Ephram Doyle sat alone at his kitchen table with an untouched bourbon in front of him. Everything was so familiar and yet so alien, as if the lace curtains above the sink, the cream and country blue ducks decorating the walls, and the nearby selves of books and curios were no longer his. The house seemed so empty and melancholy that he could imagine he was revisiting it after an apocalyptic event, or perhaps that he was a ghost trapped in his own memories.
If Jessica had been there, she would have laughed and said: “Don’t be such a gloomy Gus.” He would have chuckled at his own folly, smiled back at her, and forgotten the whole uncomfortable picture. But Jessica wasn’t there, or, if she was, she wasn’t making herself known.
Ephram dared to gaze at a photograph of his wife on the selves to his right. The silver frame was slightly tarnished, and the Poloroid itself was a little faded, but her smile was as bright as ever.
Six months. It had been six months since Jessica died, but as far as Ephram was concerned it might as well have been six minutes. The pain when he looked at that cheerful face, frozen forever on film, was sharp, immediate and fresh. He stared at her darling countenance for as long as he could bear, and then turned away as if averting his eyes from the stinging sun.
The problem was that everything in this house reminded him of her. The Victorian reproduction living room set that she had loved so much. The wooden swing set he had built for their children that had later been fitted with a porch swing when the youngest moved out. The backyard that had seen birthday parties, cookouts, and autumn barn fires for forty-two years. When Ephram looked at the old fireplace, he saw his young wife and children roasting marshmallows and singing Christmas carols. When he turned the corner into the hall bathroom, he saw his teenage daughter Tamara painting the walls that dreadful bright blue. When he opened the laundry room door, he saw Jessica folding towels.
And whenever he tried to sleep in his bedroom, his was forcefully reminded that this was the place he and Jessica had shared for forty-two years, and this was where she had drawn her last breath.
It was painful, but it was also bitter-sweet. This house wasn’t much, but he and Jessica had worked hard to make it a home, and he loved every care-worn corner of it. He missed his wife, but he wanted to be reminded of her, and he wanted to live out his last days in the home they’d shared.
His children, however, didn’t seem to understand that. Jacob, a Sports Science professor and assistant coach at Kentucky State University, had suggested that “living alone in this old place with nothing but memories” might have an adverse effect on Ephram’s psyche, and had suggested moving him to an assisted living facility. Tamara, who was now a successful lawyer, had agreed, and had offered to find and pay for a suitable place. Only the twins, Charles and Clarissa, had disagreed, but neither had the money to provide for Ephram, and Tamara insisted that as long as she was footing the bill, they would do what she thought was best for their father.
Which brought Ephram back to the bourbon in front of him. He had always enjoyed a good bourbon on Friday evening, but hadn’t touched alcohol since he had been diagnosed with liver cancer two years before. It hardly seemed to matter now, however. Ever since Jessica’s death, he had dreamed about waking up to find her washing dishes or pruning her roses, as if the last six months had been a bad dream or a mistake that had finally been rectified. Last night, however, had been very different. He had walked into his living room to see that someone had erected a makeshift stage between the sofa and the hearth, and that crowded upon were his brother, Henry, and his three best friends, Joseph, Arlan and Kip. Seated on the sofa watching them were his mother, his father, and Jessica. For some reason, the men on stage were playing a song by one of Ephram’s grandson’s favorite groups: a Celtic rock band named Enter the Haggis. Everyone seemed to know the words and were merrily singing along.
I’ve had a life that’s full,
Everyone’s been good to me,
So fire up that fiddle, boy,
And give me one last drink!
When the sun comes up
I will leave without a fight.
The world is mine tonight!
Something about the scene had seemed odd to Ephram, but he hadn’t been able to recall what it was until he woke up and remembered that everyone there was dead. He had almost expected to feel frightened, but he hadn’t. He had felt oddly comforted yet simultaneously disappointed. He had laid awake, straining his ears like a child listening for reindeer hooves on Christmas eve, hoping to hear strains of music echoing from the living room.
The following morning he had risen late and, dressing himself in his Sunday best, had walked to the local shopping center. There he had purchased the ingredients for a spectacular breakfast that included everything the doctors told him not to eat: sweet roles, bacon, sausage, eggs, ham, canned biscuits and a packet of gravy mix that he could only hope would imitate Jessica’s home cooking, instant grits, a pad of butter, and regular coffee. His next stop had been the liquor store across the shopping center, which opened only minuted before he walked in to procure a small bottle of his favorite bourbon.
He had made a huge mess in the kitchen, and feasted on sweet and fatty foods he hadn’t tasted for years. Then, because Jessica had always hated for the kitchen to be left in disarray, he’d cleaned up before going out to the garden. There he’d cut long stalks of blooming Oleander, and put them in a vase to admire a while. He’d selected a favorite CD to play on the stereo, lit up his old pipe with some old tobacco he’d kept as an odd memento, and enjoyed a glass of bourbon while he looked at the beautiful flowers. When the glass was empty and the pipe smoked down, he’d taking the plants, broken them to pieces, and stewed them– stalks, leaves and blooms– in a pot with a little water. A couple of tablespoons of this deadly liquid had been added to his second glass of bourbon, and now he sat at his table, listening to music he and Jessica had danced to when they were young, trying to decide whether today would be the last day of his life.
He’d been surprised to realize that there were a few things to hold him here. He worried about his children, and about what they would think. Tamara especially would probably assume that this was his desperate escape from life in a luxury-style nursing home. He also had to wonder if he had his affairs all in order. He and Jessica had agreed upon and made a will years before, and he had quietly begun setting aside savings for their funerals, but he had a nagging fear that he might be leaving something unattended to for his children to deal with.
Nonetheless, he wanted to go. He wanted to get this over with and join that singing throng in the living room. He wanted the last things he saw to be things he loved, that reminded him of the happy past he’d shared with his family. It was unfair, terribly unfair, to ask him to end his life in a strange place far from home. He wanted to die on his own terms, in the same place he had lived. Was that so much to ask?
On the other hand, the more he thought about it, the more he felt there was precious little he needed to do. The mortgage had finally been paid off, thank God, and he had recently seen his children and grandchildren for a Memorial Day barbeque. It seemed that everything was ready for his grand send off. But could he do it? Up until now he had had fun, enjoying all the things he wasn’t allowed to enjoy any more. Now that it was finished, could he actually take that last step?
The CD changer moved to the next disk, and Ephram was surprised as the first quick, cheerful melody began. He realized suddenly that it was the mixed disk his grandson had brought over on his recent visit, and he felt his face brighten at the familiar lyrics.
I’ve had a life that’s full,
Everyone’s been good to me,
So fire up that fiddle, boy,
And give me one last drink!
When the sun comes up
I will leave without a fight.
The world is mine tonight!
Ephram smiled, toasted Jessica’s smiling picture, and drank his last bourbon.
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