm excited!" Whittle exclaimed, "and that says something because I'm not a remotely religious person, so."
"I love churches, whether I'm religious or not," Jenn said, "especially during weddings. They always seem so ethereal then, during promises of eternal love. Something so beautiful about the whole visual. I remember being a flower girl when I was little and my aunt got married, it felt like being a fairy."
Whittle smiled as she listened to Jenn, while eating her eggs. Jenn being enthusiastic was so infectious, and she loved to bask in it. She also loved it because Whittle herself had rarely had happy moments like that, much less from growing up. Jenn lifted her coffee mug to her lips and took a long drink, then exhaled.
"Do you think..." Jenn started, before trailing off, "No, nevermind."
"What?" Whittle asked, stabbing her eggs and and chewing.
"...do you think you might want to get married one day?" Jenn asked, tapping her nails on her mug, looking down at the table. Whittle thought about it for a moment, then immediately nodded.
"Yeah, absolutely," she said, surprising Jenn; she added, "I mean, my folks had an okay enough marriage, but...I've always believed, and call me old fashioned maybe but, that the union of marriage is the truest testament to someones love to someone else. I know that there's plenty of arguments against that, that you don't have to go that far to prove you love someone, and I don't disagree. But to me, personally, for someone to say 'I want to legally be binded to you for the rest of our lives'...there's something really beautiful about that."
Jenn blushed and nodded in agreement. She sipped from her mug again and tapped her nails once more, anxiously.
"And...and you think you'd want that...with me?" Jenn asked, "going to Boris's childhood home, seeing those two men have a whole happy life together...it just made me yearn for something, I guess. Something more than just...anything. I don't know how to explain it."
"You don't have to," Whittle whispered, putting her fork down and reaching across the table, taking one of Jenn's hands in her own and kissing it gently, "Believe me, I get it."
And she did. If anyone one this earth got it, it was Regina Whittle.
***
Boris stood looking out the window, staring at the people in the home out in the garden, on the gazebo, enjoying their old age. Carol was leaning back in her chair, tapping her pencil absentmindedly on the table while Melody sat unshifting in her wheelchair. Boris exhaled and shook his head.
"Look at them," he said, "do they know? Or do they just willingly ignore it? The time is so brief now. Your whole life the only thing anyone ever tells you is to appreciate it because it goes so fast, but it doesn't, it goes slow. It goes slow until the end, then it goes fast. Do you think they're aware of how close to the end they actually are, or are they just willfully ignorant?"
"Not my place to say," Carol remarked, shrugging.
"I agree, I never found it went fast enough," Melody said, "I always wanted it to go faster. I was a child for far too long, and now an adult for even longer. That's why I wanted to expedite the process, you know? Get to the finish line quicker than usual. It's just too painful, and seeing what people your age deal with...it terrifies me. That sounds even worse than living to be that old in the first place."
Boris nodded, turning away from the window and leaning against the sill, groaning, his back hurting.
"I think only when you've fallen enough to want to end it yourself do you see it for what it really is," he replied, "your existence is an affront to nature, and to continue to exist is a revolutionary act because so much of life is trying to kill you at all times. Accidents, infections, murders. So much variety, yet here you are, still existing. So if you opt to try and kill yourself, that's also bold, taking away the one thing life can do to you and making the choice for yourself. Brave. Suicide isn't cowardly, it's the bravest act there is. That doesn't mean I condone it, but I also won't judge it."
Carol nodded, chewing on her cheek. In a sense, Boris had a point, but she wouldn't go brandying that viewpoint around anytime soon. She exhaled and turned her attention back to the will.
"Where's the money going, Boris?" she asked.
"To Chrissy," he said, "I want her to have as good a life as she can, and I want all future royals in perpetuity to be hers. She stopped me from ending it, so I'm gonna help her have the best life she could possibly have. I want her to have what Ellen didn't. A great adolescence. A wonderful college education. A very happy adulthood. Sure, Ellen's okay now, but...but this is my way to make up for it, vicariously."
"That's really sweet," Melody whispered, and Boris smiled at her.
"Just doing what I can while I can," he said, and Carol smiled as she noted this down. Boris had come so far as a person in the last few years, she was so very proud of his growth, and to see he was still facilitating it so close to the end of his life. In a way, it was admirable, inspiring, and she hoped that when the time came, she could do the same herself. Boris walked back around to the front of the desk, back towards the chairs, and sat back down beside Melody.
"And I want it airtight. It's hers, not her folks. They can't touch it. It belongs to her and her alone," Boris said.
"You know I'm not a lawyer, right? You know we'll have to get this actually processed, notarized and legally bound by an actual lawyer? I'm just taking it down for you," Carol said, and Boris nodded.
"I do know that, yes, thank you," he said, "I just want it as clean and understandable as possible. That way nobody can fiddle with the wording, take something away from her that's rightfully hers."
Carol nodded, writing something down, before sighing and looking up again. Melody excused herself to use the restroom, rolling the wheelchair out the door and down the hall, leaving Carol and Boris alone together.
"I gotta ask," Carol said, "...and normally I wouldn't ask this sort of thing, partially because it might freak someone out and partially because it might freak me out, but...what's it like? Being so close to the end? Knowing that, soon enough, the possible eternal nothingness will claim you and you will no longer see or breath or hear or think or feel? I mean in one instance you might imagine it'd be relaxing, finally, no need to be on the ball anymore, but I just gotta know what you think about it."
Boris bit his lip and thought about it for a minute or two. Carol leaned back in her chair and tapped her pen on the desk. After a few minutes, Boris sighed and pulled his hat off, setting it in his lap.
"We spend so much of our time alive focused on being alive that we tend not to think about death, and some people can do that easily and some people have to force themselves not to because it scares them, understandably. Being at the edge of the void, I suppose now, having lived a life full of loss, all I can say is that..."
His thoughts turned to Leanne, on her deathbed that afternoon, the look of sheer joy on her face as she stared into the nothingness.
"...I'm not afraid, I'm excited," he said, "The thing is, nobody knows what comes next, and all the evidence pointing in one direction or another is anecdotal at best, so I'm excited to see what the next step is. Can't be anymore painful than this one was, right? I don't know, maybe it changes day to day, one afternoon I'm scared and one afternoon I'm elated, but for the most part I like to think I'm excited. Maybe it's like so many people believe and you really do get to see the people who matter to you again, you know? Maybe that isn't just some fantasy we came up with to tide over our fears of mortality. I don't know. But that'd be great if it were true."
Carol nodded slowly, thinking. When faced with the end, would she be as brave? She'd be braver, she knew. Braver than anyone else had ever been. Because she was one of those people who always wanted to get onto the next big thing, and what's bigger than death?
"Well, we still haven't decided what you want to leave for Whittle," Carol said, sitting back upright in her chair.
Yes. What could he possibly give to the nurse who had given him so much?
***
When Boris got home that evening, pulling into the parking lot of the complex, he saw John leaning against his car, hands tucked in his peacoat pocket, clearly waiting for him. Boris parked, and Melody got out and took her wheelchair upstairs. John then re-opened her passenger side door and climbed into her seat.
"Hope you weren't out there for too long," Boris said, adjusting the heater vent so it blew on John.
"Nah, only maybe fifteen minutes," Father Krickett replied, "I was thinking tomorrow we could go shopping for a resting place."
"Yeah, I guess I should take care of that shouldn't I? Wouldn't want Whittle to just drag me out to the dumpster when the big day comes," Boris remarked, making Father Krickett laugh; Boris smiled and added, "John, can I ask you a question? You're a priest, you deal in all things afterlife...what do you think it's like?"
Father Krickett thought about it for a minute and then sighed.
"I suppose," John said, "that, in reality, science would tell you that everything people see - the tunnel and the white light and the faces of their loved ones - is just your brains way of coping with the fact that it's dying. Putting on a show right at the end. But...how could it be so coincidental? For everyone to see their loved ones, sure, that makes sense being coincidental. We all have people we loved and lost that meant the world to us, and to see them would be comforting. But for everyone to also see the tunnel and the white light? Sure, the power of suggestion is strong, and if people hear about it they might see it themselves...but the fact remains that it's weird that so many people have reported the very same thing."
Boris nodded, tugging on his jacket, pulling up his zipper to his neck.
"I guess," John continued, "what it boils down to is what do you believe? I like to think that when I go, and god forbid that ain't for a long time, I'm sitting somewhere beautiful and I'm approached by the people who passed before me, and we have a lovely little conversation and they ease me into the fact that it's over. They walk me into the arms of the Lord and everything melts away around me. I don't want to just see a face, I want a tour guide. That's how I'd like it to be anyway."
"That's lovely," Boris said, "so what time tomorrow?"
"Uh, how about 11?" John asked, "I'll be done with what little work I have to do by then and I know a beautiful cemetery to try."
After Father Krickett went along his way, Boris headed inside the apartment complex. He took the elevator up to his floor, all the while thinking about what Father Krickett had said, about the power of suggestion, coincidences, and, of course, just being surrounded by the ones who meant the most to you. Easing you into the next chapter. The doors opened and Boris exited, heading down the hall. He entered the apartment, shut and locked the door behind him, the hung up his coat and hat. He then headed into the kitchen for a drink where he found Whittle doing the dishes.
"Have an eventful day?" he asked.
"Actually it was very low key," Whittle replied, "Jenn and I just hung around here, talked about the future, some things, had some breakfast. It was kind of nice."
Boris opened a can of soda from the fridge, leaned with his back against the fridge door and drank, then wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve and nodded.
"Sounds pretty good. Carol was on me the entire time because I couldn't come up with anything to leave you," Boris said, and Whittle stopped what she was doing, put the remaining dishes in the sink, then turned and faced him.
"You don't have to leave me anything," Whittle said.
"Well, of course, but you've been here for so long, helped me through so much, I just thought-"
"No, I mean, Boris...you...you've already given me something nobody else could've," Whittle said, surprising him as she added, "your friendship with John, your pseudo association with the church, you brought Jenn into my life. That...god...that is more than enough. You gave me the courage to be open, to be happy, and to love someone and let them love me. Boris, you don't have to leave me anything because what you've already given to me is more than anything else you could give me, and I'll be forever thankful for that."
Boris hadn't expected, nor thought of this, but he was happy. He smiled, and walked towards Whittle, hugging her tight. He was happy to know that, once it was over, once he was gone, someone would be watching out for her. He finished his soda, went to his room and changed into his pajamas, before laying in his bed. After a few minutes, the door creaked open, and Melody came in, climbing onto the bed and laying beside him.
"...So you think I should keep going?" Melody asked, and Boris shrugged.
"Ultimately it's up to you, but I think there's plenty you have yet to see, things you won't expect," Boris said, "things that will surprise you and make you glad you stuck around for them. And, well, if not, then I guess you can blame my dead ass for convincing you otherwise. I'll take the heat, I don't mind."
Melody snickered and held his hand. The wrinkles, the old flesh, reminding her of her grandfather when she was a little girl.
"I guess I could stick it out for a bit," Melody said, "but I'm not making any promises."
"Hey, I'm not askin' ya to," Boris said.
And that's what Melody appreciated most. Boris wasn't trying to convince her that life was worthwhile and that suicide was a temporary solution to a permanent problem when in fact many peoples problems are permanent and suicide makes sense for them. No. He wasn't influencing her in either way, and he wouldn't judge her for either road picked. He just was letting her be, and that was more than anyone else in the world had ever offered her. Therapists, boyfriends, her parents, they'd all tried to push her in different directions, socially, academically, emotionally, but Boris...Boris let her choose, and that freedom meant a lot.
So yeah. She could stick it out. For a while at least. You never know what's on the horizon.
"I used to think,"Jenn whispered, "that all the beauty in the world derived from the power of God, but now I know that even God couldn't create something as beautiful as you."
Whittle buried her face in her pillow to hide her blushing face. After a moment she resurfaced, biting her lip, trying not to laugh at Jenns sweet romantic cheese. Jenn put both hands on Whittle's face and kiss her right on the lips, and Whittle didn't fight it a bit. For as long as she could remember, all Whittle had wanted was to be absolutely adored by the person she was with, and now she had that after a lifetime of disappointing relationships, and she couldn't be happier.
"I love you," Whittle whispered, and Jenn blushed.
"I love you too," she said quietly.
Right now, during a time of such fraught uncertainty, surrounded by death, it was nice to have something as comforting as love to fall back on. Life felt safe, and understandable, here in bed with the woman she loved, and that was more than could be said for Boris at that moment, who was working on one of the hardest things anyone ever has to do...writing a will.
***
"I've never done anything like this so please cut me some slack," Carol said, "I'm not even an attorney, you're gonna have to get someone to look this over after the fact to make sure everything is on the up and up."
"That's not a problem," Boris said, sitting in his chair, Melody in the wheelchair beside him; he straightened his tie and added, "I just wanted help from someone I really know and trust first. That's all. Next to John, you're it, so I figured you'd be the best option."
"What do you even own?" Carol asked, "who am I bequething any of this stuff to?"
"My belongings mean jack shit," Boris said, "I don't care about my clothes, nobody wants them, give them away. What matters is the money."
Carol looked up, a bit surprised.
"The money?"
"From my book sales," Boris said, "ever since that released, my bank account has grown steadily fatter and fatter. That's what it all comes down to. I want some of it to go to the church, of course, to help John with his expenses, and some of it to you, for the home, but the rest..."
Boris chewed his lip and looked at his shoes. Ellen was getting married, she'd be fine. Lorraine lived a cushy enough life without his help. He knew where the money really needed to go. He sighed and shut his eyes.
"The rest is going somewhere else," he said, and that was all he would elaborate on. Carol nodded and started penciling some of this down in her notebook; Boris looked around the room and his eyes landed on Melody, where he smiled and added, "and of course, there's Whittle. Wouldn't have made it this far without her, can't just leave her out entirely."
"How thoughtful," Carol said, "and what do you want to leave her?"
That was the million dollar question. What could he possibly leave Whittle?
***
"I like a woman who can make breakfast," Whittle said, sitting at the kitchen table as Jenn dropped a plate in front of her filled with various breakfast foods before plating her own and joining her, chuckling. Whittle picked up her fork and started eating while Jenn poured them both some coffee.
"The church opens in a few days," Jenn said, "you should come with me to see it. It's so beautiful."
"I'm excited!" Whittle exclaimed, "and that says something because I'm not a remotely religious person, so."
"I love churches, whether I'm religious or not," Jenn said, "especially during weddings. They always seem so ethereal then, during promises of eternal love. Something so beautiful about the whole visual. I remember being a flower girl when I was little and my aunt got married, it felt like being a fairy."
Whittle smiled as she listened to Jenn, while eating her eggs. Jenn being enthusiastic was so infectious, and she loved to bask in it. She also loved it because Whittle herself had rarely had happy moments like that, much less from growing up. Jenn lifted her coffee mug to her lips and took a long drink, then exhaled.
"Do you think..." Jenn started, before trailing off, "No, nevermind."
"What?" Whittle asked, stabbing her eggs and and chewing.
"...do you think you might want to get married one day?" Jenn asked, tapping her nails on her mug, looking down at the table. Whittle thought about it for a moment, then immediately nodded.
"Yeah, absolutely," she said, surprising Jenn; she added, "I mean, my folks had an okay enough marriage, but...I've always believed, and call me old fashioned maybe but, that the union of marriage is the truest testament to someones love to someone else. I know that there's plenty of arguments against that, that you don't have to go that far to prove you love someone, and I don't disagree. But to me, personally, for someone to say 'I want to legally be binded to you for the rest of our lives'...there's something really beautiful about that."
Jenn blushed and nodded in agreement. She sipped from her mug again and tapped her nails once more, anxiously.
"And...and you think you'd want that...with me?" Jenn asked, "going to Boris's childhood home, seeing those two men have a whole happy life together...it just made me yearn for something, I guess. Something more than just...anything. I don't know how to explain it."
"You don't have to," Whittle whispered, putting her fork down and reaching across the table, taking one of Jenn's hands in her own and kissing it gently, "Believe me, I get it."
And she did. If anyone one this earth got it, it was Regina Whittle.
***
Boris stood looking out the window, staring at the people in the home out in the garden, on the gazebo, enjoying their old age. Carol was leaning back in her chair, tapping her pencil absentmindedly on the table while Melody sat unshifting in her wheelchair. Boris exhaled and shook his head.
"Look at them," he said, "do they know? Or do they just willingly ignore it? The time is so brief now. Your whole life the only thing anyone ever tells you is to appreciate it because it goes so fast, but it doesn't, it goes slow. It goes slow until the end, then it goes fast. Do you think they're aware of how close to the end they actually are, or are they just willfully ignorant?"
"Not my place to say," Carol remarked, shrugging.
"I agree, I never found it went fast enough," Melody said, "I always wanted it to go faster. I was a child for far too long, and now an adult for even longer. That's why I wanted to expedite the process, you know? Get to the finish line quicker than usual. It's just too painful, and seeing what people your age deal with...it terrifies me. That sounds even worse than living to be that old in the first place."
Boris nodded, turning away from the window and leaning against the sill, groaning, his back hurting.
"I think only when you've fallen enough to want to end it yourself do you see it for what it really is," he replied, "your existence is an affront to nature, and to continue to exist is a revolutionary act because so much of life is trying to kill you at all times. Accidents, infections, murders. So much variety, yet here you are, still existing. So if you opt to try and kill yourself, that's also bold, taking away the one thing life can do to you and making the choice for yourself. Brave. Suicide isn't cowardly, it's the bravest act there is. That doesn't mean I condone it, but I also won't judge it."
Carol nodded, chewing on her cheek. In a sense, Boris had a point, but she wouldn't go brandying that viewpoint around anytime soon. She exhaled and turned her attention back to the will.
"Where's the money going, Boris?" she asked.
"To Chrissy," he said, "I want her to have as good a life as she can, and I want all future royals in perpetuity to be hers. She stopped me from ending it, so I'm gonna help her have the best life she could possibly have. I want her to have what Ellen didn't. A great adolescence. A wonderful college education. A very happy adulthood. Sure, Ellen's okay now, but...but this is my way to make up for it, vicariously."
"That's really sweet," Melody whispered, and Boris smiled at her.
"Just doing what I can while I can," he said, and Carol smiled as she noted this down. Boris had come so far as a person in the last few years, she was so very proud of his growth, and to see he was still facilitating it so close to the end of his life. In a way, it was admirable, inspiring, and she hoped that when the time came, she could do the same herself. Boris walked back around to the front of the desk, back towards the chairs, and sat back down beside Melody.
"And I want it airtight. It's hers, not her folks. They can't touch it. It belongs to her and her alone," Boris said.
"You know I'm not a lawyer, right? You know we'll have to get this actually processed, notarized and legally bound by an actual lawyer? I'm just taking it down for you," Carol said, and Boris nodded.
"I do know that, yes, thank you," he said, "I just want it as clean and understandable as possible. That way nobody can fiddle with the wording, take something away from her that's rightfully hers."
Carol nodded, writing something down, before sighing and looking up again. Melody excused herself to use the restroom, rolling the wheelchair out the door and down the hall, leaving Carol and Boris alone together.
"I gotta ask," Carol said, "...and normally I wouldn't ask this sort of thing, partially because it might freak someone out and partially because it might freak me out, but...what's it like? Being so close to the end? Knowing that, soon enough, the possible eternal nothingness will claim you and you will no longer see or breath or hear or think or feel? I mean in one instance you might imagine it'd be relaxing, finally, no need to be on the ball anymore, but I just gotta know what you think about it."
Boris bit his lip and thought about it for a minute or two. Carol leaned back in her chair and tapped her pen on the desk. After a few minutes, Boris sighed and pulled his hat off, setting it in his lap.
"We spend so much of our time alive focused on being alive that we tend not to think about death, and some people can do that easily and some people have to force themselves not to because it scares them, understandably. Being at the edge of the void, I suppose now, having lived a life full of loss, all I can say is that..."
His thoughts turned to Leanne, on her deathbed that afternoon, the look of sheer joy on her face as she stared into the nothingness.
"...I'm not afraid, I'm excited," he said, "The thing is, nobody knows what comes next, and all the evidence pointing in one direction or another is anecdotal at best, so I'm excited to see what the next step is. Can't be anymore painful than this one was, right? I don't know, maybe it changes day to day, one afternoon I'm scared and one afternoon I'm elated, but for the most part I like to think I'm excited. Maybe it's like so many people believe and you really do get to see the people who matter to you again, you know? Maybe that isn't just some fantasy we came up with to tide over our fears of mortality. I don't know. But that'd be great if it were true."
Carol nodded slowly, thinking. When faced with the end, would she be as brave? She'd be braver, she knew. Braver than anyone else had ever been. Because she was one of those people who always wanted to get onto the next big thing, and what's bigger than death?
"Well, we still haven't decided what you want to leave for Whittle," Carol said, sitting back upright in her chair.
Yes. What could he possibly give to the nurse who had given him so much?
***
When Boris got home that evening, pulling into the parking lot of the complex, he saw John leaning against his car, hands tucked in his peacoat pocket, clearly waiting for him. Boris parked, and Melody got out and took her wheelchair upstairs. John then re-opened her passenger side door and climbed into her seat.
"Hope you weren't out there for too long," Boris said, adjusting the heater vent so it blew on John.
"Nah, only maybe fifteen minutes," Father Krickett replied, "I was thinking tomorrow we could go shopping for a resting place."
"Yeah, I guess I should take care of that shouldn't I? Wouldn't want Whittle to just drag me out to the dumpster when the big day comes," Boris remarked, making Father Krickett laugh; Boris smiled and added, "John, can I ask you a question? You're a priest, you deal in all things afterlife...what do you think it's like?"
Father Krickett thought about it for a minute and then sighed.
"I suppose," John said, "that, in reality, science would tell you that everything people see - the tunnel and the white light and the faces of their loved ones - is just your brains way of coping with the fact that it's dying. Putting on a show right at the end. But...how could it be so coincidental? For everyone to see their loved ones, sure, that makes sense being coincidental. We all have people we loved and lost that meant the world to us, and to see them would be comforting. But for everyone to also see the tunnel and the white light? Sure, the power of suggestion is strong, and if people hear about it they might see it themselves...but the fact remains that it's weird that so many people have reported the very same thing."
Boris nodded, tugging on his jacket, pulling up his zipper to his neck.
"I guess," John continued, "what it boils down to is what do you believe? I like to think that when I go, and god forbid that ain't for a long time, I'm sitting somewhere beautiful and I'm approached by the people who passed before me, and we have a lovely little conversation and they ease me into the fact that it's over. They walk me into the arms of the Lord and everything melts away around me. I don't want to just see a face, I want a tour guide. That's how I'd like it to be anyway."
"That's lovely," Boris said, "so what time tomorrow?"
"Uh, how about 11?" John asked, "I'll be done with what little work I have to do by then and I know a beautiful cemetery to try."
After Father Krickett went along his way, Boris headed inside the apartment complex. He took the elevator up to his floor, all the while thinking about what Father Krickett had said, about the power of suggestion, coincidences, and, of course, just being surrounded by the ones who meant the most to you. Easing you into the next chapter. The doors opened and Boris exited, heading down the hall. He entered the apartment, shut and locked the door behind him, the hung up his coat and hat. He then headed into the kitchen for a drink where he found Whittle doing the dishes.
"Have an eventful day?" he asked.
"Actually it was very low key," Whittle replied, "Jenn and I just hung around here, talked about the future, some things, had some breakfast. It was kind of nice."
Boris opened a can of soda from the fridge, leaned with his back against the fridge door and drank, then wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve and nodded.
"Sounds pretty good. Carol was on me the entire time because I couldn't come up with anything to leave you," Boris said, and Whittle stopped what she was doing, put the remaining dishes in the sink, then turned and faced him.
"You don't have to leave me anything," Whittle said.
"Well, of course, but you've been here for so long, helped me through so much, I just thought-"
"No, I mean, Boris...you...you've already given me something nobody else could've," Whittle said, surprising him as she added, "your friendship with John, your pseudo association with the church, you brought Jenn into my life. That...god...that is more than enough. You gave me the courage to be open, to be happy, and to love someone and let them love me. Boris, you don't have to leave me anything because what you've already given to me is more than anything else you could give me, and I'll be forever thankful for that."
Boris hadn't expected, nor thought of this, but he was happy. He smiled, and walked towards Whittle, hugging her tight. He was happy to know that, once it was over, once he was gone, someone would be watching out for her. He finished his soda, went to his room and changed into his pajamas, before laying in his bed. After a few minutes, the door creaked open, and Melody came in, climbing onto the bed and laying beside him.
"...So you think I should keep going?" Melody asked, and Boris shrugged.
"Ultimately it's up to you, but I think there's plenty you have yet to see, things you won't expect," Boris said, "things that will surprise you and make you glad you stuck around for them. And, well, if not, then I guess you can blame my dead ass for convincing you otherwise. I'll take the heat, I don't mind."
Melody snickered and held his hand. The wrinkles, the old flesh, reminding her of her grandfather when she was a little girl.
"I guess I could stick it out for a bit," Melody said, "but I'm not making any promises."
"Hey, I'm not askin' ya to," Boris said.
And that's what Melody appreciated most. Boris wasn't trying to convince her that life was worthwhile and that suicide was a temporary solution to a permanent problem when in fact many peoples problems are permanent and suicide makes sense for them. No. He wasn't influencing her in either way, and he wouldn't judge her for either road picked. He just was letting her be, and that was more than anyone else in the world had ever offered her. Therapists, boyfriends, her parents, they'd all tried to push her in different directions, socially, academically, emotionally, but Boris...Boris let her choose, and that freedom meant a lot.
So yeah. She could stick it out. For a while at least. You never know what's on the horizon.