Reckoning

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I have spent roughly 66% of my life afraid.

I've had asthma for as long as I can remember - there were nights where my chest would ache, and I'd have to wake my mother from sleep so she could set up a ventilator in the living room. She'd sit there and look on at me from the kitchen, leaning on the kitchen table, her eyelids heavy and weighed down, each blink like it was through cold molasses. The big plastic mask would engulf my face, and I'd watch the cartoons my mom put on for me. Spiderman, Superman, Batman and Robin, they'd all play throughout the early hours of the morning, and I'd watch in a trance as a weight was slowly lifted off of my chest. My eyes would sting as they stuck to the flickering television. Sometimes we'd both wake up on the couch, the Afghan my grandmother knit would be thrown on my lap. The sun would be peeping into the living room, the old orange curtains parted slightly would let in a beam of light that was thick with dust mites. My mother would be beside me with her head kinked to the side, still in her bathrobe, and I'd have to rouse her again so she could rush to work.

She'd rush off to work at her office - at the time she was a Paralegal working at a firm downtown, which was a forty minute drive from our house in the morning if she was lucky to avoid too much traffic - and I'd have to walk to school. She never left without attempting to pack me a lunch, however. A red macintosh apple and some kind of sandwich made with squishy wonder bread would be slammed into a tin Superman lunch box, and I'd walk to school.

I'd walk, carefully. I'd mind my breath, trying to maintain constant rhythm. I'd pat my right pocket, to reassure myself I had my inhaler, but the fear of the other boys seeing me with it kept me from comfort.

If I played too hard, ran too fast, laughed too much, if I even dared to let go for just a minute, they'd take it from me. And I knew this, because it had happened before.

In fourth grade, I sat on the hill overlooking some of the other kids playing soccer. I could see them having fun; sure, sometimes they'd argue over who cheated or maybe a goal wasn't a goal or something "didn't count", but it sure looked more exciting than sitting on the hill flicking off ants that would crawl onto my dingy once-white socks.

"Daniel!" one of the girls shouted at me. I can still see her running on the field, her mousy brown hair flying behind her as she followed the ball back and fourth. Samantha, Sam, and she was the coolest. She used to live just two blocks away in a big house with a front porch, and sometimes she'd walk with me to school. She always talked a lot so I never felt pressure to talk, and I could focus on my breathing as she told me about her weekend. One time her parents bought her a hamster, and she brought him outside to meet me one morning. I liked Sam a lot, and she always made me smile.

"Daniel! Come play!" She shouted up at me. Everyone stopped playing; twelve kids looked up at me with expectation.

"Nah, he's not going to play." Tyler shook his head. "He never plays. His bones are like glass or something, he's like an egg. Let's keep going - it's our ball."

Sam looked at Tyler and furrowed her brow, her tiny upturned nose wrinkled with annoyance. "He's going to play, Tyler."

I took in a deep breath. I guess I was going to play.

Everything was a flurry around me - I couldn't remember playing anything this hard for a really long time. Even in gym class I made sure to be extra careful, to never push myself, but suddenly I was flying. For the first time in a long time in my very short and young life, I was really playing.

Before I knew it - I had the ball. I stopped completely and looked up to see my teammates staring at me, and yelling at me. Sam was smiling, and running toward the opposite team's net. "Let's go, Daniel!" She shouted.

"Let's go!" Tyler demanded, as he ran upward along Sam.

I started making my way to the net, but I could feel the other kids gaining on me. I had to push harder, I wanted to score so badly. I wanted to be one of them, I wanted to show them I could do it, but my chest was starting to ache. I stopped running and at that minute, I took my right foot back and booted the ball towards the net. For a minute, it looked like I was in. For just a minute, I was certain I was one of the cool soccer kids, not the loser who sat and waited for recess to be done. But I was so wrong.

That ball that I booted with all my might went straight for Tyler's face, and smacked him right on the nose with a 'THUNK'.

I remember gasping - not from the asthma, but from pure shock, as Tyler looked up at me in disgust, his nose and mouth covered in bright red blood. My heart was beating faster and faster as he picked up the ball, and lumbered towards me.

"Tyler! Leave him alone!" Sam shouted, chasing behind him.

He towered and leaned over me. "You should've stayed on your hill, egg-boy". He stood so tall above me, that a drop of blood dripped from his nose and onto my cheek as I looked past him in horror. It felt so hot and burned as it dripped down my jaw. "No wonder you never play."

My heart pounded in my chest faster and faster, until Sam caught up and grabbed him by the arm. "Leave him alone," she repeated. I don't think he would have on his own, but the bell rang calling us back indoors. The rest of the kids ran in, while I walked back behind them slowly, letting my heart slow and my lungs catch up with the rest of my body.

The rest of the day, I could feel him staring at the back of my head, as we practiced our Math and Science. I just sat there and stared at the clock, praying for the bell to ring so I could walk home and be safe with my mother and my cartoons.

When the bell finally did ring, I grabbed my backpack and hurried out of the school. I couldn't run home, but I could walk fast and if I hurried maybe no one would confront me about recess. I got maybe a block away until I heard, "Daniel! Wait up!" from Sam. She was holding on to her backpack straps and jogging to catch up.

"Hey, Sam" I muttered, as she caught up beside me. I walked with my normal rhythm, comforted to know I had a friend and protector beside me, but I didn't dare look up from the cracks in the sidewalk.

"Hey, Daniel, don't worry about what happened. It's okay. One time during kickball I hit the ball so hard it hit Stacy right in the stomach and she started to dry heave and then Rebecca ran to get a teacher and then pretty much told on me and said it was on purpose which it really wasn't and then I got in trouble bec-"

"I'm not worried about it".

"Okay, well, just in case you were, don't worry. I'm not saying you are, but still. You're not gonna get in trouble, we won't tell on you".

"I wasn't worried about you telling on me, Sam."

"Okay, then nothing to worry about!"

We walked on for a few more minutes, when I started to hear a whirring from behind us. At first I thought maybe it was a bee, and a fear of being stung suddenly sat in the pit of my stomach. Looking back, I sort of wish it was a bee. A sting wouldn't be as bad.

Tyler, riding a rusty silver bike, caught up to us. It wasn't even his way home. He must have been following us.

"You think you're just gonna run home?" He taunted, slowing his bike to ride beside us. "I'm gonna get you, Daniel. You owe me."

Sam looked at me, and for the first time this entire walk, I looked up to meet her eyes. "We're gonna have to run, Daniel". I tried to shake my head no, but she was already starting to pick up her pace.

I patted my pocket where my inhaler was and started to run beside her.

I don't know what would have happened if he caught up to us. Maybe I'd get in my first fight. Maybe Sam would protect me. Maybe he'd get in a fight with Sam. But he didn't catch up to us. My asthma did.

Suddenly, I had to stop running. I had to take a breath. I needed to breathe and I couldn't. I needed my inhaler. I stopped abruptly while Tyler's bike kept going. Sam stopped a couple meters ahead of me and turned back to check on me.

I reached into my pocket and grabbed my inhaler. "Are you okay?" Sam asked. I nodded.

But Tyler had doubled back to find us. He threw down his bike and started walking toward us. "Well well, you're no egg boy at all!" He laughed. "Why didn't you tell us?" he gestured at my inhaler, which I was just placing to my mouth.

I shook my head with anger, "'Cause it's none of your business."

As I went to press the trigger and finally find air, his hand reached in front of my face and pried my inhaler from me. Throwing it on the ground he took one large stomp, a crunch of plastic coming from under his foot. "Better stick to your hill," He laughed, and took one more large stomp.

"Get out of here!" Sam hollered at him. Her voice seemed to shake. Tyler returned to his bike, and headed back towards the school grounds, probably back to his home where he'd have a normal meal with a big family and then probably play outside. Like normal kids. Like happy kids. But I still couldn't breathe and now I had no inhaler.

Sam returned her gaze to me, and put both her hands on my shoulders. "You're okay" she looked right in my eyes. "You're okay, you're gonna breathe, it's gonna be fine". I nodded, but still my chest was aching and my lungs were burning. I looked down to see the shattered bits of plastic, and suddenly I started to panic. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't breathe!

Like an angel, my mother came to the rescue. She was my superhero. Almost as if she knew what was happening. She pulled over, ran out of the car, her old black heels hitting the pavement with a 'CLOP'. She ran up to me, and dug into her purse, producing my back up inhaler. "What happened?" She asked Sam, holding the inhaler to my face. Normally I would tell her that I could do it myself, but for the first time I didn't think I could. I needed help. I could hear Sam explain what happened in the back of my mind, but all I could focus on was breathing. I could breathe, but I needed help.

I couldn't ever let this happen again. If they took my inhaler, I wouldn't be able to breathe. I'd die.

So yeah, I spent maybe 66% of my life quite literally afraid to breathe wrong. Maybe 20% was spent asleep. The rest was watching cartoons at night, snuggled up with my exhausted, hard working mother.

And then, when I got older, I had a new fear.

I'd grown up, gone to school, was studying to receive a Bachelor of Arts on a scholarship, and maintained a distant friendship with the "girl next door", Sam, until we ran into each other at a party one night. A few too many drinks in and suddenly we were acting like a couple. Five amazing years we kept that up. For a while, things were going really well for us.

With me out of the house, my mother was able to save some of her money and got to move to a smaller and nicer place, just a couple minutes away from the apartment Sam and I bought. She had just finished her nursing degree and was spending a lot of time at the hospital working. Thank God for Sam, because without her we probably never would've been able to afford the place that we did.

To obtain my Bachelor of Arts degree, I studied mythology and folklore, which made me qualified to work just about nowhere. Well-educated in seemingly useless information, I applied for jobs where ever I could and took whatever job paid the best. I delivered pizzas, I folded jeans, I sold cellphones in the mall. It was a lot of boring and thoughtless work for very little pay. But at the end of every shift, I could go home and wait for Sam.

She'd walk in with dirty nursing scrubs, bags under her beautiful brown eyes, her mousy brown hair that once flew in pigtails behind her on the playground now sat on top of her head in a tired knot, and I'd feel completely at ease. My Sam, my best friend, my protector and my defender. I still lived in fear of losing my breath, but I knew that when she was around I always had someone to help hold the inhaler.

Sam always had this way of making whoever she was talking to feel like they were the most important person in the universe. She could talk the ear off anyone, but if they needed someone to listen she was always there; she was a truly warm and pure human being, the kind of person everyone should have in their life. If the world had more 'Sam's', it'd be a lot less dark.

She was beautiful, with that warm sandy hair, and big sparkly brown eyes that constantly shown with mischief. But she was smart too. Like scary smart. I didn't even know how smart she was until university, where she could stay up all night playing video games with my friends and I, and the next morning ace an exam and a practical. She worked hard but knew how to laugh and smile just like she did when we were kids.

I think my favourite thing about her was something she used to say.

Every once in a while I'd start to feel down about my inability to find a job I really cared about. I'd be sick of flipping burgers or whatever the weekly job was, and I'd confide in her how disappointed I was in my choices. If I had studied something different, if I had worked harder, if I invested, maybe things would be easier. Things wouldn't have to rely so heavily on her job at the hospital, she could work less. I could afford a ring for her, and we'd be married just like I knew she wanted to be. Sam would just look at me, forcing my eyes to look up from the floor, and she'd just say, "I'm proud of you".

Maybe that's why when she got her new job I knew I had to support her. I had to convince her that I was proud of her, too. And I was. But not without worry.

Her new job was at a hospital on the northern side of town, not the one that was only a $14 taxi ride away. She was always coming and going in the middle of the night, and with the three buses she would have to take home I was bound to worry. But she was so excited.

"If I take this job, we'll be able to save so much more. We can get a car, we could move, we could get married. It's a really good opportunity, Dan." She said, her body towards the stove as she scrambled some eggs.

"I know, Sam. It's just far, I guess"

"Don't worry," She spun around, scraping half of the eggs onto my plate. She looked at me and smiled. "Please don't worry. It'll be so good"

I could feel myself smiling back at her, softly. The corners of my mouth lifted lazily up. I couldn't help it - she was so excited, and so happy. "Proud of you," I mumbled, and then forked a couple pieces of egg into my mouth.

So she took the job.

I'd sit up and wait for her while I searched for jobs online. Sometimes I'd pretend to be asleep when she came in, and sometimes I'd actually try. But something in my gut wouldn't let me sleep. Something in my gut said something would go wrong, and maybe for about two months, my gut was wrong.

But at the end of August, while the night time air sat in our apartment like a thick fog, I fell asleep with my laptop on my stomach and my hand in a bowl full of chips. I hadn't found a job, and Sam was doing well, and the pressure and fear had exhausted me.

I think it must've been the sound of my own snore that woke me. Maybe it was subconscious anticipation or anxiety, but I woke up with a start. The laptop fell to the ground, slapping shut, as I stood up. Looking around groggily, I tried to remember what had happened. How long was I asleep? What time was it?

Where was Sam?

I leaped over the chips and the discarded computer, sliding in my socks, to make my way to the kitchen. My eyes snapped to the oven: it was 10:46 in the morning. I’d been asleep for eight hours. The longest sleep I’d had in months. I tip toed my way to our bedroom, expecting Sam to be laying in the bed. She’d probably still be in her scrubs, maybe her name tag would still be clipped to her pocket. She’d have let down her hair and it would be splayed all over the pillow like a halo. Her eyelashes would be pressed to the tops of her cheeks, she’d be so tired maybe a trickle of drool would be sitting in the corner of her mouth.

I pushed the door open. She wasn’t there.

There was a knock at the door.

Maybe she had forgotten her keys. Maybe she was standing out in the hallway, bags under her eyes, and I’d have to let her in. I ran to the front door, sliding again on the laminate floor in my socks. I swung the door open, ready to see Sam and apologize for falling asleep.

Instead, a large policeman greeted me with pursed lips. He took off his hat as I opened the door, and I felt my entire body sink. “Daniel Cody?”

I nodded, I tried to say yes, but I couldn’t. No words would come out. I patted my sweat pants pocket, reassuring myself my inhaler was there.

“Mr. Cody, I have been asked to inform you that Miss Samantha Wellard has been found dead this morning. She has been identified by Parish Memorial Hospital but we need you to come in for some questioning.”

Twice, my fears had been justified. First, the fear of dying, but second and more importantly, the fear of losing the ones I love.

And so, there I was, standing at a graveside in the sun, my mother's hand in mine. The sun shone down on us, not a cloud in the sky. It was a beautiful day, the September air starting to thin and the breeze started to cool down. Mom squeezed my hand, as they began to lower the casket, where my beautiful girlfriend now lay.

We stood there for what felt like forever. Her mother cried in her father's arms. Her brother and sister-in-law could barely open their eyes. My mother cried. But I just couldn't. All I felt was angry.

Down she went, my protector, my champion, my angel. She was so brave her entire life, and that was her downfall. If I only bought her a car, or something. If she could've taken a taxi. Maybe if she hadn't taken that job. If only she'd been more careful then maybe she wouldn't be six feet underground, and I wouldn't be walking away from her burial, leaving our families behind me.

I took off my jacket and held it under my arm as I walked towards the street with both hands in my pocket. No one was following me. They knew me better than that. But I could feel my mom's heart break as I left her, and headed into the city.

I didn't feel like talking, that wouldn't do me any good.

I didn't want to hear people trying to justify what happened, or make sense of it all. They'd pretend to be there with her, like they knew what had happened. Maybe they'd blame me for not being there with her, to keep her safe. I felt fire build in my stomach, walking towards a neighbourhood bar labelled "The Trough", as I slowly came to the realization that I could never have kept her safe. I couldn't even keep myself safe.

I swung the door open. A dimly lit sports bar with a roof that felt far too low greeted me with the scent of chicken wings and pickles. A large man sat on a stool at the bar. A pretty, middle aged blonde woman smiled at me as she polished a beer glass. "Anywhere you like!"

I opted for the booth in the corner.

After drinking three pints, I could feel my cellphone ringing in my pocket. Bringing it to the table, the screen read "MOM".

I sighed, "I'm okay"

"I'm here if you need me." She said softly.

"I know, Ma" I rubbed my eyes, "You always have been."

After a long pause, she sighed back. "Get home safe, tonight. I don't think I could handle losing you, too. Love you." -CLICK-

After a couple hours, the pretty bartender who's name I'd learned via eavesdropping was Barb, came to my table. The bar had filled up a bit more, but there was still plenty of room. She'd been joined by three other staff - a stunning woman with long, shiny black hair now tended bar while Barb looked at me, her mouth twisted to the side. Now that she was closer up I could see the details of her face, the lines on her forehead that time had pressed there, the tiny creases by her eyes made from smiling.

"What's going on? You okay?"

I looked up at her from the paper coaster that I had torn to bits. It was the third one I'd completely destroyed.

"They don't even know who did it, you know?"

"Who did what, hon?" She asked, her eyes full of pity.

"Sam's dead and they don't even know who did it" I slurred.

"Whose Sam? What happened to him?" Barb asked quietly, placing a hand covered in silver rings over mine. I stopped tearing apart my coaster.

"Her."

"Okay. What happened to her?"

"Samantha. I loved her so much. She was supposed to be with me forever. She was supposed to be my wife."

"I think you should call it a night, hon." Barb patted my hand. "I'll grab your bill.."

"Uh-huh"

I didn't mind being kicked out. I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open and I was finally numb enough that I could possibly even have a full night's sleep. I handed Barb my credit card and then looked at my phone while she took it to a terminal. No batteries left. I patted my suit jacket which was beside me in the booth, tapping the right chest pocket to feel the lump of my inhaler.

"Can you call me a cab?" I asked, my eyelids at half mast, once she returned to my booth.

"I would," her lips were twisted again. A sign of concern, I'd learned. "But your credit card has been declined. I don't know if you have another means of paying?"

I flipped through my wallet. Maxed out. Maxed out. Expired. Until I came to our joint account. A sobering thought - the money we were saving for our future together was now about to pay for the liquor I drank after her funeral. "Debit, I guess."

"Ah hah! Let's try that!" She smiled.

I followed her to a machine, and felt pain as I pressed the PIN number in. I felt shame, and as the machine flashed with an -ACCEPTED- I felt even worse. What a legacy.

"Still need that cab?" Barb asked. "I'm sure not letting you drive."

"I don't drive," I mumbled. "I think I'll just walk. Thanks."

It turns out, The Trough was a lot longer of a walk away than I thought. If it had been the middle of the night, I definitely wouldn't have been walking home. But it was only six o'clock in the evening, prime rush hour, and I had gotten embarrassingly drunk, so a walk to sober up seemed like a good idea at the time. As soon as I stepped outside into the daylight, I felt like I needed to make a stop. Something wasn't right.

Sam wouldn't have wanted me to have just stormed away like that. I needed to stop and talk to her.

I remember the walk back to the cemetery. It was so sunny, and the early September sun was still as hot as it was in the summer. The wind from earlier had died down as the day went on so the suns heat beat down on me. I swear I could taste alcohol in my sweat as I made my way through the traffic. This part was the easy part - just follow the lights and the other people. As angry as I was at the world, I was still embarrassed at the state of my inebriation so I desperately tried to blend in with the different people leaving work for the evening.

I made it to the gates of the cemetery, and I felt uneasy. Like I'd be saying goodbye to her forever. I had so much to say and so much to apologize for. I reached into my right pocket to feel for my inhaler - but it wasn't there. It was back at the bar, in the booth, in the pocket of my suit jacket. I had to go back.

I started to make my way back to The Trough when my patience started to wear thin. This trek was already taking way too long and I badly wanted to go home and shut my eyes. I wanted to take off my shoes and lay on the couch and cry. Just the thought of the release that crying would bring me started to press heavily on my chest. I didn't have my inhaler, so I definitely couldn't run, but I wanted to get home. I just wanted to cry.

Maybe I thought cutting across the street would cut some of that time off of my walk - I'd get to the bar, grab my jacket and inhaler. Maybe I'd give Barb a wave. I'd go to the cemetery and sit at Sam's graveside and I would talk to her.

I'd apologize for not getting a better job, for not proposing to her the hundreds of times I thought I should. I'd thank her for always being my friend when I had no one but my mom and my superheroes. I'd thank her for being proud of me, and tell her how proud I was of her. I'd tell her I love her, that I will always loved her. I'd cry a little bit, then I'd apologize one more time for being so afraid.

Then I'd make my way home. I would take off my shoes, and I'd lay on the couch and fall into a deep sleep. In the morning, I might get a job. I might meet someone new, and I might start a new life, and everything would eventually be good again.

But instead, I cut across the street with drunken timing. And instead of a new life ahead of me, there was nothing but a truck. And that truck was going just a little too fast.

So that's how I died.