Most of us don’t get to choose the last thing we hear before dying. The grim reaper doesn’t give a shit about playlists or our affinity for the sound of waves crashing or birds singing.
The man in the blue blazer’s final breath came at 12:46 PM to the shitty sounds of stylized Jazz, and a Bluetooth-wearing mortgage lender yelling, “It’s 2008 all over again!”
With his elbows on the table and bowed head, he looked like any other Barnes and Noble Cafe customer – bewitched by books and coffee. Sure, his posture might have seemed “a little off” to the passersby, but not enough to alert the reference librarian or the pimply-faced adolescent behind the Cafe’s counter.
People don’t care about one another the way they used to. Most of us drift through our day in cell phone-induced trances, grossly unobservant of the world 3 feet beyond the nose on our faces. And so, the man in the blue blazer sat dead and unbothered for nearly eight hours (and one shift change) until a nudge from the Cafe’s manager caused him to fall and strike his head with a sickening biological splat, like a dropped bowling ball wrapped in salami.
Bill and Susie are wiping down the espresso machine when their pale, shell-shocked manager shuffles towards them.
“What’s up, boss? Are you OK?”
The question startles the manager from his stupor. He looks at Bill and says flatly, “He’s dead.”
“Who’s dead?” Bill and Susie chime in unison, causing Susie to laugh and blurt out, “Jinx on you!” while pointing and smiling at Bill demurely, “You owe me a coke, dude!” – Susie’s been crushing on Bill for months and can’t figure out why he hasn’t picked up on her willingness.
Their manager raises his arm slowly and points towards the Cafe’s seating area. Bill and Susie look wide-eyed at one another and dash from behind the counter. Susie sees the man lying on his back, turns immediately on her heel, and heads towards the front of the store, yelling, “Call 911, call 911!”
“Jesus Christ, boss, what happened?”
The manager’s voice is unsure and thready, “I told him we were closing, and that he needed to complete any purchases. When he didn’t respond, I touched him on the shoulder, and he fell.” His voice rattles with panic, “He must have been dead already; I mean, he never even tried to break his fall.”
The manager falls quiet before whispering, “His lips are so blue.” Bill looks at the lifeless body in front of them, turns toward his boss, and acknowledges softly, “So fucking blue.”
“You know, he looks familiar, boss. Not as a customer, but from out there,” Bill nods over his shoulder towards the storefront windows and the world beyond. He brushes by his manager and kneels next to the body. “He’s dead for sure,” and then shockingly reaches into the man’s blazer.
The manager directs a rage-filled whisper at Bill, “What the fuck are you doing? Are you crazy? The police are on their way!”
“I know – I just want to check his driver’s license. I know this guy, boss.”
“Who gives a fuck if you know him? Leave him alone! Wait for the police, for Christ’s sake.”
The manager’s head is on a swivel, his darting eyes surveying the store for straggling customers and police. The last thing he needs is for his manager to hear about a Barnes and Noble employee mugging a dead man.
Bill opens the wallet. A folded piece of paper falls out. Without thinking, he puts it in his pocket and rummages for the dead man’s driver’s license.
Susie comes running from the front of the store, out of breath, “Betty called 911. Bill, what are you doing?”
Bill holds up the license and smiles, “Ted Diamond. 22 Fairview Lane,” before slipping it back into the card slot and sliding the wallet into the breast pocket of the blazer.
A police cruiser glides quietly into the nearly empty parking lot, splashing the storefront in blue and red lights. Car doors slam, and a few seconds later, the reference librarian directs two officers toward the Cafe.
As the officer approaches, Bill looks at Susie and shoves his hands into his pockets nervously, only to discover the piece of paper that fell from the wallet. He looks up and realizes there’s no time to put it back. His fingers draw the paper into his sweaty palm, and he squeezes tightly, digging his fingernails into it.
“I’m Officer Jacobson, and this is Officer Tyler.” Can someone tell me what happened? Bill’s boss offers an outstretched hand to the officer, “Hi, I’m Jack Bellinger, the manager. I found the gentleman about 15 minutes ago. He was sitting at a table, and I nudged him when he didn’t respond to me — then he fell off his chair. I’m pretty sure he’s dead.”
There’s a commotion at the front of the store as the EMTs come rushing in. They begin chest compressions and CPR immediately, checking intermittently for breathing and a pulse. It’s not long before futility settles heavily on their shoulders.
The Cafe manager is off to the side, nodding and speaking with the officers in hushed tones. The EMTs wheel the man in the blue blazer slowly out the front of the store with no sense of urgency. His story ends officially in the parking lot of Barnes and Noble.
Bill pulls the folded and crumpled paper from his pocket.
“What’s that?” Susie whispers.
“A note. It fell out of the dead guy’s wallet when I was looking for his license – I didn’t have time to put it back.” A look of guilt and shame fell over Bill’s face.
“What’s in it?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t read it.”
Susie puts her arm around Bill’s waist and slow-walks him to the Cafe’s kitchen. Bill brushes aside poppy seeds and crumbs from the counter, unfolds the paper, and smooths it out with both hands.
Dear Mary,
I know what you’re doing and who you’re doing it with.
A barista?
How pathetically proletarian.
It’s over. We’re done. You’re DONE!
Ted
Susie steps back slowly from the counter and stares at the back of Bill’s head, his damp, thick curls resting on his shoulders. She watches him slowly take a cigarette lighter from his pocket. In a dream-like sequence, he walks to the sink, holds the note by the corner, and lights it on fire. Then he pulls a sandwich bag of little white pills from his other pocket, empties the bag into the sink, and washes them down the drain.
bendingtheneedle 