Otherland: Fork in the Road

She walked quickly, almost skipping through the puddles and the tiny streams of fallen rain. She was wet to the bone and she shivered in spite of the warm June weather. At first, she thought she had imagined the sound. It was something but she had barely even heard it. She quickened her pace. Her head whipped around when she thought that she heard it again. She told herself that maybe tonight was not the best night to walk home alone. The streets are hallowed this late after midnight. Even for such a large metropolis, there is lesser activity in the dead of night. She heard it again but this time it seemed to be from a closer position. Her shuffle became a trot, a fruitless prance to escape something unknown. Once she had started her hustle, out of nowhere she shot across the road, foolishly thinking the shorter distance through the park would somehow guarantee her safety. She would soon be sadly mistaken.

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveller, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;”

He was far too young to understand such a thing. For all the pain, for all the agony, the little boy knew little about concepts like contrition and karma. All he knew was the daily struggle just to stay alive. Like feeding a dying rat, the treatments, and all the side effects, did little to change the inevitable. He would just lie there, praying that he was allowed to stay while at the same time begging to be set free. It was challenge enough just to breathe, let alone have the strength to carry on. The disease, it made sure of that. Every morning he would open his eyes to a new day and he would be grateful that he had the chance to experience it. Every afternoon he would close his eyes, cursing the pain, even cursing his life. It was more than any 12 year-old should have to go through. It wasn’t hard to see what was coming even if you tried not to look. Every day, he woke up and smiled. Every night, he tried to find peace. It was more than his body could take, but he took it nonetheless. It was how he decided to be.

The county road was usually quiet at this time of day. The car headed north and continued at a healthy speed of 90 km/h. It was a sunny day, the kind of day that brings families together, out on the front lawn playing with ‘Rover’. Children run unencumbered and dogs chase sticks. It was a beautiful day and a beautiful drive, even if that would all soon change. The tree line that followed the route was dense and heavy with Spruce and Cedar and Elm. You could barely see beyond the ditch that rested at the side of the way. Cruising down the highway, he gave little thought to anything but the sunshine and the serenity and the speed. Before that moment, everything was so pristine. The car roared up to 110 km/h and raced down the road. There was no way one could have imagined such a sad fate. Who could have known what was to happen next? Despite the speed, there was no way anyone could have possibly foreseen what was to come. The orange ball bounced out on the tarmac, out of nowhere it plunged across the northbound lane. It was far too late for anything but brakes, but the braking was far too late. For every ball there is bouncer and behind every bouncer there is always a chaser.

“Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,”

They had dated in high school so coming across each other all these years later seemed like kismet. The truth is they were just well acquainted strangers with a great deal of unresolved issues between them. Their meeting, it was almost like a sweet rapture. She had never gotten over the pain of the day that she left him. He had better things to do with his time these days. They ended up together, sitting on the floor doing what they once loved to do. They talked and reminisced like nothing had changed at all, an irony that would soon become quite clear. She was shocked when he pulled out his little kit. There was the dime bag and the spoon and the lighter or two. He mixed the cocktail like the pro that he was and she watched him slowly enter himself, a pinprick and the rush of blood to the head. She had never tried before. She had never even considered it. Still, she sat transfixed, staring at his eyes as he fell into his glory. After a few moments, he sat up and began all over again. He heated it, then stirred it, then sucked it up in the same syringe he had just used on himself. He looked at her, smiled softly and handed a final fate. She shook every so slightly as he placed it in her hand.

He should have known better. He had made the same mistake before. As he stood face to face, he knew he had to make his mind up. The last time she started to fade, they saved her. They kept her going whether she wanted to or not. Since then he has watched her drift between here and gone. You could tell she was suffering. You could tell this was cruel. With only the life left in her, everyone told him she would want to fight this. If you gave in, then the cancer would have won. It had won already. There was little left of her but for skin and bone. He didn’t like to see her like this, but who would? She just laid there, unable to speak, unable to react, she was a mere shell of any person she had once been. Of course, it was inevitable. It wouldn’t be long now. Small words when presented with such a disconcerting choice. He prayed a little bit. He cried a little bit. He told himself that he must decide. When all the other voices had left for the day, when no one was there to stand in the way, he reached inside himself in order to do the right thing. Just what that decision would bring mattered next to nothing. It was the same thing all over again. This time, only he would play God.

“And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.”

Every day she got up at the same time. She got out of bed in the same manner and went into the bathroom for the daily rituals in there. When she had finished, she slumped the wet towel over her shoulder and walked back into the bedroom. For the most part, this was a lonely room. It knows no laughter, no passion, it knows nothing but her body resting upon her sheets like a stone. She made the bed like she always does. She adjusted almost everything as she made her way downstairs. The coffee maker percolated at the same time every day. The towel went in the laundry chute like it does every day. Room to room she moved like she owned the place. In fact, she had lived here alone for years and years. Everything repeats in this situation. From the cup she uses to drink the java to the newspaper waiting in exactly the same place every day. Her world seems easier when controlled in such a manner. There were no surprises, everything is always exactly where it should be. She is crippled by this temperament. If she did not work from home, her life would be useless. She poured another cup, wiped off the counter and paced herself to the front door. It opened just like it does every morning. In a second, her fear took over. The newspaper wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Instead of placing it in the mailbox as instructed, it lay 30 feet away from her, near the gate entrance to the house. She began to tremble. She began to break. For a moment, the world fell apart around her. She pushed open the screen door and she peered outside.

He barricaded himself inside so that no one could disturb him from the task at hand. He sat alone, so alone it left him in the most miserable of places. He remembered her smile. He remembered his laugh. He knew both had gone and left him, at the hands of a stranger. They both died instantly on impact. If only he had chosen a different path that day. If only he had gone with them instead of staying at work to catch up on things. So many ‘what ifs’ filled his mind. So many regrets, so much turmoil. He looked about himself and made for the ready. There was no real reason to stay anymore. There was nothing but the constant reminder of how he had failed them both. He placed the razor on his beside table and laid down to do the deed. He thought about seeing them again. He thought about the peace that death must surely bring. He didn’t stop to think about anything else. The tunnel closed in all about him. He looked at their pictures, faces long gone staring through his soul. The real question was if he could do it. Several times before he had managed to come this far. He imagined a better place but the challenge was just how to get there. It all came down to his choice.

“I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less travelled by,

And that has made all the difference.”

(The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost 1916)

He had faced this decision so many times it was like second nature to him. It was the responsibility that came built into owning a pet. He had watched her descent for weeks and she worsened day by day. She refused to die, all the same. He hoped it would end differently than it had with others in the past. He silently prayed for mercy and lasting peace. For awhile, it was easy to respect her holding on to life. She was much loved and the idea of putting her down haunted him in the most unpleasant of ways. He didn’t want to end her, he wanted life to take her. He hoped for a quiet passing but the longer she held on, the more she seemed to decay. It appeared that his wish, his divine reliance was nothing but a pipe dream. It felt like a part of him was dying with her. He loved her but he just wanted it to all be over. As he observed her decline, he was torn into pieces. He did not know what to do. He weighed the decision he knew he had to make. He had promised her to let nature take its course and he had vowed not to interfere. She lingered and her suffering became apparent. It was like she had made his decision for him although, in the end, it came down to empathy and compassion. It wasn’t about what was right or what was wrong, it was all about his responsibility to her. It felt selfish but the choice was far less simple than that. She was doomed either way.

Every day we are riddled with choices. Almost everything we do is a choice to one degree or another. If we don’t like the way things are, we have a choice. We can change things by making different choices. We can remain the same just by choosing to do nothing. Sometimes we don’t have a choice. The fork in the road is often as daunting as the path that brought you to it. The entirety of who we are is measured by these choices we have made. We always have the option, we can make the decision. What we decide is entirely up to us. Simply by taking advantage of our own free will, we get to determine our direction. Some would argue that we never really make any of those choices. Sometimes it isn’t a choice at all, rather it is an inevitable fate, a predestined experience. As for me, I just can’t seem to make up my mind.