Please Entertain the Ending

Please Entertain the Ending
 
 
   Truman suddenly awoke from a dream. He paused in bed and looked around in the dimly lit room trying to realize his surrounding. Sweat layered over his face in seamless gloss. He wiped his eyes and sat up. Noting that it was the same nightmare he was used to having, he slowly grumbled out of bed and fixed a glass of cold milk. When he finished it he stood in the darkened kitchen and simply stared at the wall. The clock displayed 3:27 a.m. he crawled back into bed and readied himself for sleep again. He tasted the sweat on his lips and muttered, “just as salty as ever.”
 
 
   The next morning he arose well and ready. He rolled out of bed and wondered into the kitchen. The coffee maker had just finished its brew with a few gurgles and an exhale of steam. The aroma floated evenly and aroused his senses. He poured himself a cup, added a spoon of sugar and a bit of milk. Barefoot and curling his toes, he walked over to the table and took a seat.
 
 
   The sliding glass doors allowed the early morning sunshine to warm the room. It glistened slightly off the finish of the kitchen table. He gazed out into the backyard. It was a mellow but somewhat scenic view. Like a small valley, it had a tiny dormant stream and a few evergreens. Short cut grass blanketed the limited backdrop. The sun’s fingers beamed through the family of tress leaving straight shafts of shadows stretching out across the lawn.
 
 
   Truman enjoyed the view and loved this part of his day. Silent and calm, it gave him a sense of peace - some time where he believed that tranquility was a gift and not an item to be searched. And this was a routine that he followed each morning, the recovery from the previous night’s incubus and tremors.
 
 
   Yet, as each day demanded, he eventually prepared and left for work. No matter, for it was a passion not a path. Working for the clinic gave him the purpose that he needed. The chance to help others with their problems helped him to escape his own. Seven years had passed since his arrival at the Bradford Center for the terminally ill. And though he held no medical degree, the doctors and staff paid him the same respect. He seemed to have a gift dealing with children with terminal illness. Even if it may have seemed to outsiders he was somewhat controversial with his wit, humor and sometimes a touch of rebellion, the clinic came to rely on his vigor and approach. His standing became an honorary position in which he conducted the same duties and responsibilities as did any resident counselor.
 
 
   He pulled up to the clinic in his old blue Buick, parked and walked in through the side entrance. The clinic was alive with clattering noises and chattering voices that bounced across the lobby in endless echoes. Staff and patients alike bustled about in controlled chaos. He smiled and walked into the lobby.
   “Truman!”
   “Roy! What a fine day this is, don’t you think?”
   “Yes indeed, yes indeed,” Roy replied, “and a busy one as well.”
   “I can see,” Truman smiled, “so how about that vacation day I wanted?”
   Roy gave him a smirk. Writing on his clipboard Roy talked without looking up. “Tammy will be here for her nine o’clock, Alex is due after lunch and…” He stopped to finish his paperwork. “Oh yeah, we’re getting a new intern today.”
   “Oh I hope it’s a woman!” Truman whispered audibly enough for Roy to hear him.
   “She is.” Roy replied
   “Really!” Truman grinned, “Glad I didn’t take that vacation after all.”
   “Easy tiger, you have a tendency to put people on guard, remember?”
   “She’ll love me!” Truman laughed as he walked off to the back office to review his assignments.
 
 
   The next two hours passed as they normally did at the center. Being a small and privately owned establishment in such a large city as Saint Louis, the office hustled with people, patients and staff in constant motion. The doctors, who owned the clinic, made certain that it had an appearance of warmth and comfort. The floor was carpeted, cushioned chairs were randomly placed around the lobby and a toy box was placed in the corner. The little office held a reputation of caring. And this was exactly what the partners’ wanted, for this place was where the dying came to be treated and consoled.
 
 
   At around nine a.m. a young woman walked into the front lobby. She stood near the front door and observed the chaotic motion of all the people. A few minutes later a teenaged girl walked in and accidentally bumped into her as she walked in. “Sorry,” she said as she continued on to the counter.
   “Truman!” Roy shouted as he looked up at her from behind the counter, “Tammy’s here to see you!” He noticed the lady standing by the front door. “DeAnn?” he said to her, “DeAnn Vargo?”
   “Yes!” she began, “Doctor… Vargo!”
   “Oh, I see, “ he paused, directed Tammy to one of the chairs. “Are you a medical doctor? We were expecting a counselor.”
   “I received my doctorate in psychology,” she replied.
   “I see, it’s just that we’re kind of informal around here, sorry.”
   “Is Dr. Huffman available? I was suppose to report to him at nine sharp.”
   “Yeah, he’s…”
   “What the hell is that!” Truman shouted suddenly as he walked into the room looking at Tammy. Both Roy and DeAnn jumped slightly.
   Tammy responded sharply, “What?”
   “Is that a BOLT in your face?”
   “It’s a piercing!” she answered, “I just got it done yesterday.”
   “Looks like you miss the mark by about six inches.”
   “Ha… Ha… Ha…” Tammy responded with a sarcastic frown.
   “Alright, ‘Miss Bolt’ let’s go.” Truman gave her a roundabout wave and the two walked off to one of the session rooms.
   DeAnn looked at Roy for some type of reaction.
   He looked up and noticed. “Oh, that’s Truman.”
   “How can he get away with cussing at a teenager?”
   “Well,” Roy started, “he has his own technique; he’s got sort of an ‘esprit de corps’ with the kids. They love him even though I know he can be a bit much to get used to… Well…But believe me, he works wonders!”
   “Regardless,” she miffed, “so unprofessional! How can he call himself a doctor?”
   “Well,” Ray began again, “he’s not… actually a doctor.”
   DeAnn looked at him stunned. “Where is Dr. Huffman?”
   Roy led her back to Dr. Huffman’s office.
 
 
   About an hour later, DeAnn came back to the lobby and stood next to the counter where Roy was still busy filling out forms. She stood there for a few minutes and waited for him to acknowledge her.
   “Just… One… More… Done!” He muttered. “So how did it go with Dr. Huffman?”
   “He’s very nice. Lot of information to take in, but I think I can handle it.”
   “Yeah, he’s a great guy and very smart. You’ll notice that right off the bat.”
   “And he seems to like your ‘Truman’ as well,” she added.
   “Like I said, Truman…”
   Suddenly Truman and Tammy strolled into the lobby, talking. Tammy had taken her piercing out and was rubbing in between her fingers.
   “Your right, Truman. But you’re always right. Especially about that!”
   “Just remember what I said, ok?”
   “Got ya!”
   “Cool, then beat it!” Truman walked over to Roy and DeAnn with a smile on this face.
   “Looks like you ‘unscrewed the bolt’.” Roy chuckled.
   Truman just continued to smile but his grin slowly grew as he crossed his arms.
   “What did you say to her? “DeAnn asked, “What did you two talk about?”
   “Well, ‘Dr. DeAnn’, I believe that would be a violation of the confidential oath.”
   “That’s ‘sacred oath’ and you’re not a doctor, anyway.”
   “I am what I am at heart,” he responded.
   “Well anyway,” DeAnn started, “I’ve got some paperwork to fill out. I’ll be in the back room if you need me, Roy.”
   “Ok,” he replied as she walked off.
   Both Roy and Truman watched her as she disappeared down the hallway. And even though she was gone, both men kept staring at the end of the hall.
   Roy finally spoke up, “That’s a piece!”
   “She certainly is,” Truman smiled.
   “No, no! She’s militant, man! I mean… whew, I was waiting for her to chomp my butt because of you.”
   “Oh yeah, right!” Truman smirks, ”Like, what’s she going to do? Make you do push-ups? ‘Drop down private Roy, and count off!’”
   “I don’t know…” Roy paused and scratched his head. “I’d be careful around that one. Things around here are going to be tense… I can feel it!”
   “Lighten up, Roy. You said the same thing when nurse Becher showed up. You whined for a month that she was going to beat the crap out of you.” Truman started to chuckle.
   “I don’t know, man… I just don’t know.”
   “Be nice and see what happens,” Truman assured him. “I’ve got a summary to write.” Truman walked off.
Roy tapped his pen against the counter a few times then started writing again.
 
 
   That afternoon, Truman handled the phones while Roy tended to matters requested by Dr. Huffman in the back office. The nurses worked diligently the room just behind the counter. The center had calmed down from the early morning business and the lobby was empty. Occasionally when the phone rang, Truman would answer it and commonly passed it on to Nurse Delly.
 
 
   Alex Spiller was due for an appointment at 1:15 p.m. Truman was very fond of Alex and anticipated his arrival. Alex, at the age of nine, was very intelligent and kind. And he was very sick. Alex suffered from Neuronal Ceroid Lipofuscinoses, commonly referred to as Batten disease. The form of Batten disease that Alex had was also called ‘Late Batten disease or Jansky-Bielschowsky disease’ which ended the life of most children in their early teens.
 
 
   Right on time, Alex and his mother entered the lobby. While stepping through the door, Alex stumbled and fell down.
   “Alex! My man… Get up dude, the ladies are watching.” Truman motioned toward the nurses with his eyes.
   “Hey, Truman,” Alex said brushing himself off. “What’s up?”
   “You are, my man. You are!”
   “Hi Truman,” Alex’s mother said.
   “And a good day to you, Mrs. Spiller… How’s David?” Truman referred to her husband.
   “He says ‘hello’.”
   “Big AL! Lets go do it!” Truman slapped Alex on his back ensuring his other hand held the young boy up. Alex returned with smile and a punch to Truman’s leg.
   “I’ll be back in an hour, Truman,” she announced.
   Truman replied with a wave over his head as the two walked to the session room.
At the door, Truman stopped and looked at the ceiling. Alex looked up at him and waited for the reason.
   “It’s an awfully nice day today, don’t you think?”
   “Yeah,” Alex replied.
   “Lets go walking, what do you say?”
   “Ok.”
   With that they walked to the lobby and out the front door. DeAnn, who had just finished her intern agreement, watched them leave.
   “Nurse Delly?”
   “Yes?”
   “Where is Truman going with that little boy?”
   The nurse looked at the front door. “I don’t know… Probably out for a walk?”
DeAnn looked at the nurse for more detail.
   “You can call me Brenda,” she finally said.
   Ignoring this, DeAnn said, “Is he allowed to do that?”
   “Listen Doctor,” Brenda began, “the people who come here are facing the last days of their lives; facing death in some way. Yours and Truman’s job is to help with that transition and ease the way. What 'is allowed' is making it easier for them to die.”
   DeAnn felt embarrassed and relaxed her posture. “You may call me DeAnn.”
 
 
   Over the next few weeks, DeAnn learned the workings of the center. The schedules, appointments, rules and approaches the staff used, started to become familiar. She felt more comfortable with the chaos but still persisted with her sense of profession. Truman, however, started to take on a strong fondness for DeAnn. He realized that he was beginning to think about her more often. Although he was always respectful of her standing at work, he could not help but to antagonize her as a result of his growing crush. To DeAnn, this was nothing more than an irritation.
 
 
   Midmorning was usually the busiest. DeAnn was completing a summary from a recent session. Roy scribbled away on his clipboard. Truman was waiting for his next appointment but couldn’t resist teasing DeAnn, as the time would permit it. Truman walked up behind her and peered over her shoulder. She looked up at him then continued to write, not saying a word.
   “Poetry in motion,” he said.
   DeAnn continued to write.
   “I must say, my dear, your penmanship is most adorable. I can’t write at all, you see… Being left-handed is a crippling existence. Left-handed people….”
   “Do you mind?” she interrupted.
   “Hum…” Truman crossed his arms. He waited a moment still standing behind her.
   She looked up again at him. “Do you mind? …I have work!”
   “You spelt RE-LUC-TANT wrong…”
   She peered at him with warning.
   He scooted over to a nearby chair and sat down, crossed his legs and smiled.
DeAnn stared at him for a few seconds then continued to write.
   Truman noticed she was about to finish and said, “You know… This job doesn’t have to be so ‘disciplined’. We all can have some fun here. Enjoy the day, you know?”
   “Enjoy!” she barked, “how can you say ‘enjoy’ when everyone who comes here is dying?”
   “It’s not…”
   DeAnn interrupted, “You have the gall to come here, laugh and play and joke with these people and all the while, they are looking forward to each day of battling cancer or some other fatal disease.”
   “I understand what your…”
   “I am appalled by your so called ‘light view on life’. How can you sit there and mix humor with death. These people need treatment! These people need counseling. They need help! Not humor!”
   “I know that but…
   “And what do you know about dying? You haven’t even gone to college! You’ve studied nothing at all. And you want me to listen to you?”
DeAnn stopped and stared at him. Moments of silence passed as they simply looked at each other. Truman leaned back into the chair and stretched out his legs, still keeping them crossed.
   “We are not here for the patient,” he started. “We are here for the person. The medical doctors at St. John's Mercy are there for the patient.” Truman paused. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? We help with the quality of life. Not the treatment of death. Not the awareness of death. We’ve all got to die someday. It’s the time in between that matters.”
   DeAnn started to say something but stopped and waited.
   Truman sat up and folded his arms over his knees. “I met a man some time ago,” he began, “He was a famous minister. He was famous because he was able to get gang members to attend church simply by wrestling with them. Yes ‘wrestling!’ They looked at him as some sort of ‘big brother’ figure. He now gives speeches all over the country. Very intelligent man! I remember one time he talked about a little old man who put a big wooden cross on top of his piano, got out his bible and started preaching. He admitted that all his college, experiences and travels were nothing compared to this little old man with his piano. He said this little old man would teach you more about God then he ever could.” Truman stood up. “I know a lot more about ‘dying’ than you give me credit for.” Truman walked out while DeAnn looked on.
   Roy overheard the conversation at the front desk. Truman walked over to him. Roy just rolled his eyes.
   “I think she loves me,” Truman said.
   “Oh, yeah…” Roy chuckled, “She loves you alright!”
   “I’m off to lunch.”
   “Don’t forget your 1 p.m.,” Roy reminded him.
   Truman walked out.
 
 
   Finally that day was about to close. The center was empty of its patients and the staff was completing last minute items. Dr. Huffman had left for the day and Nurse Becher was about to go home.
   “Roy!” she said in a loud voice.
   “Yes ma’am?”
   “Tell Truman goodnight for me. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t be late!”
   “Yes ma’am!” Roy gazed down at his feet. “That woman scares me,” he whispered.
   Truman had gathered his things together. He walked into the front lobby and was about to bid Roy goodnight. DeAnn hurried into the room.
   “Truman?” she said.
   “Yeah.”
   “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
   “Sure, what is it?”
   “Can we talk outside?”
   Truman looked at her then at Roy. “Oh my God!” he smiled. “Roy, ol’ buddy… I want you to do me a favor.”
   Roy shrugged in wait.
   “Just remember one thing,” Truman chuckled.
   “What?”
   “9-1-1”
   The two men laughed and Truman walked outside with DeAnn.
 
 
   DeAnn and Truman stood outside. The wind had picked up and was blowing against them. The sun had fallen and a street lamp hummed just overhead. The light silhouetted DeAnn’s hair as Truman looked at her. The clinic door with its hydraulic arm hissed as it closed. DeAnn stood straight on toward Truman and just stared at him.
   “Am I in trouble?” he finally asked.
   “No, no…” She juggled her shoulders. “I just want to apologize.”
   “Oh… Kay…” Truman said confused.
   “Listen Truman… I know I can be a real cast-iron…”
   “Ah, ah. This is a family center here.”
   “Let me finish, please.” She paused. “I know that I’ve been pretty mean to you since I’ve been here. And even after all that, you’ve been kind to me. You’ve even made me laugh sometimes, although I would never let you see it.”
   “WOW!” Truman waned. “Invasion of the body snatchers! Am I seeing a bit of transference taking place?”
   “Shut up, Truman! Let me finish!”
   Truman stopped and allowed his face to appear neutral.
   “The story you told me about the old man and the piano got me thinking. And well… I haven’t acted like I should have. I want to make it up to you.”
   “Are you asking me out on a date?” Truman grandly smiled
   “No!”
   “Now, I’ve been asked on dates before and that sounds like a…”
   “Truman!”
   “Ok… How about dinner?”
   “Fair enough, I’ll buy.”
   “That’s a good thing ‘cause I forgot to go to college and… You may not know this but the ‘Doc’ has a thing about degrees. So my pay is…”
   “Truman!”
   Truman smiled.
   The two started off toward her car. Truman rambled as they went. “Are you sure you weren’t asking me out on a date…’cause I’m in demand ya know… Let me tell you about this time…”
 
 
   The two found themselves sitting in a small restaurant just a couple blocks from the center. Truman came to this place daily and was well known and liked by the waitresses and cooks.
 
 
   “So, you come here often?” DeAnn joked.
   “Ah, you know; every now and then.”
   “Hey Truman!” The waitress said as she walked up.
   “’Every now and then’, eh?” DeAnn smirk.
   Truman just shrugged and grinned.
   “Here’s your water, Truman. Want your regular? How are you, miss?”
   “Sally, eh… Give us few, to read the menu, ok?”
   “Sure thing, sweetie.” The waitress walked off.
   “’Sweetie’?” DeAnn chuckled.
   “Well, you know… She’s a very nice lady.”
   As they were looking over the menus, Truman reached into his tote bag and pulled out a small plastic box of pills. He laid the pills out on the table, scooped them up into one hand, tossed them into his mouth and drank his glass of water.
   “Pills?” DeAnn remarked.
   Chocking a little bit, Truman mumbled loudly, “Vitamins!” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, their vitamins. It’s the lazy man’s way.”
   DeAnn noticed another pillbox sticking slightly out of his bag that stated ‘Enzyme replacement therapy’ at the bottom edge of the container. She was confused and looked back at him as he fumbled with his plastic box. “Enzyme Replacement? Why are you taking those?”
   Truman looked at her while placing his bag on the floor by his feet at the same time.
   “Oh, I read this article once about how ‘Enzyme Replacement’ can help promote a healthy diet,” Truman responded as he picked up his menu to cover his face.
   DeAnn reached up with one finger and slowly pulled down his menu to expose his face again.
   “Are you some kind of nutrition freak?” She asked smiling.
   Truman chuckled a little bit and just said, “Well.”
 
 
   The waitress came and took their orders. And while they waited, they shared conversation getting to know each other. DeAnn was beginning to realize that Truman was not the joking figure that she made him out to be. He was in fact, very smart, kind and genuinely concerned about those he treated at the clinic. And during this time she actually started to take an interest in him.
 
 
   “Can I ask you something?” DeAnn asked.
   “Certainly.”
   “You remember the first day we met?”
   Truman nodded.
   “What did you say to Tammy to get her to take her Labret out?”
   “Her what?” he asked.
   “The piercing in her lower lip.”
   Truman smiled and rolled his head, stretching his neck. “Well…” he began. “Are you sure you want to hear this? It might not fit into your professional view of things.”
   DeAnn gave him a sarcastic grin.
   “I told her that because of her looks, she had a power over men. That her beauty was so luring that any boy that saw her would loose his mind and heart over her. But, if she wore that ring in her lip it would distract their view to staring at the ring instead of her eyes which is the very thing she could use to paralyze them.”
   DeAnn started laughing. “You told her that! Just to get her to take her Labret out?”
   Truman crinkled his face in disappointment. “Tammy has pancreatic cancer. You know that, right?”
   “Yes.”
   “She’s going to start loosing weight. She will get thinner and thinner. It’s important that she maintains a healthy self-respect. The piercing was a mask; something to hide behind.”
   “And you helped her to avoid closing herself out.” DeAnn added.
   “Exactly! I don’t want her to get trapped into the idea of hating who she is.”
   DeAnn sat back and gazed at her glass of water, absorbing the thought. And then the waitress showed up with their dinner plates laid out across her arms.
 
 
   “Here’s your ‘Chicken Cacciatore’ and Truman gets the ‘Mousaka’ with a side of ‘Mushroom Ragout’ and a side of ‘Delmonico Potatoes.’” The waitress stopped. “Oh, I forgot Truman’s Corn Bread… I’ll have that and your drinks out in just a few minutes.” The waitress paused for reactions then said, “Need anything else?”
   Truman looked up with a smile, “Thanks Sally. This is great!” With that she walked off.
   DeAnn sat in amazement of all the food placed in front of him. Mild shock turned into amusement. She started to snicker.
   “What?” Truman chortled, “I’m hungry! What can I say?”
   “You must have one hell of an appetite,” she laughed.
   “My mom always said I had a tape worm.”
   DeAnn just smiled and shook her head.
 
 
   After dinner, DeAnn drove him back to his car. The wind had died down but the night had gotten cooler. Both stood in the parking lot, hands stuffed deeply into their own coat pockets; neither wanting to say goodnight but both not saying a word.
   “I had a really good time, Truman,” DeAnn finally said.
   “I did too.” Truman started to bounce up and down in the cold.
   “Well… I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
   “Yep.” Truman stopped bouncing.
   DeAnn reached up, kissed him on the cheek, and then stepped back. “Whew!” she said, “You are one active fellow… Or maybe you need to cut down on your salt intake.”
   “Yeah, I know,” Truman began, “It runs in the family. I should have washed my face before we left. Sorry.”
   “My nutrition freak. What shall I do with you?”
   Truman could feel his heart start to pound. Was this a term of endearment? He thought. Am I going to fall in love? Is it a good idea to fall in love? Now his mind started to race but he keep his calm.
   “See you tomorrow,” she said.
   “Ok, tomorrow.”
   DeAnn drove away. Truman watched her leave and as soon as she had left his sight he started to dance right there in the parking lot.
 
 
   The next few months at the center passed uneventfully as these things go at such an establishment. People came to their appointments. Some were drop-ins and an occasional emergency session from time to time. The only difference was the relationship between Truman and DeAnn. More often, they spent after hours at Whittaker's Restaurant where they had their first dinner together. It was starting to become ‘Their place’ and not just ‘Truman’s place.’ Truman was starting to feel a different energy roaming within him. His passion for life now included his own. Their relationship developed much too slowly for him but he kept the pace and allowed her to set the mood.
 
 
   His bliss at times, was stifled by serious incidents or very sick patients that sometimes arrived at the clinic. But Truman was very serious about his assignments. He never allowed ‘professional distance’ to influence his feelings about those he treated. One morning Truman arrived late to work. Nurse Becher was waiting for him.
   “Truman!” she shouted, “You're late!”
   “Yeah, sorry.” Truman coughed roughly. “Had a bad night. Sorry.”
   “Oh, I understand, sweetheart,” she said knowing his problem. “I’ve been waiting for you… Got some bad news.”
   “What is it?” Truman asked.
   “Alex is at Saint John’s I.C.U.”
   Truman burst out of the building not saying a word.
 
 
   He arrived at Saint John’s Mercy hospital. Walking through the corridors to the emergency room felt to him as is he was walking through a time tunnel moving back in time. Door after door flashed by and he almost started to count them. Just another corner and a few more doors and I’ll be there! His mind raced and worry pounded his mind. He started to think that maybe he should have asked Nurse Becher what the problem was before he stormed out.
   “Linda! David!” Truman spoke loudly.
   The Spillers looked very distraught and worn from stress. Truman’s heart started to pound even harder.
   “Hello Truman,” David, Alex’s father, said.
   “What is it? Is Alex ok? What happened?” Truman barely gave them a chance to speak. “He’s still alive, isn’t he?”
   “Truman,” Linda gently started but began to weep. “Alex fell down the stairs.” She started to cry. “We had the baby gate up, but it must have not been fasten correctly. He must have stumbled into it. I don’t know! You know what Batten’s does to him. I don’t know…” She rambled.
   David held his wife as she cried uncontrollably.
   Truman was frozen. He didn’t know what to say. He could always find a way to meet the moment, caress with charm or ease with humor. But now he was simply frozen in place. “Is he alive?” he finally asked.
   David looked up at him. “He’s had a brain hemorrhage. He’s in intensive care in a coma.”
   “He can’t speak!” Linda interrupts, “he can’t talk, he can’t eat, he can’t see… Oh my God!” She cried even more intensely and began to shake.
   “We have him on ‘No Code’ status,” David said.
   “What!” Truman shouted.
   “Truman,” Linda gently said, “He’s going to die. We can’t put him through anymore. I couldn’t bear to see them jolting him. He’s going to die and we should allow him to die in peace.”
   Truman was in shock. “If his heart stops; if he arrests, then the doctors will not do anything on ‘no code’ you realize that!”
   “He’s going to die, Truman,” Linda weeps, “I know how you feel about Alex, but we can’t prevent that now.”
   Tears filled Truman’s eyes. He bowed his head, wiped the tears and regained his composure. “May I see him?” he asked. “I know the doctor on this ward. He’ll let me if it’s ok with you.”
   “Truman,” David began, “please go… please go see him.”
 
 
   Truman walked into the room. Rhythmic clicking of the medical devices and life support machines filled the air with an eerie drumming. Alex’s chest rose and fell with the assistance of an incubator tube inserted into his mouth. Intravenous lines draped across the steel framed bed. The heart monitor spewed digital green lines and displayed a small blinking ‘heart’ icon along with his pulse rate in the upper corner of the screen. The pulse number was switching back and forth between 148 and 149. He noticed Alex’s body slightly surge with each heartbeat. Truman detected the smell of ointments and medicine. This disturbed him most.
 
 
   Noticing a chair by the bed, Truman walked over and took a seat. Almost afraid to touch Alex because it would confirm this nightmare, Truman gently placed his hand on top of Alex’s hand. He sat there and just watched him. He wasn’t, at first, going to say anything to Alex. Not because Alex couldn’t hear him but rather because he knew it would open the floodgates of his heart. He really didn’t want to break down. But he couldn’t leave without saying something.
   “Big Al!” he whispered. “You need to get up man! The ladies are watching.”
   Tears started to roll down his right cheek. The Rhythmic clicking continued.
   “Alex!” he whispered again then stopped and dropped his head.
   A few minutes had passed when the heart monitor screech and held a constant whine. Truman leapt back and stood against the wall. He knew what was about to happen. Three nurses stormed into the room. Each one checking the devices and connections to ensure that they were working. After a few busy seconds they stood back and just looked at Alex. The Spillers ran into the room then held each other still looking toward Alex. Linda began weeping softly. Finally the heart monitor’s tone dropped to a low tone and one of the nurses turned the sound off. Liquid started to flow out of Alex’s nose as the incubator attempted to breathe for him.
   Truman, still standing against the wall said, “Can’t you turn that thing off? He’s dead! Turn it off!”
   One nurse replied, “Sorry, we have to wait for a doctor. One is on the way.”
   “Why?” Linda asked.
   “To declare him dead,” Truman responded softly.
   Truman gave his sympathies and left. As he walked out the door he whispered to himself, “See ya, big Al… I’ll see ya, buddy.”
 
 
   The drive back to the clinic was the longest it had ever been. The thoughts of Alex flooded his mind in splashes and blurs. He knew that Alex was going to die from Batten’s disease and had often prepared his mind for that moment. But he wasn’t truly prepared for it, especially since Batten's disease was an indirect cause of his death. He wanted to get angry with the Spillers because they knew that Battens made him clumsy. But he realized that this was improper thinking. The Spillers used great caution and loved Alex very much. He just couldn’t stop thinking how unbelievable it was that Alex was gone. He finally arrived at the clinic.
 
 
   The hospital had called while Truman was on his way back. Everyone at the center knew about Alex by the time Truman had arrived. Both Nurse Becher and Nurse Delly stood up behind the counter when Truman walked in the front door.
   “Truman?” Nurse Becher said, “I’m so sorry!”
   Truman just nodded with a small smile and headed to the back office.
   DeAnn walked into the lobby. “Is Truman here, yet?” she asked.
   “He’s in the back,” Nurse Becher answered.
   DeAnn hurried to the back office and suddenly stopped at the entrance. “Truman?” she softy said. “Are you alright?”
   Truman was sitting at his desk, staring at a summary form; looking through it blankly.
   “Truman?” she repeated.
   “I have these dreams…” he began. “Terrible nightmares almost every night.” He paused for several minutes. “It’s almost the same exact dream each night. And they always wake me up.”
   DeAnn listened with sincere sympathy.
   Truman continued, “It always starts out at my folks’ house. I’m setting in the living room doing absolutely nothing and suddenly I have a hard time breathing; it's as if the air was taken away but I’m the only one who notices. I hear my mother shout ‘No!’ and when I turn around my aunt’s china is rattling against the cupboard. Her favorite plate starts to fall and I leap off the couch to try to save it from crashing…” He stopped and started to gently cry, covering his eyes with his hand.
   DeAnn went to him and held him. “It’s ok, Truman. It will be ok.”
   “I can’t understand it!” Truman blurted, “Why would my aunt’s china be at my mother’s house anyway?”
   DeAnn laughed a little through her tears and held him tighter.
   Truman wiped his face and looked up at her. “I watched him stop breathing, DeAnn!” Truman choked out, ”Alex died right in front of me.”
   “It’s ok, Truman,” she repeated.
   “I’ve seen this before but it never felt like this!”
   DeAnn just rubbed his back.
   Truman whispered, “I’m so afraid of not breathing! I’m so afraid…” he paused, “…of china!”
   They both laughed a little as they cried in each other’s arms.
 
 
   Time went on and the center proceeded with its work. Truman eventually got his charm back and gave his full attention to his patients. The relationship between Truman and DeAnn had blossomed into romance and they were falling in love. Although they didn’t live together, they spent nearly every free moment together. Truman had arrived early to work in preparation for a special event he had in store for DeAnn when she showed up.
   “You’re late, young lady!” Nurse Becher barked.
   “I am not!” DeAnn replied sharply, “Your watch is off, but then again, your watch is always off.” Both women laughed.
   “DeAnn,” Brenda said, “I believe Dr. Huffman urgently needs to speak with you in room five.”
   DeAnn’s face went sober. “Ah oh,” she said, “What did I do?”
   “Better go and see.” Nurse Becher answered.
   DeAnn worried that something might be wrong. She cautiously wondered into the back office. The two nurses smiled and followed quietly behind her. Room five’s door was shut. She stood there for a moment wondering. Noticing the two nurses, she started to realize that some trickery was taking place. She opened the door and all that could be seen was paper streamers. They hung from the ceiling and there were so many of them that the view of the room was lost. It was wall-to-wall colored paper. Suddenly music started to play. She looked back at Nurse Becher and Nurse Delly. They started to giggle. DeAnn began to smile and walked into the room, pushing the streamers away trying to see where she was going.
   “Truman?” she shouted. “Roy?” The music got louder. “Dr Huffman?” she shouted louder. The lights went out and somebody grabbed her. She screamed. The lights came back on and the entire staff stood before her.
   “Happy Birthday!” they shouted.
   “I can’t believe this!” she laughed and slapped Truman on the shoulder.
   The clinic was closed since no appointments were scheduled that day and the staff spent the rest of the afternoon celebrating DeAnn’s birthday. DeAnn thought to herself how fortunate she had been to find this place; finding Truman and how wonderful her life was turning out. At the end of it all, Dr. Huffman decided to close up early and let the staff go for the day.
   “Happy birthday, DeAnn.” Brenda said as she was leaving.
   “Happy birthday,” echoed through the lobby as the rest were leaving.
   DeAnn and Truman walked out to her car. Truman put his tote bag in his own car, which was parked next to hers.
   “Truman,” she started, “I am way too full from cake and ice cream to eat now. Let’s go for a walk.”
   “Let’s go!” he cheerfully said.
   Not to far from the center was a small stream that the city had grown up around. Along its banks was a cement pathway by which visitors could stroll. Truman led her to this place and they walked down the pathway for about an hour just talking.
 
 
   “This is such a nice day!” DeAnn observed.
   “Certainly is! And no better a day for a birthday…” Truman began but interrupted himself with a coughing fit. DeAnn patted him on the back.
   “You ok?” she asked.
   “Yeah, yeah,” he choked. “I’ll be alright. Give me a ‘sec.’”
   “If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say that looked like a smoker’s coughing attack.”
   “Oh yeah, that’s all I need now is to start smoking.” Truman tried to clear his throat.
   “You all right?” she asked again.
   “Yeah, fine. I’m ok.”
   They walked on down the pathway.
   “You know Truman, we’ve known each other for almost a year.”
   “Yes, it’s been that long, eh.”
   DeAnn looked at him. “What are your thoughts on… moving in?”
   “Well…” Truman laughed a little. “Sounds like a good idea…”
   “But?” she butted in.
   “’But’ nothing. Sounds like a good idea… well, but…”
   “But?” she repeated.
   Truman knew he held a secret from her. This problem made him stop. “Maybe we should talk about it. Yeah, let’s talk more about this again.”
   “Ok, Truman!” she said firmly, “Something’s up! I know you. What’s up?”
   “What?” he replied, “We're talking, right?”
   “Truman!”
   “I’m not saying we shouldn’t live together. We’re talking, aren’t we?”
   “Don’t you think we should live together?” she asked.
   “Yes…”
   “You do love me, don’t you? I love you!”
   Truman stopped, turned and looked straight at her. “DeAnn, I love you more then anything; with all my heart! Yes! We should live together. Just might want to plan it, that’s all.”
   DeAnn was satisfied with that and they continued walking. Truman’s heart sank. He knew that he had just lied to her.
 
 
   Over the next month, Truman started calling in sick to work. Sometimes he was gone for several days. DeAnn started to worry that the conversation about ‘moving in’ may have ruined their relationship. But she noticed that the other staff members didn’t seem concerned about all the time Truman was missing. Again Truman did not show up to work.
   “Roy?”
   “Yes, DeAnn. What is it?”
   “Truman sick again?”
   Roy continued writing as he spoke. “Yeah, poor boy; can’t seem to shake that cold.”
   DeAnn frowned at him. “A ‘cold’ that lasts over a month?”
   Roy looked up at her and innocently said, “Well, sometimes those things take a while to rid, you know.”
   “Come on, Roy!” she grumbled.
   Roy just shrugged his shoulders.
   DeAnn turned, facing away from him. “I knew it! I screwed up!”
   “What?” Roy said.
   She turned around. “Once we talked about living together and since then he hardly works. He’s avoiding me!”
   “Moving in together?” Roy started. He paused then let out a big sigh. “There may be something you need to know about Truman.”
   She looked at him in almost disbelief.
   “Truman made a point of keeping this secret. He didn’t want to be treated…”
   “What is it, Roy?” she interrupted.
   “Truman has Cystic Fibrosis.”
   DeAnn was completely stunned. She just stared at him.
   “We’re all amazed that he’s lived this long. I mean, he breaks all the rules and life simply obeys. Kind of thought that one rule, he’d break, too. Looks like he's got to follow that one.”
   “What!” she barked. “The rule of death! Or the rule of lies?”
   “Listen,” he began, “I thought he told you. You guys always hung out together. I just thought…”
   “Well he didn’t, Roy!” she shouted. She stepped back and looked down at the floor. “I should have seen it! It was right in front of my face. The salty skin, coughing fits, loss of weight, super appetite and the pills. Why didn’t I see it?”
   Roy just stood there; knowing she was upset, he thought it would be better to remain silent.
   “Is he at home or in the hospital?” she finally asked. “You would know, right?”
   “He’s at home.”
   With that she walked out.
 
 
   DeAnn arrived at Truman’s house. She pounded violently on his front door.
   “Truman!” she shouted, waited for a few seconds; pounded and shouted again, “Truman!” She pounded on the door once more. The door opened.
   “Hi,” Truman softy said.
   “Cystic Fibrosis, Truman!”
   “I can see my buddy Roy has been looking out for me,” he replied.
   “Why didn’t you tell me?” she earnestly asked.
   “Come in, please! Come in,” he begged.
   They walked into his kitchen. She spun around and gave him a hard look.
   “Cystic Fibrosis, Truman! Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice was softer this time.
   “I haven’t told anyone but the staff and my family. I didn’t want….”
   “Oh, yeah, right!” she interrupted. “I’m not staff? I’m not family? I love you! Doesn’t that count for anything?”
   “It counts for everything!” Truman shouted. DeAnn was stunned for she never seen Truman raise his voice. “DeAnn.” he began more softly, “I do love you. I didn’t want to you think differently because of this. I keep this from everyone so that it doesn’t interfere with what they think.”
   “Yes but this is ‘me’ we’re talking about, Truman! Why couldn’t you tell me? I’ve been worried sick this month that you wanted to break it off because I wanted us to live together. Just to find out that you are dying and not from you; from Roy!”
   Truman sat down at the kitchen table. He motioned her to sit, which she did. He placed his elbows on the table and looked at her.
   “If I had told you that I was dying at the beginning, would you have gone out with me?”
   “Of course I would…”
   “Think about it!” he butted in. “We have no future. We’ll have no children. I can’t even have children. You will be left alone before the relationship really gets started. Just think about that.”
   DeAnn took her eyes off him and looked at the table.
   Truman reached out and held her hand. “The last eight years of my life have been the greatest. The clinic was a gift. It kept me going. It kept me alive. But this last year has been nothing less then heaven. My nightmares are easier to deal with. The coughing is easier to ignore. My headaches are not so painful. My life has been completed because of you. I know it was selfish to keep this from you but I wouldn’t have missed it. You’ve given me more than life. You’ve helped me to breathe.”
   DeAnn started to weep bitterly. “How long do you have left?” she asked not looking up.
   “Well…” he started, “the doctor told me I had about a year. And that was almost a year ago. I’m still going!”
   “Going?” she popped “You look like crap, Truman!”
   “I just love your honesty,” he smiled.
   They both started to laugh.
 
 
   Over the next couple of months, Truman’s condition gradually worsened. He spent more time in the hospital and less at work. DeAnn was with him every chance she could get. Her routine changed from lovely dinners with Truman to watching him being feed through a tube. Eventually he was bedridden. Unable to work, his health plummeted and the time was near. DeAnn, daily, went to visit him at the hospital. She spent her nights just sitting by his bedside. And some mornings she would visit him before work. All of Her weekends were now lived in the hospital, its lounge, cafeteria or Truman’s room.
   “Truman?” she whispered. “Truman?”
   “I think he’s sleeping, ma’am.” The nurse walked in and looked Truman over. Wrote on his chart and said, “He’s been feeling rather poorly today.”
   “Thank you,” DeAnn said as the nurse left.
   A few hours passed as DeAnn slept in the chair by Truman’s bed. She was awoken by his voice.
   “I can’t breathe,” he whispered. “I can’t breathe.”
   “Truman? Honey? Are you awake?”
   “I can’t breathe,” he whispered again.
   DeAnn rubbed his chest and he relaxed. She noticed his chest was bowing larger as was the result of having Cystic Fibrosis. She sat back and tried to go back to sleep.
   A quiet voice spoke. “DeAnn?”
   She sat up. “Yes, Truman, I am here.”
   “Tell my mother I’m sorry. Tell her I tried. I didn’t want it to break. I tried.”
   DeAnn started to cry but held it back as best she could. “Ok, Truman. I’ll tell her.”
   “I will miss you,” he said and fell back to sleep.
 
 
   The next day, DeAnn was late for work. It was becoming too difficult but she forced herself to continue. Every passing moment focused on Truman and was starting to interfere with her work. She finally arrived at the clinic. Being late, she didn’t visit Truman that morning. She walked up to the counter where Nurse Becher was writing in her log.
   “Don’t start!” DeAnn said, “I know I’m late.”
   Nurse Becher looked up. Her face was different. She dropped her pen and stood up.
   “DeAnn!” she softly said.
   DeAnn knew by her voice something was wrong but couldn’t respond. Nurse Becher shuffled around the desk and took DeAnn by both hands. DeAnn felt the tears form within her eyes.
   “DeAnn, sweetheart… I’m sorry… Truman passed away in his sleep last night.”
   She started to cry and felt her legs began to weaken. Nurse Becher led her over to one of the chairs.
   “You know, honey,” Nurse Becher began, “Truman once told me that 'to beat the ending you must entertain the end'.”
   DeAnn looked up at her sniffling.
   Nurse Becher continued, “Truman brought with him life. He gave life to all of us. He showed us that there is more to life than just living.”
   “’Entertain the ending’?” DeAnn whispered.
   “Yes dear! Look back on Truman and see that his memory will bring a smile to your heart. You’ll see that he lived for all of us. And because of that we live better. The ending isn’t death. The 'end' is the loss of ‘life’. It’s what happens in between that matters!”
   “I know,” DeAnn said remembering and forcing a smile. “Yes I know.”
 
 
   Dr. Huffman had DeAnn take a couple weeks off so that she could regain her composure. She spent most of her time at Truman’s grave. She brought a fresh flower everyday and spent most of the afternoon with him. She decided to try and get her life back together on her last vacation day. One last visit to Truman and tomorrow I go back to work, she thought. She sat down beside his gravestone.
   “Truman?” she said softly. “Truman!” she spoke louder. Brushing off the dust from the gravestone she wept again. “I miss you so much!” she whispered. “I just wished you could tell me one more time that you are ok. If you could only tell me that your nightmares have stopped….” She started to cry. “I love you!” She got up and left.
 
 
   The next day DeAnn arrived to work right on time. She was determined to make it through that day regardless of the cost. She checked her assignments and appointments. The staff treated her as if she never left, knowing that this was what she wanted. Roy was still at the front desk filling in forms.
   “DeAnn!” he shouted.
   “Roy!” she returned in a cheerful voice.
   “Christopher will be here any minute for you. You ready?”
   “Yep! Ready!” she remarked.
   Just then Christopher and his mother walked into the door. DeAnn recognized him immediately. DeAnn looked at him and could see the fear in his eyes. She walked over to him and crouched down.
   “Christopher, my man!” she smiled. “You are a good looking fellow. You’re going to knock the ladies out! And being that I’m a lady, I know what I’m talking about.”
   Christopher grinned. DeAnn took his hand and off they went.
 
 
 
Kactus Berry