Written August 11, 2018

Rain pelted the roof of the house, filling the silent room with an eerie applause. The world outside looked bleak and gray in the eyes of Ernest Cedar, but nothing compared to the dark cloud that shrouded his once jovial friend.

He turned to observe the shell of the man he had known since childhood.

Kieth Howard’s pale skin reflected the light streaming from the window he sat by, making his complexion appear insipid. Ernest thought back to the day when it all started and recalled how he found his friend in a similar state––silent and pensive, the expression on his face one of dejection and loss.

• • •

“Kieth, is anything wrong?” Ernest had asked that fateful day.

Kieth squinted at the green lawn and recently trimmed bushes, as if they held the answer to the question. Finally, he spoke. His voice was raspy—nothing like Ernest had ever heard his friend utter before.

“I’m going to die. One month from today.”

Ernest reeled, his mind instantly attempting to find a reason why Kieth would want to commit suicide.

“Kieth, listen,” he sat down in a chair in front of Kieth, placing his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. “I’m your best friend. Talk to me. What’s wrong? Why would you want to do a thing like that? You’re young, your life’s ahead of you, why––.”

Kieth had cut him off. “For god’s sake, I’m not going to kill myself!” He paused, looking sideways at Ernest, studying him. Then he said slowly, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you how I knew.” He continued to stare.

Ernest sat back in his chair, frowning concernedly. “Try me.”

Kieth inhaled slowly before speaking. “I was sitting here, by this window reading a book, when it hit me.”

Ernest waited for Kieth to finish. Realizing he in fact was, he said, “And?”

“And I knew that I was going to die one month from today.”

Ernest looked at Kieth, wide-eyed. He began chuckling, the chuckle growing into an almost maniacal laughter. 

“Kieth!” He began, wiping away the tears that had formed in his eyes. “That’s ridiculous! Come on, Kieth,” he gently punched his friend’s shoulder. “You can’t take that sort of stuff seriously! It’s probably just stress. What have they been doing to you at work? You should take a little vacation. Go to Hawaii, find yourself a gorgeous girl.”

Kieth did not respond. He simply gazed at Ernest in an unnerving, stoic manner, then turned back to the window.

Ernest’s smile vanished. “How do you know, Keith? It’s impossible to know when you’re going to die.”

“That’s what I thought, Ernest. That is the exact thought I have been trying to convince myself of for the past three hours. And you know what? I haven’t had any luck in doing so. None whatsoever.” Kieth’s tone transformed from frustrated to confused and tortured. “I don’t know, Ernest. It’s like I have this thorn deep in my gut that I just can’t seem to pry out. I’m serious. I haven’t felt this scared in my entire life.” He scoffed, then said, “My whole short, miserable life.”

Kieth turned back to Ernest, and the two men stared deep into each other’s eyes.

“You should make the best of the time you have left, then,” Ernest said quietly. Kieth looked at his friend strangely. “I mean,” Ernest elaborated, “If this feeling you have is going to turn out to be true, would you want to spend it staring out the stupid window at your backyard throwing a pity party for yourself? Or would you rather be standing on the top of Mount Everest, or hang gliding the length of the Grand Canyon, or find yourself looking at the Taj Mahal, or the Great Pyramids of Giza, or the ruins of Machu Picchu? Kieth, if this is true,” Ernest got up and put his hands on his friend’s shoulders, “Wouldn’t you want to fill the time you have left with all the things that you probably would do if you were going to live forever?”

• • •

That day, there had been a flicker of hope in Kieth’s eyes. But as Ernest looked at him now, one month later, there was nothing but a man resembling a blown out candle. The wax and substance was there, but the source of light was charred and black.

“Kieth,” Ernest said firmly, “You’re not dead yet, do you hear me? Is this how you want to die?” He paused. “Come on, we’re going for a car ride.” 

Like a puppet, Kieth obeyed.

The rain had moved north, leaving puddles in its wake. Kieth stopped in front of a shallow one, staring into his reflection, studying how single drops of water distorted it.

Ernest called to him, opening the passenger door. Kieth obeyed once again.

The two men drove in silence for several minutes.

“Where are we going?” Kieth asked hollowly.

“Just on a little road trip.” Ernest glanced over at Kieth. “How were your travels? Didn’t you go to all the places I said?”

“Yes. They were wonderful. Exhilarating.”

“So why are you still upset?”

Kieth whirled on Ernest. “Upset?! Why am I still upset?! Because I’m going to die today, that’s why! I’m twenty-eight years old, and I’m going to die!”

Ernest remained unshaken. “You don’t know that, Kieth. Until it actually happens, you do not know that you will die today.”

“Oh my god, here we go again!” Kieth leaned on the car door and covered his eyes with his hand. There was silence once more.

“So, your sister told me you were taking a course on art history at the university.”

“Yeah.”

“You always said you wanted to know a little more about art.”

“Yeah.”

Ernest shot an angry glance at Kieth, clutching the steering wheel tighter and keeping his voice calm. “You read some stuff by Plato, Aristotle, and Confucius, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you learn something?”

“Yeah.”

Ernest exhaled through his mouth. “Kieth, let me ask you something. How did you imagine yourself dying? Of course, I know you didn’t expect to die at this age, but you know what I mean. Did you plan out what your last words would be? Did you imagine what you’d say to your wife and kids? If you’d kiss her goodbye, if you would take your son by the shoulders and your daughter by the hand and say, ‘Never forget what I taught you,’ something like that?”

Silence.

“Well, I have. And each time that I have, I always come to the same conclusion. That I’d want to die with dignity. That I could look back and say to myself, ‘Ernest, you did good. You’ve lived a full life.’”

“Exactly, Ernest. A full life,” Kieth burst out. “When you’re old. When you’ve had time to have a wife and kids. I’m dying now. Today.”

“You’re wrong, Kieth. You’ve misinterpreted the whole point of why I said that. I didn’t say when I saw myself dying. I just said when I died. Who knows, maybe your vision applies to me, too, and I’m going to die right now, right here in this car. Kieth, nobody knows if a breath that they’re taking is going to be their last. If you’re nine years old, you don’t know, and if you’re ninety years old, you still don’t know. I was asking you how you want to die. With dignity? Accepting the situation for what it is and flowing with it? Or with cowardice: wallowing in self pity, waiting around by a window for that last breath to come and go? For that matter, you could have started the day you were born. You better choose now, Kieth, because for whatever reason, you’ve decided that you’re going to die today.”

Kieth was no longer listening. His eyes were riveted on something in the distance.

“Kieth?” Asked Ernest.

“That traffic light,” Kieth whispered, continuing to stare in the distance unblinkingly.

“What?” Ernest said, looking in the direction that Kieth was. The traffic light that their car was stopped at turned green. Ernest started the car, his eyes moving back and forth from the road to Keith.

“I’m going to die if we stop at the next traffic light,” said Keith. It was more than three-hundred yards away.

“Keith, no you’re not. There’s barely any traffic today. Besides, if anything happened, this car has air bags galore. We’re perfectly safe.”

“Ernest, turn the car around.”

Ernest looked at his friend. Kieth’s eyes were that of a madman’s. Slowly, cautiously, Ernest replied, “I can’t, Keith.”

Two-hundred yards remained between the car and the traffic light.

“Ernest, I’m asking you to turn the car around.”

“Kieth, no.”

One-hundred yards.

“Turn the car around, Ernest, or I will. I don’t have much time.”

“Kieth––Kieth, NOOO!”

Kieth lunged at the steering wheel and turned the car into the other lane. The car fishtailed. Another car going the opposite direction slammed into its right side.

Kieth died, and the sky began to shed its tears once again.

The Way to Die © Safira Schiowitz