The Cure for Premature Expiration

The middle aged woman with shoulder-length black hair carried two cups of black coffee to the table. She placed one of them in front of the old woman with short gray hair, who sat in a wheelchair at the head of the table. The young woman sat in a chair kitty-corner to the older woman, and placed her own cup on the placemat before her.

"Thanks, dear," said the old woman, taking a sip.

"Is it strong enough? I know you like it strong."

"Oh, yeah, it's fine," said the old woman.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each taking periodic sips of their coffee. The old woman retrieved a rectangular tin can from the stand next to the table, and opened it. She pulled out a stick of Doublemint chewing gum. She removed the wrapper and, with shaking hands, deposited the gum in her mouth. She closed the can and returned it to the stand.

"Do you have to use the bathroom?" the middle aged woman asked.

"No, dear. I'm fine," answered the old woman with a wave of her hand.

The silence returned. The middle aged woman picked up a book of crossword puzzles that had been sitting in the middle of the table. Without a word, the old woman seized a pencil from the stand next to her. She placed it on the table in front of the other woman. The middle aged woman took possession of the pencil, opened the book, and set to work silently.

"How is Lincoln?" said the old woman a few minutes later.

"I haven't heard from him in about a week," the middle aged woman said. "I called him yesterday but he didn't answer his cell phone."

"Oh, I hope he's okay."

"I'm sure he's fine, mom," said the middle aged woman.

"Oh, yeah. I'm sure he is fine. He is such a smart young man."

"Yes he is."

"You know," said the old woman, "there has always been a special bond between Lincoln and me."

"I know."

"Ever since you gave birth to him, I have felt a connection with him."

"I know."

"I really think he saved my life. He was born at just the right time. He really brightened my life."

"Well, mom," said the middle aged woman, "you know he has always been very fond of you, too."

The old woman nodded. "There is a special bond between us."

The old woman picked her gum out of her mouth and tossed it into a small trash can under the table. She reached over and again retrieved the tin can from the stand. As before, she procured a piece of gum from it, which was then deposited directly into her mouth. The tin can was returned to the stand from which it came.

"What has he been doing?" the old woman asked.

"Who? Lincoln?"

"Yes."

"He is still working at that store in the mall," the middle aged woman said.

"Is he still writing?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"Oh, well he probably runs that store he works at. He's such a smart young man."

"Yes he is. Do you need more coffee?"

"No, dear."

The middle aged woman got up and took her cup into the kitchen. She filled it with fresh coffee from the pot. Returning to the table, she placed the cup back where it had been. She sat down. She opened the crossword puzzle book and returned to her previous task.

"When is that man going to start working on your bathroom?" asked the middle aged woman after a moment.

"Oh, I don't know," said the old woman, chewing her gum and taking a sip of coffee. The cup shuttered vigorously as her shaking hand carried it to her mouth.

"It's been a few weeks since you called him, hasn't it?"

"Yes, and I already paid him."

"The full amount?"

"No, just half."

"Okay," said the middle aged woman with a sigh.

"Still, dear, he should have started by now."

"Yes, he should have."

The old woman spit her gum into her hand and then transferred it into the trash can. The tin can was again retrieved from its place on the stand. Another piece of gum was procured from within it, and then deposited into her mouth with a shaking hand. The tin can was then returned to the stand once again. For the next few minutes, the two sat in silence, the old woman chewing her gum quietly, the middle aged woman working diligently at her crossword.

"Dear," said the old woman, breaking the silence, "could you warm this up for me?"

The middle aged woman took the cup that was being handed to her and took it into the kitchen. She filled it with hot coffee from the pot and then returned to the table. The old woman sipped carefully.

"Is Lincoln seeing a girl?" said the old woman.

"He says he's not," said the middle aged woman, opening her book again.

"He should find a nice girl. He's such a nice young man."

"He was seeing a girl for a while," remarked the middle aged woman. "A Mexican girl."

"A Mexican?"

"Yes, a Mexican."

"But he's not now?"

"No," said the middle aged woman. "I don't know what happened with that."

"He will find a nice girl," said the old woman. "He's such a smart young man."

"Yes he is."

The middle aged woman returned to her crossword. The old woman returned to her gum. Both sipped on their coffee. Then, the old woman reached over to the stand and picked up a deck of cards that had been lying on top of it. Removing them from the box, she shuffled them briefly. She then dealt them out onto the table in several columns. She began playing solitaire, moving the cards around with her shaking hands and chewing her gum all the while.

"Do you have to use the bathroom?" asked the middle aged woman.

"No, dear," answered the old woman, without looking up from her cards.

"Do you want more coffee?"

"No, dear."

The middle aged woman closed her crossword book and took both cups into the kitchen. She washed them out in the sink and carefully laid them down on the counter. She dried her hands on a towel that hung from the handle of the over. Then she returned to the table.

"Is Lincoln still taking classes?" asked the old woman.

"I am not sure. I don't think so."

"Is he taking a break?"

"Something like that."

"That's good. He works so hard. He needs to take a break sometimes. He worries too much."

"Yes, he does," said the middle aged woman.

"What was he going for again?"

"English, with a specialization in writing."

"Oh, that's right," replied the old woman. "That is good. He is such a good writer."

"Yes he is."

"I remember when he was just a boy. He would sit here at this table and write for hours."

"He's always liked writing."

"He will be a great writer," concluded the old woman.

Another piece of gum was delivered into the trash can under the table. Another fresh piece was retrieved from the tin can on the stand, and then deposited - by a shaking hand - into the old woman's mouth. The tin can was then returned to its place on the stand. More crossword clues were solved on the other part of the table. More cards were flipped over.

"Nathaniel finished the paperwork for his scholarship," the middle aged woman said, without looking up from her crossword book. She filled in another clue.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. He starts medical school in the fall."

"Oh, good," said the old woman.

"Do you think you will make it to his graduation in May?" asked the middle aged woman. This time she looked up.

The old woman scratched her eyelid with the shaky hand which also held her draw pile. "Oh, I doubt it. It's hard to move this damn old body these days. It would be too hard on you guys to wheel me around."

The middle aged woman nodded and returned to her work. The old woman looked at a card from her draw pile, recognized it as an ace, and began to move it to a new pile on the corner of the table. As she transferred it to that position with her shaking hand, it fell to the floor. "Oh, shit," she said.

The middle aged woman immediately got up, walked around the old woman's wheelchair, and picked up the ace of spades. She placed it on the table in front of the old woman, and then returned to her seat.

"Thanks, dear," said the old woman. She placed the card in its correct position.

"Mm, hmm."

"I hope Lincoln comes to see me one of these days," said the old woman.

"He will, mom.

"I hope he is doing okay," the old woman remarked. "He's such a smart young man."

*

The room was painted a dark red - almost maroon - color. Along the top of the walls, above the red paint, was a border displaying a repeating pattern of lighthouses. On the wall hung a wooden mirror with a lighthouse carved onto the front. There was a shelf (also dark red) on the wall, on top of which were various pictures and portraits.

The young man with short black hair sat silently in a chair in the corner of the room. He was holding a glass of Scotch in one hand, and a group of papers - stapled together - in the other. He did not look at the papers. Instead, he stared straight ahead, at the front door of the house. No hint of expression crossed his face.

A dark blue cell phone was lying on the desk in the opposite corner of the room. It began ringing. The young man did not move, except to take a sip of Scotch.

There was a knock at the door. "Come in!" said the young man, loud enough so whoever was outside could hear. His eyes did not move as he did so.

The door opened. A skinny young man with long, curly hair entered. He smiled broadly as he saw the young man in the chair. He closed the door behind him and entered the room. He walked with an unusual gait, the result of cerebral palsy, which had afflicted him as a child. He limped to where the other man was sitting, and offered his hand to him.

"Crazy Legs!" said the young man in the chair, reciprocating the handshake. His eyes showed life for the first time. "It is so good to see you!"

"Good to see you too, you crazy son of a bitch!" said Crazy Legs. "Sorry to drop by unexpectedly."

"Not at all! What brings you to Flint?"

"Had to drop off something for a friend over on Saginaw Street. So what's up with you?"

"Nothing remarkable. Would you like some Scotch?"

"No, but I'll take a beer."

"Help yourself," said the young man in the chair, gesturing towards the fridge in the kitchen behind him.

"So," said Crazy Legs, returning from the kitchen with a beer in hand, "why the hell are you sitting in the corner?"

The young man smiled. "I am on time-out," he joked.

Crazy Legs laughed. He limped to the other corner of the room, where the desk was. Placing his hand on the desk chair, he pulled it over near the young man. He sat in the desk chair and faced the other man.

"Do you always sit in the corner of the room by yourself?"

"This is my thinking spot," the young man said as he took a drink of his Scotch.

Crazy Legs looked at the young man intently. With a shake of his head, he said, "I worry about you sometimes, Lincoln."

Lincoln smiled. "No reason to worry about me, my friend."

"Shit, I don't know about that. You're sitting in the corner of your living room by yourself with a glass of Scotch in your hand. Come on, that's a little strange."

"Strange?" said Lincoln. "How is it strange to sit peacefully, in my own living room, and have a drink?"

"Well, for one thing, it's not even 5 p.m.," said Crazy Legs. "And I'd be willing to bet that you've been in that same damn position for quite some time, and that you have downed several glasses of Scotch."

Lincoln smiled. Both men took a drink.

"You are a unique guy, Lincoln," said Crazy Legs.

"That's one way to look at it, I suppose," Lincoln retorted.

"I could also say 'special'."

"Ha! This coming from a man who can't walk straight."

"So," said Crazy Legs, "what you got there?" He nodded towards the papers in Lincoln's hand.

"Ah, just the beginning of a story."

"Oh, you writing again?"

"Now and then. Nothing special."

"Let me read it," Crazy Legs held out his hand. Lincoln handed over the stapled papers. He swallowed what was left in his glass. He stood and walked into the kitchen. There was a bottle of 18-year-old single-malt Scotch on the counter. Opening it, Lincoln poured some into his highball glass until it was about half full. He then returned to his thinking spot.

Crazy Legs also stood. With his beer in one hand and the story in the other, he began pacing around the living room, reading. Each time he transferred his weight onto his right leg, his body arched over to that side. When he would reach the end of a page, he would flip his arm to move that page out of the way, so his beer hand was not needed. After a few moments, he limped back to his chair and handed the papers back to Lincoln.

"Good start," Crazy Legs commented.

"Thanks. I have a long way to go."

"Gotta start somewhere."

Lincoln took the stack of papers and flung them in the direction of the desk. They landed on the floor in a heap. He then leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other.

"So," Lincoln said, "would you really like to know why I was sitting here, by myself, in the corner?"

"Sure," Crazy Legs said. He settled into his own chair, which creaked as he did.

"I was thinking."

"About what?"

"My death."

"Your death?"

"My death," Lincoln repeated. "I think often of my death."

"What do you mean?" asked Crazy Legs, not trying to hide the look of consternation that appeared on his face. "Why?"

"What do I mean? Well, I do not mean that I merely contemplate it as one contemplates a story on the evening news. No, I think of it in the most present and lucid way possible. Why? Well, that should be obvious. I've failed in everything in life. I can't sustain a relationship. I've failed as a writer. I've dropped out of college. I work in a mall."

"What are you talking about? I've never heard you talk this way. I had no idea you were so fucking down on yourself!"

Lincoln nodded. "I hide it well."

"You're still young, my man! You have plenty of time to make all of that shit work out."

"That's not the point."

Crazy Legs looked down at the floor and shook his head. "Lincoln, I don't understand," he said. "Are you talking about suicide?"

"You can call it that," said Lincoln. "I prefer to call it 'causing the premature expiration of my body'."

"So you want to kill yourself?"

"I did not say that. I said I think about it. But, like I said, I do not merely think about whether or not I might someday do it. I have formed specific plans within my mind. I know specifically how I would force my body to expire prematurely, if I were to do it. I know the exact location in which my body would expire prematurely, if I were to do it."

Crazy Legs laughed nervously. "Wow," he said. "I am so damn confused I don't know what to say. Ha! Me - not having anything to say! Imagine that! That's how confusing you are, my man; you have rendered me speechless!"

"Just hear me out. I have been holding these thoughts within my brain for a long time. I think it is time to share them."

Crazy Legs relaxed into his chair with a sigh. "Go ahead."

"My foremost purpose in these thoughts about my death," Lincoln said, "was to ensure that I would do the job quickly and with as little suffering as possible."

"Scary thought," Crazy Legs interjected, "but go on."

"I was well aware that the quickest and surest way to expire my body was to shoot myself through the head (and, to be most certain, to enter the barrel of the pistol into my mouth and aim upward at approximately a 60-degree angle, so as to destroy as much brain matter as possible)."

"That would do the trick," Crazy Legs agreed.

"But," Lincoln replied, "I could not do that."

"No?"

"No, for reasons I will soon explain. I also considered dying in a one-car accident. I thought that, by going at an extreme speed down a rural road, before plunging into a roadside tree, the resulting collision might cause my heart to end its perpetual habit of beating."

"Gruesome," said Crazy Legs.

"Exactly. So I could not do that either. I also contemplated the possibility of drowning myself, probably because the Flint River is right behind my house."

"Naturally."

"But that idea was quickly discarded. I knew I was not strong enough (mentally, anyway) to compel myself under the water, and to keep myself there long enough to pass out. You okay?"

Crazy Legs had stood up. He limped over to the desk and leaned up against it. "I'm not gonna lie, man. You're creeping me out," he said.

"Just bear with me. Finally, I considered poisoning myself. I actually did quite a bit of research into it, but I won't bother you with those details. Just suffice it to say that my research led me to conclude that such a method was neither quick nor sure, so that method was also ruled out."

"Well," Crazy Legs said, "I hope you ruled out so many methods that you just gave up the whole idea."

Lincoln laughed. "Not quite. See, it was also important to me that my prematurely expired body be in a suitably presentable state so that my loving family could say their proper good-byes to it. I mean, my mother and grandmother would be devastated. The least I could do for them would be to leave my body somewhat recognizable. This was why I decided against the quickest and surest method of the bullet through the head (into the mouth and upward at a 60-degree angle)."

"Makes sense," Crazy Legs said.

"Exactly. But that also ruled out the use of a one-car accident, and, for that matter, drowning. The former would undoubtedly leave my prematurely expired body bruised, tattered, and broken, even more so than if I had destroyed my brain with a bullet. The latter would leave my remains bloated and revolting. Both of these results were, obviously, unacceptable."

"Obviously."

"Finally, I was made aware of another course of action, which is the one I ultimately decided to pursue. I forget how I was made aware of it, but that is not important. The method I chose to use to cause the premature expiration of my body was one of exsanguination, by way of slicing my own throat with a very sharp knife."

Crazy Legs stood upright, short leg and all, and his eyes bulged in their sockets. "You're going to slit your own throat?"

"Hold on," Lincoln said, using a hand gesture to back up his words. "Now, you may wonder how that method fits into my previously described criteria, since it does not seem to be a particularly quick or painless way to die, nor is it one that leaves your body in a distinctly presentable state. I'm sure a slash through the throat would not be taken happily by my family. So let me explain."

"Please do," Crazy Legs said, still standing.

"I became aware that if I cut my own throat in a way that severed my jugular vein and both of my carotid arteries, I would lose consciousness very quickly - probably in less than 15 seconds. And if I used a very sharp blade, the clean cut (combined with my shock at the sight of profuse amounts of my own blood) would probably prohibit any significant pain from being felt. As for the state of my prematurely expired body, I concluded that a cut low enough on my neck would allow the embalmer to dress me in a way that would leave no trace of trauma, other than the fact that my body would be lifeless, of course. And so, because this method gave me much more control over my demise than any other method, I chose it."

"As much as I hate to say it," said Crazy Legs, "I think I'm following your twisted logic. But I'm not happy about it." He limped into the kitchen, placed his empty beer can on the counter, and opened the fridge. Once he had picked out a new beer, he returned to the chair next to Lincoln and sat down.

"I also had a plan for keeping this procedure as clean as possible," Lincoln continued. "I resolved to kill myself while in the bathtub with the shower running. I would lie face up in the bathtub, with my head on the side nearest the showerhead, and allow the water to pour down onto the upper part of my body. In this manner, the blood from my gaping neck wound would go directly into the drain, and the shower water would wash away any bloody residue left on my person."

Crazy Legs reached out and touched Lincoln's leg. "Alright, man, listen. You know I love you. But you are really scaring the shit out of me."

Lincoln smiled. "No reason to be scared, my friend. I am not going to do it."

"Then why make such specific plans?"

"Because I was going to do it, for a time."

"But now you're not?"

"No, I'm not."

"Well, good," Crazy Legs said, relaxing into his chair again. "Mind if I ask what changed your mind?"

"You did, my friend."

"I did?" Crazy Legs asked. "How?"

"Because I was going to do it tonight. I was sitting in this chair, drinking my Scotch, preparing myself. It all came down to this. I had decided some time ago that, if things had not changed by tonight, if I had not reversed my failures, this would be the night. By the way, you will be happy to know that I actually made some efforts to reverse my failures." Lincoln pointed at the heap of papers on the floor by the desk. "That's where that story came in. I started writing that a few weeks ago. As you can see, I failed to keep up with it."

"It seems fine to me."

"What is on those papers is fine. But, like I always do, I stopped short. I failed to keep up my momentum. I have not added one word to those pages in a week." Lincoln sipped from his highball. Crazy Legs gulped from his beer can.

"So tonight was the night," Lincoln continued. "But, when today came, I got scared. I gave myself one last chance to get out of it. I told myself that, if someone I cared about were to come to that door today, with no provocation on my part, I would take that as a sign. In that case, I would not do it; today or ever."

Crazy Legs smiled. "Really?"

"Really."

Crazy Legs sat staring at Lincoln for a few moments. Finally, he said, "I'm glad. But I think maybe we should still get you some help."

"Not necessary," said Lincoln, smiling.

"So you promise you're not going to cut your own throat?"

"Promise."

"You really are a unique person, Lincoln McKinley."

"Thank you, sir."

"You're not going to die on me?"

"No, my friend," Lincoln said. "I'm not going to die on you. You saved my life."

With a sigh, Crazy Legs said, "For today, at least."

Lincoln just smiled.