Blue Surge of Energy.
One of the last times I spoke to Yvonne, my ex-girlfriend, was when she told me about the death of her high school friend’s husband. He had pancreatic cancer. By the time they found out about it, it was already too late. He was riddled with it. He was dying. He and his wife lived in Sonoma. She worked as a wine label designer. He was a chef at a local winery. Yvonne went up there, on that last weekend. She went up to help her friend around the house, with the shopping and with her husband. She went to help her friend get through it all.
That Saturday evening he wanted to take a bath. So, his wife set up the tub and helped him in. She and Yvonne sat in the kitchen and talked, while he bathed with the bathroom door open. When he was ready to get out he called for his wife. She went in and propped herself under his arm, hefting him from the tub. Half way out he stopped, froze there. His expression blank, almost staring through her. All within that instant, from head to toe, a paleness rippled through him. And then he blinked his eyes and simply said, “That was weird.”
“What?” she asked.
“I don’t know… It was like a blue surge of energy…” Then he asked her to set him down on the bathroom floor for a minute. He said that he just wanted to rest there, catch his breath. She eased him down so that he was slumped between the tub and the wall. By the time he was fully settled there, he was gone. She whimpered the tiniest bit of a cry. Sad, relieved and terrified to have been just over Death’s shoulder. Yvonne heard her crying. She came in and joined them on the floor. It was Saturday night and they all three sat there, all with eyes wide open.
He saw the big unknown. It stopped him right in his tracks. It reached in and grabbed hold and for some reason, momentarily, released him. And with that release he shared with us a broken clue. I don’t know exactly what he saw, but it’s pretty close to what I’ve imagined it might be, and I don’t think I want to know any more about it. Ever.
I’m not sure if that poor bastard was even forty when death came for him. I do know that prior to learning of the cancer, his wife was always riding him. She wanted kids. He was shooting blanks. She was willing to adopt. He dragged his feet about it. She wanted to move back down to Los Angeles. He liked it where he was. She wanted him to get a better paying job. He liked the job he had. She was getting tired of him not doing it her way.
Before his illness, she was getting ready to divorce him. She had gotten to that point, but hadn’t let him in on it. Yvonne would tell about all about her friend’s plans. She was even talking about the next type of guy she would be looking for. Cunt. Maybe that’s the other part of the clue that the rest us aren’t privy to. Sometimes there are secret blessings. Like the benevolent viper hidden in the grass, sparing us dangers worse than death. And its bite like a blue surge of energy.