A Little More LIving (Pt 1)
“I’m sorry Mr Brown but at this stage, next to nothing can be done. I’d advise that you set your affairs in order because you have at the very most, a month left to live.”
The words kept resonating in John’s head hours after he’d left the hospital. “...a month left to live.”
“…a month.”
“…a month.”
“Dammit!” Frustrated and annoyed with everything around him, he had absolutely no idea what to do. There was no one waiting for him at home and today of all days, he did not want to return to the vast emptiness that was his house. He had been walking since he left the hospital, with no particular destination in mind. He sunk unto a bench outside a building and buried his face in his hands.
All around him, there were sounds of joy. A boisterous kid was laughing, chasing after her balloon. A group of boys were playing soccer nearby. He found that he resented their happiness. How dare they be happy? How dare they be laughing when he had a month left to live? He wanted to bash their faces in. He was not a violent man and so the second he thought of hurting people, he realised he was being irrational. Those people probably had their own problems he knew nothing of.
He made a steeple out of his fingers and rested his chin on it. He felt the bench dip slightly with the addition of extra weight. He was not in a very social mood and so he did not turn to acknowledge the person. He heard the person greet, a woman. He made a noise that could pass as a reply and went back to feeling sorry for himself.
The woman was having none of it though. She turned to him and said, “You know, I’ve never seen you around here before. I heard someone had moved into the old house down the street, over by Mr Asamoah’s shop. Would that be you?”
“No.”
“Oh I see. You don’t live here then. Visiting someone?”
“No.”
“Well, I know everyone here and I don’t know you. That’s saying something. Why then are you here?”
He decided the only way to get rid of her chatter was to shock her into silence and so he decided to tell her the truth, even though she was a total stranger. He sat up and looked her in the eyes and told her, “I’m here because I don’t want to go home. I’m sitting on a bench in an unfamiliar neighbourhood because the doctor told me that I had at the very most, a month to live. And so, I am here because no one here knows me and so I can be miserable in peace.”
She was quiet. He leaned back, quite pleased with himself that she had shut up.
“He said a month? Cancer, I presume?” He groaned inwardly when she spoke again.
“Yes. Cancer.”
“Mm. Troublesome disease, that. But that does not explain you wanting to be miserable.”
Was she kidding? He’d just been told he had a month to live and he could not be miserable?
“Why would I not be miserable? I don’t think you hear me. The doctor said I had__”
“A month to live. Yes, I heard you quite clearly the first time. But why should you be miserable about it?”
He found he was irritated by the question. What did she mean why should he be miserable? Why should he not be?
“I’m Serena by the way. What’s your name?”
“John.” He answered automatically.” Serena. It suited her perfectly.
“So tell me John, why does that make you feel miserable?”
He turned and really looked at her for the first time. She was looking right at him, with dark eyes that he felt could see straight into his soul. Her eyes were framed by long lashes that swept her cheek when she blinked. Her head however was bare. Shaven. There was not a strand of hair on her head. He found that odd because most women were very particular about their hair. She didn’t wear earrings and he realized her skin was free of any adornments. She was not wearing any make-up either. She was wore an oversized T shirt and skimpy shorts. She wasn’t the kind of girl you’d look at twice if you passed her by the street. Her beauty was the quiet kind of beauty. The type of beauty that made you stop for a while and reflect on it. And her scent was different. She wasn’t heavily perfumed. No, she just smelt earthy. She smelt like home. There was nothing contrived about her.
She was looking at him patiently, as if she understood that he had to think to answer her question. She tucked her feet beneath her on the bench and still looked at him. Her gaze did not waver for even a second.
Thinking on it, he realized he actually did not have an answer to her question. “I don’t know. I guess I feel I have not lived enough, you know.”
“I don’t know John. Please tell me.”
“I feel I could have done more with myself. I never thought of dying and now that I am faced with my mortality, I realize I wish I could do more, make a difference. Leave something of myself behind. I just don’t want to feel this way. I want to feel like I have lived.” He said in a rush, as if he had been dying to say that all day. He felt like a weight had been taken off him.
“I see. But what’s stopping you?”
“Excuse me?”
“What’s stopping you from living enough? Why do you think it’s too late to make a difference or leave something of yourself?”
“What could I possibly do in a month?” He looked at her, incredulity written all over his face.
“I don’t know John. I have absolutely no idea. But you won’t know until you try.” She said.
“Well, when you put it like that…”
“It’s never too late to get a little more living done John. Just remember that.” She smiled; a sad smile. And then, she stood up and disappeared round the corner.
John stood up to chase after her but when he turned the corner, there was no trace of her. He turned around and walked to the bus stop.
“It’s never too late to get a little more living done.”
Those words replaced the ominous ones that had been bouncing around in his head all day.
“It’s never too late to get a little more living done.” He hopped on the bus, feeling a little better than he had been throughout the day.
The words kept resonating in John’s head hours after he’d left the hospital. “...a month left to live.”
“…a month.”
“…a month.”
“Dammit!” Frustrated and annoyed with everything around him, he had absolutely no idea what to do. There was no one waiting for him at home and today of all days, he did not want to return to the vast emptiness that was his house. He had been walking since he left the hospital, with no particular destination in mind. He sunk unto a bench outside a building and buried his face in his hands.
All around him, there were sounds of joy. A boisterous kid was laughing, chasing after her balloon. A group of boys were playing soccer nearby. He found that he resented their happiness. How dare they be happy? How dare they be laughing when he had a month left to live? He wanted to bash their faces in. He was not a violent man and so the second he thought of hurting people, he realised he was being irrational. Those people probably had their own problems he knew nothing of.
He made a steeple out of his fingers and rested his chin on it. He felt the bench dip slightly with the addition of extra weight. He was not in a very social mood and so he did not turn to acknowledge the person. He heard the person greet, a woman. He made a noise that could pass as a reply and went back to feeling sorry for himself.
The woman was having none of it though. She turned to him and said, “You know, I’ve never seen you around here before. I heard someone had moved into the old house down the street, over by Mr Asamoah’s shop. Would that be you?”
“No.”
“Oh I see. You don’t live here then. Visiting someone?”
“No.”
“Well, I know everyone here and I don’t know you. That’s saying something. Why then are you here?”
He decided the only way to get rid of her chatter was to shock her into silence and so he decided to tell her the truth, even though she was a total stranger. He sat up and looked her in the eyes and told her, “I’m here because I don’t want to go home. I’m sitting on a bench in an unfamiliar neighbourhood because the doctor told me that I had at the very most, a month to live. And so, I am here because no one here knows me and so I can be miserable in peace.”
She was quiet. He leaned back, quite pleased with himself that she had shut up.
“He said a month? Cancer, I presume?” He groaned inwardly when she spoke again.
“Yes. Cancer.”
“Mm. Troublesome disease, that. But that does not explain you wanting to be miserable.”
Was she kidding? He’d just been told he had a month to live and he could not be miserable?
“Why would I not be miserable? I don’t think you hear me. The doctor said I had__”
“A month to live. Yes, I heard you quite clearly the first time. But why should you be miserable about it?”
He found he was irritated by the question. What did she mean why should he be miserable? Why should he not be?
“I’m Serena by the way. What’s your name?”
“John.” He answered automatically.” Serena. It suited her perfectly.
“So tell me John, why does that make you feel miserable?”
He turned and really looked at her for the first time. She was looking right at him, with dark eyes that he felt could see straight into his soul. Her eyes were framed by long lashes that swept her cheek when she blinked. Her head however was bare. Shaven. There was not a strand of hair on her head. He found that odd because most women were very particular about their hair. She didn’t wear earrings and he realized her skin was free of any adornments. She was not wearing any make-up either. She was wore an oversized T shirt and skimpy shorts. She wasn’t the kind of girl you’d look at twice if you passed her by the street. Her beauty was the quiet kind of beauty. The type of beauty that made you stop for a while and reflect on it. And her scent was different. She wasn’t heavily perfumed. No, she just smelt earthy. She smelt like home. There was nothing contrived about her.
She was looking at him patiently, as if she understood that he had to think to answer her question. She tucked her feet beneath her on the bench and still looked at him. Her gaze did not waver for even a second.
Thinking on it, he realized he actually did not have an answer to her question. “I don’t know. I guess I feel I have not lived enough, you know.”
“I don’t know John. Please tell me.”
“I feel I could have done more with myself. I never thought of dying and now that I am faced with my mortality, I realize I wish I could do more, make a difference. Leave something of myself behind. I just don’t want to feel this way. I want to feel like I have lived.” He said in a rush, as if he had been dying to say that all day. He felt like a weight had been taken off him.
“I see. But what’s stopping you?”
“Excuse me?”
“What’s stopping you from living enough? Why do you think it’s too late to make a difference or leave something of yourself?”
“What could I possibly do in a month?” He looked at her, incredulity written all over his face.
“I don’t know John. I have absolutely no idea. But you won’t know until you try.” She said.
“Well, when you put it like that…”
“It’s never too late to get a little more living done John. Just remember that.” She smiled; a sad smile. And then, she stood up and disappeared round the corner.
John stood up to chase after her but when he turned the corner, there was no trace of her. He turned around and walked to the bus stop.
“It’s never too late to get a little more living done.”
Those words replaced the ominous ones that had been bouncing around in his head all day.
“It’s never too late to get a little more living done.” He hopped on the bus, feeling a little better than he had been throughout the day.
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