Marcus

A short story written in 2014 for one of The Writer’s Craft assignments.

Prologue

He opened the car door, sat on the driver’s seat with one of his legs out of the car, for a while, before he inserted the key into the ignition and gave it a turn. He leaned back on the car seat and rested his eyes while he waited for the car to warm up.

Moments later, he was ready to drive and he went his way. It had been three years of driving without a license, because obtaining one was considered a luxury. He forced himself to drive the old family car - mainly to work - despite his fears. He had been lucky, very lucky that he did not encounter any car accidents or came upon any road blocks. Well, even if he did, he could get away with that face of his.

He needed to get away for a while, to the beach to hear the sound of the mighty waves crashing upon the rocky cliffs, of seagulls croaking in the vast expanse of the sky, of airplanes roaring across the sky intermittently.

These sounds provided him a sense of calmness and serenity that rejuvenated him. He used to go to the beach about once every month, but as time went on, he frequented the beach once every few days or a week.

He arrived at the haven for his soul about twenty-five minutes later. He would usually stop by the cliff, but this time, he decided to drive further on down to the beach. He wound down his window and let out his hand to feel the wind between his fingers. When he came to a halt, he took off his slippers, got out of the car and let his weight bury his feet under the sand.

After a while he walked on steadily to the boundaries between land and water.

Who taught the ocean that she can only come this far? he thought to himself rhetorically.

The waters - a little foamy- touched his toes like how a swimmer touches the tiled wall at the end of every lap; sometimes the waters swept through his legs. He observed in fascination how the currents of the shallow waters messed with the sand beneath it and, how the waves seemed to be in an everlasting game of tug of war.

“Yahweh, keep my eyes above the waves. Peter, who walked on water toward Jesus, began to sink into the deep roaring waters when he let his surroundings overwhelm him. Help me to keep my eyes on You and not be terrified by the strong winds of life.”

When he felt that nature had energized him enough, he went back to the car, dusted off his feet and drove off. There was little traffic on the highway. Occasionally some trucks passed him by in full speed, causing his car to wobble. He felt sorry for these truck drivers, because the majority of them would consume drugs so that they could be alert enough to drive at the wee hours of the morning.

He was driving at 80 kilometres per hour on the highway when suddenly he felt a fatal impact knocked him into unconsciousness. A truck carrying an empty shipping container had skidded and swerved from behind, hitting the car he was in; swinging it into mid-air before touching ground and rolling over several times, then, everything was still for a moment.

Soon, a crowd gathered at the scene and a few men went to his side. He had been flung out of his car in mid-air and had landed about a hundred metres away from the wreckage. “Hey there, can you hear me?” a middle-aged man asked. Surprisingly, he let out some grunts and groans. The only exterior injuries he had was a gash on his forehead, but internally, his brain was bleeding.

The middle-aged man made no attempt to move his body. “I am Dr. Strauss and we’ve contacted help. So stay with me okay?” Dr. Strauss performed his duties while the other men searched his pockets carefully for items that could identify him.

“Look!” one of them exclaimed after a few moments, holding a folded paper with the words “If Found Dead…” scrawled with brown fountain pen.

***

The Story

He tried to open his eyes, but the light was too blinding. When his eyes slowly adjusted to the light, he started to make sense of the outlines of his surroundings. Bookshelves filled the perimeter of the space from ground to ceiling and tomes filled every gap of the wooden shelves. He saw the vague outlines of a dwarf-sized man speaking in soft murmurs to a taller man, who was leaning against a wooden office desk.

He tried to sit up on the divan he was lying on; his body felt sore and his head felt heavy.

"Hi Marcus, we've been expecting you. I'm Mitchell,” said the taller man, who was in a grey business suit.

"And I'm Albom," said the dwarf, who was wearing a green knitted sweater and blue pants.

“You’re very blessed, Marcus, to be able to come here to choose which path you want to take next. We don’t normally bring people here unless we think the person need a second chance to live on planet Earth,” said Mitchell.

"Come with me to find out more­ for yourself why you've come to this place called ‘Here and Now, Here in this Moment,’”Albom said. “I know. It’s such a long name,” Albom continued, rolling his eyes and before Marcus could interject.

“But that’s just how it is and what it exactly is – Here and Now, Here in this Moment.”

Marcus stood up and obediently followed Albom without a word, whenever he have a lot of information to process, he would be always at a loss for words. Marcus glanced back to see Mitchell giving him a gentle smile and a reassuring look. Albom and Marcus went through several doors and rooms filled with cubicles and people hunching over their desks, typewriters, tomes, or computers. They went through dim and narrow passageways, despite the questionable surroundings, the atmosphere was calm.

"So Marcus, I know that you've come a long way. Mitchell and I have been monitoring you since your conception and we’re surprised and glad that you survived this long. Yeah, we’re your guardians.” Albom said, glancing up at Marcus as they walk.

Marcus stared blankly at Albom. “Honestly, many don’t make it this far. I empathize with you. I know you're always counting the cost of your life. You've had your own bulky set of setbacks. You’re a bundle of contradictions. You’re tired of all the strife and the striving. You're always at the end of the rope of hope but whenever you thought hope had ended you always found a little bit more. I know, I know all that. That's what brings you here, to give you that little bit more of hope. You’ll need this, because all the days ordained for you were written in the books. That’s how we know you’re coming here. The story of your life is now at a cross road. You’re one of the special few that is given the choice to continue your life story on earth or end it. Your destiny is in your hands." Albom informed.

"You talk a lot for a little man like you. But isn’t hope the heaviest weight a man can carry. It is the bane of the idealist. I want to be free of the burden of the living that hoping requires. Ah, but you’d tell me that life is all about overcoming obstacles." Marcus thought aloud apathetically.

"I know you’ve made up your mind, but I hope that I can still inspire you to...perhaps, change your mind? You’re a smart fellow, with all the analysing and critical thinking you had to do in your schools. The choice is still up to you at the end of our time here."

They exited the building from the side and walked on down a winding path that led to a garden. The way the dwarf trod made Marcus grin in amusement, it was like a toddler learning to walk. Albom noticed and commented, "First time seeing you smile. You look bright when you smile."

"Yeah, I know, maybe that's the problem." Marcus replied as they came upon a white garden gate.

Albom pushed it opened with his adorable dwarf hand.

"You have to be on your own now," said Albom.

"Some journeys must be taken alone. Here, this is the person you are to meet." Albom handed him a letter, which had his name written in cursive with a brown fountain pen. The letter was sealed with red wax and stamped with an intricate seal. Marcus broke the seal and fished out a post card size illustration of a person seated and working on something on a desk in front of a scenic lake. Marcus glanced at the illustration again and was intrigued by it - the drawing was not made out by pen or pencil markings, it was formed by symbols.

He went on his way, looking forward to meeting this person; it had been a while since he looked had forward to anything at all. The garden was very well kept; clear paths, trimmed bushes, and various flowers in an array of colors. At one point he saw some white flowers that were dripping thick red liquid. He let out a laugh and walked on. The cool breeze and the sound of rustling trees welcomed him. Sequoia trees in neat rows were on his right, and a lake came into view on his left as he walked further.

He took out the illustration and searched for the depicted scene like how one would with a jigsaw puzzle. After what seemed like ages, due of the vastness of the search area, he found what he was looking for. He walked toward the person who was hunched over something that was emitting what seemed like the sound of popcorn popping intermittently. The person had white hair and sometimes it looked translucent when the sun’s rays shine through it. His skin was freckled and wrinkled. His fingers, though distorted, touched the keys of a typewriter rather forcibly. When the man saw Marcus, he gave a wide smile; showing off the only tooth left in his gums, then the old man continued what he was doing.

“Hello there, I was told that I’m supposed to meet you.” Marcus said.

The old man gave him no notice. Marcus waved at him, “Hellooo, Hellooo,” but it was to no avail.

“He can’t hear you,” a masculine voice said. Marcus looked up and saw someone who looked his age.

“He went deaf and mute some time ago.”

“What is he doing?” inquired Marcus.

“He’s illustrating something. Yes, with a typewriter - I know that look. Come, let me show you,” he replied, beckoning Marcus to follow him.

“What’s your name?” “Mikael. The old man is Smith. And I know you’re Marcus.”

“It seems that there’s a lot ‘I knows’ around this place.

“You won’t have enough time to get used to it.”

Mikael led Marcus to a house with a frontal lean-to conservatory. There were two wooden benches outside, one on each side. A wind chime hung on the door frame. They went into one of the rooms in the cosy house. Mikael touched some switches and the room illuminated a vast area with white lights. It seemed like a museum, the illustrations stood out in stark contrast with the white walls and white frames.

Marcus examined each masterpieces one by one and was amazed by the intricacy of each.

“Mr. Smith uses only ten symbol keys for his art. His movements are severely limited so he could only enter one keystroke at a time.”

“How long has he been like this?”

“All his life. About 86 years of cerebral palsy.”

“What?!” Marcus exclaimed in disbelief.

“His determination is endless, it took him 16 years to learn to speak, 32 years to walk. Somehow, the people that society considers weak would usually shame those considered strong. Humanity has many great flaws, but perhaps, that’s the beauty of it. Sometimes having an advantage is a disadvantage, and having a disadvantage can be an advantage.”

...As for me, I was not a part of the latter.”

“How so?”

“I ran away from home one day, after school, when I was 15. I was tired of how things went around at home. The pressures, the expectations of rich and powerful parents and family members were just too much to bear. I guess I’m different from the rest of them and I couldn’t see things how they saw them. Any material goods I desired, I could obtain; the only thing I could not obtain was my parent’s time. So I ran away…well, there were many other factors as well but never mind about that.”

“So Marcus, I know enough of your story to tell you that what you need is support from sincere people. Even the Lone Ranger has a sidekick. Without community you will only survive, with it, you will thrive. Sometimes, we need to learn things the hard way. Utilize whatever disadvantages or setbacks you have and make it an advantage with the help of community. Perhaps, those were the days that must happen to you. Hang in there. Your afflictions are eclipsed by glory.”

“All of them left…well, most.” Marcus said in a whisper.

“When they found out my family lost everything to the economic depression. When the business partners plotted the death of my parents to get whatever insurance money they could get their dirty hands on. So much so of friends and extended family. I may have forgiven after all these years, but I can’t forget. It haunts me. And now, I feel like I about to lose more people. I’m tired.”

“Screw them. People will disappoint us and we will disappoint people. There are so many other people out there. The population is ever growing.”

“You’ll find your own community, like how I found mine. Someday, somehow, you’ll be okay, and then oh, the places you’ll go. You have a great story to tell if you can pull yourself through this desert season of your life.”

“Ah,” uttered Marcus.

“Well, there’s so much more I could say to you but it’s time. It’s all up to you now.”

“So much so for here and now. But thanks, man. I really appreciate it,” said Marcus.

“So where do I go from here?”

“Take the path from here and walk till the very end. You’ll know what to do when you get there,” answered Mikael, giving Marcus some pats on his back.

Before Marcus went on his way, he went toward the old artist and observed him for a while. He then noticed that the masterpiece that the artist was creating keystroke by keystroke was … a portrait of him.

He studied the piece and smiled, then he went on his way. The country air made him feel good. Marcus came to the end of the path.

A table was set; lemons were strew randomly on the table, and there were two glasses of ready-to-drink lemonade. Each glass had a tag that said ‘Drink Me’. Marcus went closer and saw that one was labelled “Home” and another, “Earth.”

A letter, addressed to him, was placed in between those two glasses. He broke the wax seal and fished out a note that said,

“The time has come for your decision.  Would you choose “Home” where you can enter your rest, or would you choose “Earth” where you can experience what it means to be alive and to thrive? Ponder.  There’s no turning back.” 

Marcus placed the note down, and contemplated for a long time. Then, he reached out for the glass that was labelled “Home” and drank from the glass.

Epilogue

“Mitchell and Albom, have a look,” said Mikael, handing them the note that contained the riddle. They flipped the paper over and saw a message written by Marcus to them.

Dear Mitchell, Albom, Mikael, and Mr. Smith,  I thank you and appreciate you guys for giving me a chance to exercise my free will. I want you to know that I thought long and hard about my choice. The promise that comes with “Earth” is very inviting, but I have always been restless for “Home.” I am tired of running the marathon of life. To me, “Home” is the land of the living where there’s no sorrows, death, or pain that I’ve experienced in my lifetime on earth. I have always looked forward to the day I enter my rest…so that I could finally see the preserver of my life for who He really is and, to explore the many things that I could not previously.

“And here, another one. He left it on the table together with the note.” Mikael said, handling them a folded piece of paper with the words, “If found dead”. They unfolded the paper and found the words (along with many others):

If found dead with body intact, please donate my organs – whatever that is of use take it. It’s better that way than for it to rot and decay slowly. Please do not put me in a coffin, I would not like to waste money on one, nor to decay slowly away in one. Just bury me in the ground like you would for a mass burial. From the dust I was made, to dust I would return. And, I do not wish for any ceremonial rights. It’s too noisy and too much a hassle. Thank you.   

“Well, we tried,” said Mitchell.

***

The ambulance came and the paramedics rushed to Marcus side. They searched for his pulse but could feel none.

***

In A Prayer for Owen Meany, John Irving wrote, “If watching television doesn’t hasten death, it surely manages to make death very inviting; for television so shamelessly sentimentalizes and romanticizes death that it makes the living feel they have missed out something by staying alive.”