LIFE IS SHORT
by SANDEFUR
Five AM and Carl Rove parked his pick-up in front of his house. He was exhausted from his first week back at work, even if he was restricted to light duty. Then here had been the phone call in the middle of his shift.
Helen Girardi had been kind enough to inform him of the tragic news about Judith Montgomery. She had also complained about how his son had let down her daughter in her greatest moment of crisis. How Adam had simply walked out of the hospital, leaving Joan alone to deal with her beloved friend's death.
Carl had reminded the woman that his son was already dealing with a tragic death. The fourth anniversary of Adam's mother's suicide was just on Thursday. Yeah, that shut her up pretty quick.
Carl didn't go directly into the house, but instead went around to the back yard. Sure enough, a light was burning in the shed. Quietly, Carl opened the door and found his son slumped over his work bench, fast asleep. His new suit was wrinkled and now a little shabby looking. No matter, the dry cleaner could fix that.
Carl picked up one of the glo-balls Adam had handcrafted. It had been rejected for a minor defect, but it still lit up and glowed a beautiful light blue. Adam had made them for Judith as a thank-you for her help. It was a damn shame what had happened, but his first priority had to be Adam.
Carl looked over Adam's shoulder and saw that he had been working on a pencil sketch of Judith. Yeah, the guilt was already coming. Guilt over letting Joan down. Guilt over putting his own needs first. (He would think himself selfish and there would be no talking him out of that.)
Only Joan could restore him to an even keel, and Carl was beginning to have his doubts about the Girardi girl. He would always be grateful to her for pulling Adam out of that dark, scary place he had sunk into for such a long time, but now his rescuer had become his crutch.
If Adam was ever going to stand on his own as a man, he would have to cast Joan away. Fortunately, their relationship had stumbled this year. Their communication was awful, and they had unrealistic expectations of each other—as witnessed by Joan expecting Adam to be her rock in that type of crisis.
No, Carl doubted their relationship would survive their junior year. His only concern was if Adam could survive that painful transition.
X X X X X
Six AM at the Friedman home. Sam Friedman paced the corridor outside his eldest son's bedroom and frequently checked his watch. His wife quietly emerged from the room and softly closed the door.
"How is he?" Sam asked.
"Still awake, but at least he has stopped crying."
"That's good, isn't it?"
"Now he's curled up into a ball and blankly staring off into space. If you ask him a question, he answers in monosyllables. Are you okay?/Fine. Do you need anything?/No. Sam, I'm worried."
"So am I. We knew he had a huge crush on this Judith girl, but this level of grief over someone he never dated?"
"He's mourning the loss of the future he can never have. He saw his memorizing of Hamlet as a grand romantic gesture that was going to sweep the girl off her feet. Now, he will never know if it would have worked. That's harder to accept than a flat out rejection."
"What should we do for him?"
"Right now what he needs most is sleep. I'm going to fix him a cup of hot chocolate and insist that he drink it. There will be a sleeping pill dissolved in it. As for you, my darling husband, it's time for you to leave for the hospital."
"How can I leave under these circumstances?"
"Sam, your mother is going into surgery in less than two hours. It's the kidney transplant we've been praying for—the one that's going to save her life. Go, and give my love to Sam senior and Sylvia, and tell them they're in my prayers."
Sam checked his watch and sighed. "Yes, I will and call me if there's any news."
"And you do the same. And don't worry, I'll keep a close eye on our boy and will make sure he doesn't do anything… foolish."
"Foolish? You don't mean… You don't think he might hurt himself?"
"No, I don't. But with teenagers it's always best to err on the side of caution. Okay?"
"Yes, of course you're right."
Sam quickly kissed his wife and hurried down the stairs, giving her a backhand wave as he departed.
X X X X X
Seven AM, upstairs at the Polonsky house. Rabbi Polonsky watched as his wife grumbled and stumbled her way to the bedroom door.
"Are you going to be alright today?" he asked.
"The usual headache. After coffee and aspirins I'll be fine. Are you going to check on Gracie?"
"Not much point. She rarely goes to Temple these days, and she certainly won't be in the mood after last night's tragedy."
"Tragedy?" Sarah Polonsky wracked her winesoaked memory when she saw her husband's disdainful expression. "Oh yes, the Montgomery girl, stabbed to death. So sad." She started to shake her head, but that only increased her headache. With slow determination, she made her way to the stairs and carefully descended.
The Rabbi was use to his wife's hangovers, but that never lessened the pain he felt when he saw Sarah like this. Sighing heavily, he decided to check on Grace anyway. He knocked on her door and waited. Often she would ignore him until he went away, but this morning she responded immediately.
"It's okay Dad."
He entered and was surprised by what he saw. Grace was already dressed for Temple (a black denim pantsuit, which had been the compromise they had worked out so she wouldn't have to wear a dress).
"You look nice. Are you joining us today?"
"Yes Dad." Grace replied in a surprisingly subdued manner.
"Grace, are you okay? Do you want to talk about last night?"
"Maybe in a minute, but first I wanted to tell you that I've decided to go through with my bat mitzvah."
"That's wonderful, but are you sure this time?"
"Very sure. If there's one thing last night taught me, it's that life is short. Grandpa and Grandma won't be with us much longer, and even you and Mom are getting up there…"
"We're not quite at death's door."
"I know, but we never know what tomorrow will bring. If I'm ever going to do this, it has to be now."
"Grace, I appreciate your willingness to do this for us, but I'd be much happier if you wanted to do this for you."
"I… guess I do. I think I always have, but I was so scared… scared of, ya know."
"Your mother can always make an effort for a special occasion. I promise she'll be okay."
Grace nodded and wiped away a single tear. "Now that that's settled, I guess I'd like to talk about Judith. First, I feel so guilty for resenting her. I was so jealous she was stealing my best friend…"
X X X X X
Eight AM, the Girardi house. Luke knocks at his sister's door.
"Joan, can I come in?"
"Sure Luke."
Luke entered and at once thought: this can't be good. Joan was on her bed, staring at the ceiling and still wearing the dress from last night.
"I wanted to let you know I was here if you needed anything."
"Where's the rest of the family?"
"Kev had to work, Dad went to the airport to pick up Dr. Montgomery—Bill Montgomery. Mom went to help Fran Montgomery with… uh, funeral arrangements."
"Oh." Joan picked up one of the glo-balls. "They don't light up any more. I kept them on all night and stared at them."
"They use watch batteries. I can replace them for you."
"What's the point? They were for Judith's project, and now they're as dead as she is."
What alarmed Luke most about that statement was the dry monotone Joan used to pronounce it. She was shutting down emotionally.
"Maybe you'd like to get up and change?"
"Okay."
Joan left her bed and went to the mirror. She seemed surprised she was still wearing her dress. Casually, she unzipped it and let it drop to the floor. Instantly, an embarrassed Luke turned his head away.
"Hey-hey, brother in the room."
"Oh yeah. Sorry." Joan mumbled as she slipped on a warm robe.
"Joan, stop it! You've got to snap out of this."
"Why? Why do I have to snap out of this?"
For a moment Luke floundered for an answer. "Because… life is short and you don't want to spend it as some sort of zombie."
"Life is short? Yeah, short for Rocky. Short for Judith. Short for who next? Who else is going to cross that dividing line? Who else will get let in on that necessary mystery? Who God? Who!"
Luke was at a loss for words. Joan had gone from emotionless monotone to ranting bitterness. He wished he knew what to say. Joan noticed his uneasiness.
"I'm… tired Luke. I'd like to be alone now."
"Okay Joan. I'm close by if you need anything."
Luke crossed to the door and as he got there she added… "And if anyone comes looking for me, a postal worker, a plumber, a pizza-delivery guy, ANYONE, slam the door in their faces!"
That was it. Joan was going off the rails and was headed straight for crazy camp. Luke couldn't just walk away while his sister was in such pain. Luke went to Joan, and for the first time in years, he hugged his sister.
"Joan, I'm so, so sorry."
At first she resisted, but he hugged her even more fiercely. Then, like a dam burst, Joan's body began to tremble. She let out a wail of pain and the tears flooded out of her.
How long this went on Luke didn't know. At times she pounded her fists against him, then her body would spasm and heave as her heavy sobbing deprived her of breath. Through all of this Luke held her tightly and silently pored out his love for her. Finally, utterly exhausted, she became still.
Joan had fallen asleep in his arms. Gently, he placed her on the bed and covered her with a blanket. He brushed a wisp of hair from her face, and then wiped away his own tears. Later, they would be embarrassed and red-faced about this moment, but he didn't care. If there was one tiny sliver of good that could be found in this tragedy, it was this reminder of how precious his sister was to him.
THE END. PLEASE REVIEW.
(The details of The Friedman's grandmother's kidney transplant, mentioned in "Dive." Can be found in my first fan fiction, SOUL MATES.)