(no subject)
What though the radiance
which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass,
of glory in the flower,
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.
-- William Wordsworth
It seemed like any waiting room: the neutral tones, the calming classical music, low in volume, the abstract art on the walls, the receptionist staff politely and quietly ignoring you as you waited. It felt like an eternity of waiting but in all reality, I had only been waiting about an hour or so. In that time, I had read three magazines, cover to cover, braided my own hair, unbraided it, gotten a few drinks of water, and visited the washroom. Still, it was not yet my turn, although there wasn’t anyone else in the waiting room.
Just as I was contemplating how to turn the magazines in an art project, the receptionist cleared his throat quietly and gave me a polite and empty smile. “The calculations have just finished. She’s ready to see you now.”
I smiled, relieved. I followed the receptionist towards the inner office sanctum of sorts, my shoes barely making a noise on the plush padding of the carpet. More abstract walls and neutral paint, but at least some progress. I entered the office and sat in the chair. Across the way, the person I came to see smiled warmly at me. “Sorry about the delay,” she opened, “but the calculations always take a long time. You would think they wouldn’t but…” She waved her hand and chuckled wryly, indicating that this delay was the rule, not the exception.
I nodded. “It’s alright.” After all, what else could it be? I had all the time in the world now. I had no where else to go.
She scanned the final report, looking up at parts, and asking me questions about a few things for clarification or even discussion. I responded as best as I could, relaxed and not anxious about this evaluation process. It was strange. After all, it was my life on the line, but oddly enough, I was at ease. Perhaps that was the influence of this place?
She flipped over the last page and placed the report into my permanent file. “Well, that’s about it. The results are clear and things are prepared for you.” She paused and folded her hand neatly on the desk, turning her assessing gaze upon me. “You are relatively young, at the prime of your life, as they say, with a world of potential. Your life has quite the worth, if lived.”
A pause. “Yes, I suppose that is true,” I replied simply, at a loss. What was she trying to say?
“What I mean to say is, what would you give to change the outcome? If you could go back, finish your degree, obtain a job, be with the one you love, perhaps have children, buy a house, all that stuff, what would you be willing to trade?” She tapped a well-manicured finger upon my file. “It is possible you know. You could trade. You could live the rest of your life. All it would take is-“
“No,” I interrupted. I knew what would come next and the idea was repulsive. “I would never do that, could never do that.”
Narrowing her eyes, she met my gaze with her own for long moments. Finally, she smiled once more and the atmosphere felt lighter, instantly. “Good. That’s what I had hoped to hear. You’re ready.” She stood and got ready to lead me to the next step.
“Wait.” At my word, she lifted her head to look at me, puzzled. “I do have one request,” I said quietly. She remained silent, patiently waiting to hear my request. I looked down at my lap, my hands upturned, the lingering warmth of someone’s hand an indelible memory in my mind. I closed my hands, determined. “You talk of the worth of my unlived life, as if it had some value, yes?”
She nodded, intrigued.
“Well, if I could barter that worth for anything, I’d like for those I left behind to be alright. I know most of them will be.” Shutting my eyes, I could hear the echo of quiet sobs, one of the last sounds I heard. “But there is someone in particular that I want safe. I want her to be healthy. I want her to be able to have happy times, some sad times, all those little ups and downs that life may bring her. I want her, more than anything, to have the life she chooses. I don’t want her to grieve forever. I want her to find love. I want her to have kids if she wants, to get the career she wants, to have dinners with her lover, to grow old and watch many seasons change.” The image of her tearful face, the grip of her hands on mine, the smell of her hair, one by one, the memories came to me, the last I ever had as a living person. And one by one, they faded, not forgotten or lost, but at peace.
I smiled, quietly to myself, and opened my eyes to look at the woman. She returned the smile.
“Your sincere wishes are noted.” She gestured and I noticed that another file had appeared next to mine, although there was no “Final” stamp on it. “A notation has been added to her own file.”
I nodded and stood as well. She walked around her desk and opened her door, ready to lead me to my next step. I paused, looking at that file next to my own. With a little smile, I placed a hand upon it, gently tracing her name. “Farewell, beloved.” My last goodbye said, I turned and followed the woman out of the office, the soft click of the door signaling the end of my earthly journey.