A Quarter Life

The Last Night

The morning sun was never at his face, to wake him up. But he woke up anyhow.

Mike woke up, uncomfortably. The car seat wasn't exactly comfortable for sleeping.

He got out of the car. He was distressed, hungry, tired.

He went to the hospital canteen.

The canteen looked quite old. The walls looked quite worn out, nearly broken. The mirrors had a brownish look.

He took a seat in the nearest table.

The tables looked quite old, quite ancient.

He called the waiter, and ordered a chicken sandwich. He wasn’t feeling so much hungry, but it was necessary to avoid physical malfunction.

The canteen was quite empty. Well, it was 8 in the morning. In this lockdown, there wouldn’t be anyone here now to eat.

He looked at the entrance. He could see someone coming.

He couldn’t see until she came through the entrance. It was an old woman, quite old. She was walking slowly, using a metal stick. She slowly came towards his table.

She looked at him. He could see calmness, as well as distress through her eyes.

She slowly said, 'C-Can I seat here, son?'

Her voice was trembling, wet.

He smiled, 'Of course, you are most welcome.'

She sat slowly, keeping her stick leaned beside the chair.

The waiter came with his chicken sandwich, asked her, 'What can I get for you ma'am?'

She said, 'Give me whatever this boy is eating.'

The waiter went away.

Mike silently started eating his sandwich. The woman was looking at him, looking at his eating.

He quickly finished his eating. It was embarrassing to be seen while eating. He finished his eating, and went to the counter to clear the bill.

He went out of the canteen. For the last time, he looked at the woman, while leaving. The woman was looking at the chair, meaninglessly.

He went to the visiting room. He could see Jenny, sleeping in the bed, tied to oxygen pipes and glucose pipes.

He couldn’t see it. He couldn’t bear it. It was all because of him. He was solely responsible, solely criminal.

He stood there, on the corridor, alone.

He didn’t know what to do.

He came back to the parking lot. It was empty, just few cars, kept aside.

He went to his car. He was broken, by his own deeds.

He took the manuscript. He started reading again.

“I sometimes missed Noah. That boy was a fun boy. He was curious. Curiosity brought him to this situation.

After that, the military authority ordered Sergeant Cohen to stop the training until further notice. So, there was no rush in getting up, no rush in going to the ground. I was bored, didn’t know what to do. Reeve didn’t know what to do. The war was ongoing, but we couldn’t be of any help.

Reeve decided one thing. I didn’t know of the decision.

I was sleeping one night, I would try to sleep early those days. I had a dream, a dream where I was sleeping. I saw a man, struggling with the window. I was surprised. It was night time. Somebody was trying to get into my room using the window, wouldn’t I be surprised? I got up. I shouted, 'Who's there?'

The man turned his face to me, I couldn’t see it. He was standing by the window, in the shadow. I again asked, 'Who are you?'

He slowly came forward. His legs were maybe soft, they didn’t even make the lowest decibel of noise. He came by the light.

I felt like vomiting. The face was comparatively large, and filled with thousands of pus. I couldn’t bear the sight. I felt my last eaten dinner up my throat. The face looked similar, but I couldn’t remember it. I was not in a state of remembering things.

I got up suddenly. It was a dream, quite realistic, but eventually a dream. Maybe hypnagogic hallucination, who knows!

I got up to clear my sweat off. I was sweating like hell. I was afraid of pus, I was, all my whole life. I hated them, I couldn’t bear them.

I took the bottle from my table. I was thirsty. Of course you would be thirsty after wasting so much sweat for nothing.

I drank to the full of my heart. I got a relief, a relief for escaping the imagination.

That was when, I looked at Reeve's bed. I looked at the ground.

Some nights, he would go to the grounds and do free hand exercises. He would get a mental peace from it. But that night, he wasn’t there either.

Suddenly, I saw a guy, carrying a bag sort of thing, walking by the side of the ground. I smelt some suspense. He was walking towards the garage.

Shit! The garage? The garage of the 'outstanding'? They took him again? But why? I had to find out.

I went down the ground. I walked quiet silently, but swiftly. I could see the guy, walking with his bag.

The bag was quite odd, it felt heavy from far. I got s**t scared. What was in that bag? Some arms? Some weapons? Who knows?

I reached the garage. I was even scared to look inside. Suddenly I heard, 'No no.' it was Reeve.

I jumped inside. It was nothing. They were just gossiping with the booze. Reeve was with them, participating there. He saw me, 'Aye Charles, whassup? You, here?'

I got no answer, 'Well, woke up, saw you weren’t in the bed, was worried.'

He laughed, 'So you thought they kidnapped me, again?'

They all laughed. Reeve asked me to take a seat.

The bag had some bottles of bear. They gave me one. It was Tecate, the smell was exotic. Mexicans sure knew how to brew some goddamn beer.

They offered Reeve. He was stubborn, 'Ain't no booze gonna kiss me except Bourbon.'

They laughed again. Then there was a silence.

One of them said, 'So is this the end?'

Reeve said, 'Maybe.'

I was confused, 'What end?'

Reeve was worried, 'I heard Serge say about shifting the trainee in other camps in York, randomly.'

I became sad too. This camp, it felt like a home to me, it surely did. I chugged some more beers down my throat.

The bag guy said, 'Shouldn’t we do something to avoid that?'

Reeve sighed, 'We can't. We can't avoid this situation. But you know, what do we do to situation we can't avoid?'

Nobody knew, neither did I.

He took his last sip, 'We live them, and make them more remembering.'

I knew, the next day would be worth remembering. In the morning, Reeve went to Sergeant's room. He was there for a while. We all were thinking the outcome. The outcome could be anything.

He came distressed, 'Fellas, tonight is our last night in this camp. And the accommodation will be in the hands of authority.'

We all were sad, we knew that outcome, but didn’t want that.

The puff guy sighed, 'Well, that was the bad news. What is the Reeve news?'

Reeve smiled, 'Tonight, there will be a camp farewell party, and the budget money is tearing my pocket.'

Everybody shouted with joy. Me? Was I happy? I wasn’t, because it might be the last night with him. But I was, because, this night, I would get the chance to know him.

That day, everyone was busy. For arranging, for buying, for preparing, for cooking. Even Sergeant joined in this process. He bought two lambs, for roasting. He had a unique taste of choice.

Everything was ready by the night. The roast, the booze, the people, everything.

The ground became the stage. At the evening, we set up the bonfire. We put the roasts and the booze in the middle. We sang our favorite songs, and danced like it was the last day on earth.

Reeve was like he would be dead any seconds now. He was upset at first, because nobody bought any Bourbon. But eventually, he went in with the flow.

Would I be dead? Would that be great?”