Time means something different to me now. It used to symbolize hope, an opportunity to try something new and perhaps, waiting for something joyous to begin. But now, it’s just a burden, a reminder that everything under the hands of time and everything within it must die. But waiting to die; that’s something else entirely. The flowers on the kitchen table are wilting now. Their red petals are drooping towards the ground as if they too are crying, only to lap up their tears in the vase in which they dwell. I haven’t paid too much attention to the flowers before now, but here we are, and here I am, having my evening tea, only to be staring at something I never thought of as living. Strange, how the world works.  

            “Are you coming to bed?” I ask Claire who sits across from me, though she’s more of a shadow now. She’s made sure to only wear black, engulfed in a dark wool knit sweater and faded navy sweatpants from her college days. She’s stirring the porridge in front of her with a spoon, moving it back and forth in a slow circular motion. Her dark brown hair is hanging down in front of her eyes, and I hate that I can’t see the breath of fresh air that was once the brightest green I had ever seen.

            “I think I’ll stay right here tonight.” Claire drops the spoon into the bowl.

            “You’re going to sit at the kitchen table, all night long?”

            “Yes.”

            “I don’t think that’s very healthy, Claire, I…”

            “Go to bed, I don’t care,” she snaps. “ I won’t be there to kiss you goodnight.”

            I nod, take my empty teacup to the sink and set the dish down. I think about washing it, slowly. Maybe lingering would get Claire up off the chair, let her calm down and talk some sense into her. But what good would that do? She’s been in the same pair of sweatpants for nearly a month and I don’t recall seeing her shower in the past few weeks. She doesn’t smell of anything but her usual perfume, but the scent has long since faded.

            “I love you.” I whisper to her, bending down to kiss the top of her head before vanishing down the hall to our bedroom. I don’t wait for a response or even hope to hear one called after me; she hasn’t been able to say those three simple words in months. The bedroom feels like a prison to me. It was once a place where I couldn’t wait to return to at the end of a long day at work but now, the bed no longer feels comfortable and the pillowcases feel as if they are strangling me. The pictures in their frames stare back at me, each one shows a happy Claire with a grinning smile from ear to ear, guiding a canoe or lying in my lap with her nose pressed against mine. There are picture frames that are turned face down, and my fingers so badly want to pick them up to see the happy family of three that we once were.

            “Fuck this.”

           Without even turning the light switch on I leave the room. My feet take me back into the kitchen where Claire is still staring at the beige slop, perhaps trying to find the meaning of life hidden somewhere deep inside it. She looks up at me when I re-enter the room, her hair falling to the side of her head and I see those eyes again for the first time in weeks. Sure, they’re now dull, they’re plain, but they’re the eyes I fell in love with.

            “Ryan is gone,” I say, point blank. She laughs at me, but it’s a laugh that is not welcoming, a laugh that insinuates a fight is about to happen. “I can’t bring him back, no matter how badly I want to I can’t!”

            I form a fist with my right hand and unexpectedly punch the wall adjacent to us. I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I thought it would go through the drywall, that I’d bring out my hand with a small bit of white plaster or a few cuts. Then I’d clean it off and storm out of the house. Instead, I hit the hard, steel stud that holds the wall in place, and it sends shooting pain through my knuckles and up my arm, causing me to fall to the floor holding my throbbing hand, sobbing. Claire quickly ascends from her weeks-long seat and crosses to the freezer where she grabs the most suitable frozen package and drops to the floor with me, rubbing my back, placing the package on my rapidly swelling hand. I haven’t cried this hard, yet. I usually cry silently, in my sleep where no one can hear me and I can’t feel the fat crocodile tears fall down my face. But tonight was my breaking point.

            “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I’ll fix the wall tomorrow, I promise.”

            Claire looks up to the wall and laughs, the kind that is sincere, the kind that is genuine as if I had just told her a funny joke. “The wall isn’t even dented. But your hand, that looks broken, we should get you…”

            She doesn’t finish her sentence, and she doesn’t need to. The hospital is a place that haunts our memories, that terrifies us when we close our eyes with the smell of sterile bedsheets and alcohol rub. Claire is crying now, holding her arms tight against her chest while she slowly rocks back and forth on the floor. My heart leaps, and through the pain and tears I take a chance. I lean in and kiss my wife on the lips. I can’t remember the last time my lips felt hers. I can’t remember the last time my tongue fell into synch with hers and I sure as hell can’t remember a time where it was this passionate, this electric. Claire begins to move faster, and I match her pace. My good hand moves down her arm and to her hands, where I softly massage her palm before placing her hand on my right breast. She squeeze it once, showing me that she hasn’t forgotten what we used to enjoy.

            “Annie,” she breathes, pulling away. “Your hand, we should go to the hospital.”

            “It can wait.” I tell her, forgetting the pain in my hand, forgetting the pain of the death of our son for just one moment. But, forgetting is tricky when you purposely want to forget; your body won’t allow it. A jolt of pain surges through my hand and I cringe, accidentally biting Claire’s tongue in the process. She yelps and jumps to her feet.

            “In the car, now!” Her voice is back to that depressive mode I saw her in earlier.

           We haven’t been to the hospital since Ryan passed away. In fact, I don’t even think Claire has driven the car since our little boy left this world. Her hands are steady on the wheel, and I’m admiring the way she’s holding herself when I know inside she’s screaming at me. It’s already dark out, and the route I took home from work is lighted with streetlamps and reflective collars of dogs out for a stroll with their owners.

           We talked about getting a dog, and I think when the time is right I’ll take Claire down to the local pound and we’ll discuss bringing another living being back into our lives; something to care for while we pass the time until we ourselves join Ryan in the sky. Ryan loved dogs, always did. Especially the larger ones, the ones you could bury your face into and come out with a mouthful of fur but a heart full of love. Humans don’t deserve dogs. I’ve said this to Claire countless times as we’ve watched dog movie after dog movie, crying into each other’s arms at how horrible humanity truly is. Ryan had allergies, so we never got around to the whole dog thing.

           Claire gears down to stop at the upcoming red light, and from the passenger seat I see a woman jog up to us in a bright orange reflective vest. In her hand is a leash that leads to a bright eyed German Shepard on the other end. I unroll the window and an equally wide-eyed Judy Faye leans down to chat with us. She’s been our neighbour since Claire and I paid off our mortgage. I remember because Claire and I were celebrating with under the stars sex and I hadn’t realized I had left the porch lights on, giving Judy and her husband a full-blown erotic display when they stopped by to introduce themselves; I doubt her husband had any complaints.

           “Hello Claire. Hello Annie,” Judy says in a sad, melodic voice. “I haven’t seen you in a while. How are you two holding up?”

           Claire keeps her eyes on the red light and bites her lower lip, no doubt to keep from telling Judy that the shirt she’s wearing underneath her vest is on backwards.

           “We’re doing okay, Judy,” I lie to the nosy neighbour. “Thank you for the flowers, they are still on our kitchen table. They smell wonderful.”

           Judy smiles pleased with my answer. “I’m glad, Annie. I just can’t imagine what you’re going through, losing Ryan like that. I remember one time…”

           The engine roars as the air rushes fast out the window and the German Shepard barks as the car takes off. Claire just blew a red light. I look at her, a mask of strength and courage washing over her face. I just stare at her, in awe of her beauty in this time of tragedy and her resilience to be here on this earth with me, even when both of us are just sitting around, waiting for time to take its toll.

           “I fucking hate that bitch.” Claire smirks.

           “I hate her flowers.”

           “They stink, don’t they?”

           “It’s the thought that counts.”

           “I guess so.”

           “Do you want to get a dog?”

           Claire slams on the brakes, my body catapults forwards but my seatbelt catches me. Claire has stopped in the hospital parking lot, just shy of an actual parking space. My hand is throbbing but it has gone numb, much like Claire as she turns to me, her eyes red from crying and her face drowned and broken; she has expelled all the tears from her body, she has nothing left to cry.

           “I love you, Annie, I really do.” Claire’s voice is cracking. “But I cannot do this right now. I can’t make plans for the future. I don’t see a future, not one without Ryan. Do you think getting a dog is going to fill the void in our hearts? Do you think seeing a dog sleep on Ryan’s favourite blanket is going to solve all of our problems? Of all people I expected you to be the wreck, not me. You birthed him for crying out loud! You carried him for nine months and you’re the one comforting me! You’re not supposed to be the strong one, Annie, I am!”

           I begin to cry, and this time, Claire has her wish. She holds me in the parking lot, rocking me back and forth, stroking my long black hair in a calming way only she knows how to do. She is the strong one even if she doesn’t know it.

           “Let’s get your hand fixed.”

           Claire and I don’t speak as we walk into the emergency room or when we’re waiting to see the doctor. We’re thinking the same thing when we see a little girl carried into the Emergency Room on a gurney from the ambulance; that was Ryan just last month.

           “The bullet is lodged in his spine, we’ve stabilized him, but we need to take it out.”

           “What are his options?”

           “We’ll need to put him into surgery, and we’ll try to remove the bullet without disrupting the nerves, but it’s in a very tight spot and there could be further complications.”

           “Whatever it takes, do it for Ryan.”

           The nurse calls us in, seats us in a small corner and draws back the curtain. She asks if I’ve been drinking, ingested any drugs or upon seeing Claire’s puffy eyed face, she asks if there was a domestic dispute at home. Claire reassures the nurse I haven’t hurt her and never would; this is the first time Claire has spoken with another person in four weeks. The nurse leaves and we’re alone once again, but it’s a different silence; it’s no longer awkward.

           “I’m sorry I yelled,” Claire says, looking down at the ground.

           “It’s okay.”

           “How is your hand feeling?”

           “I feel this pressure, on my chest since he’s been gone, Claire. It’s like I’m trying to remember what it was like when they first put him, bare naked on my chest when he arrived into this world twelve years ago. I can’t feel that heat, Claire, and it’s all because America has a right to place a gun in a mentally ill individual’s hand, and then he goes into a school and pulls the trigger at random, taking away our little boy. It’s breaking me slowly. I just thought you should know.”

           Claire sinks back into the chair and puts her hands in her face, trying to muffle her sobs for the courtesy of the people on the other side of the thin fabric curtain.

           Ryan sits in his hospital bed, upright, breathing tubes in his nostrils and an IV in his arm. He sees me enter and a smile flashes on his face. Claire is asleep on the couch next to his bed, mascara smeared across her skin; she’s been crying. I sit down next to Ryan on his bed, holding back tears myself; I’m not going to show him that I’m terrified.

           “Mom has been crying all night,” Ryan nods to Claire in the corner. “She cried herself to sleep, I think.”

           “She’s nervous, that’s all. But you’re going to do great, you’ll see.” I kiss the top of his head and ruffle his black hair. He laughs, and then has to take a deep wheezing breath in.

           “After I get out of the hospital, do you think we could get a dog?”

           I choke back tears, swallowing the golf ball sized lump in my throat. “What kind of dog?”

           “Short haired, maybe a bigger dog to pull me around in my wheelchair while I heal. Then we could get three more dogs and start a sled team.”

           I laugh. “That may be pushing it to the limit.”

           “I can’t wait to get a dog. What would we name it?”

           “Anything you’d like.”

           “Right, you know Mom would make sure she had the dog named her way.”

           We laugh for a while, and when it’s time the anesthesiologist solemnly strolls in with her powerful knock-out drugs that will make Ryan feel as if he’s on a cloud; he won’t feel a thing. Claire and I are each holding one of his hands as he drifts off into silence, into peace, and into a place where time stops and his dreams will be endless. He’s crying now, though, nervous for the pain he will have when he wakes up.

           “Moms?” he asks both of us, looking into our faces. He’s frantic now, looking for a bit of reassurance. “Can we get a dog?”

           “Yes.” Claire answers before I have a chance to say anything and with that, Ryan closes his eyes, and never opens them again.

           The doctor plasters my hand in a white rock-hard cast that renders me unable to work the next morning. For once I want to crawl into bed and sleep. Claire drives us home, and once we get there she turns on the stereo, something that hasn’t been touched in our home for years. Claire pulls me in close before I have a chance to protest. We slow dance in the light of the streetlamps outside the window illuminating our steps.

           “Thank you.” I tell her, although I’m not sure which part of the night I’m thanking her for. She reaches down to my height and kisses me lightly. We sway until our feet feel as heavy as our hearts, and Claire sits down on the sofa and closes her eyes. I stay awake, flipping through the channels of the television with Claire snoring softly on my shoulder. I kiss her forehead and smile.

– Jordan Knowler

Author’s Note: I’m Canadian, an outsider looking in when I watch the news or read up on politics of my neighbouring country, the USA. It breaks my heart when I see another mass shooting and those affected by the tragedies whether they be in schools, bars, grocery stores, etc. I wanted to write a response to the tragic reality of gun violence from those left with the grief of losing their loved ones in such a senseless act. While I have not lived through this experience myself, I think it’s important to highlight that this could be what some individuals are going through when the world around them sends ‘thoughts and prayers’ in a Tweet. Humanity is important in a time of hardship, and I hope this short story can be used to help place things into perspective.