It is said that you are reborn every seven years. Not only have you matured mentally, but biologically. Every cell has died and replaced itself. You are a truly a new person. But not everyone has seven years. Some only have a few years left. Time is precious.
Nathanial tiptoed into the very white room. Everything was white, bleached from all color, from all hope.
“Hi Timmy,” whispered Nate, even though Timothy Evans was alone and the room was silent.
“Hey bud,” smiled Timmy, “What’s shaking?”
“ I tried out for the football team this afternoon. I was tackled twice, but all those years of track helped me dodge the rest.”
“That’s great. Is Coach Jacobson still the coach?”
“Yeah, that’s him. He is huge, I heard he almost went pro after college.”
“That’s what he tells everyone,” chuckled Timmy. “Tell him that I recommend you for the team. He will remember me.”
Of course he will remember you. We all will.
A man in a crisp black suit entered the room. He was carrying a briefcase with golden clips that shone in the sterile atmosphere. The black against the white had such a contrast that Nate had to blink twice before his gaze rose to the man’s face.
“Would you excuse me young man? Timothy and I have some very important business to take care of.” He took out several packets of papers from his briefcase.
“Can’t I stay?” Nate looked at Timmy longingly.
“Financial stuff, Nate. It will bore you to death. The man took his fingers and ushered Nate towards the door.
“I’ll come back later,” Nate mumbled reluctantly as he stepped into the hallway. He walked numbly to the cafeteria. Taking a red plastic tray, he found a decent looking sandwich and found two crumpled dollars in his left pocket.
“You still need another dollar,” said the woman. She saw the glazed over look in Nate’s eyes and reached her hand into the tip jar. She grabbed the dollar and Nate looked up at her with grateful eyes. Nate walked on. Finding a seat at a deserted table, he ate in silence.
Forty-five minutes later, Nate made his way back up to Timmy. He peered through the crack in the door to find that the man in black had gone. He slid through the crack between the door and the wall. Timmy was reading a book by Charles Dickens.
“Hey bud, glad you stayed. Talking to Mr. Bradley, he always drags me into a despondent mood.”
“What was he doing?”
“Just some stuff…”
“Oh.” Nate comprehended that he wouldn’t understand. He glanced at the cover of Dickens. The only color in the room. The only sense of timelessness.
“I see that you’re reading…” Suddenly Timmy fell back into bed, his head lolling back to the headboard. Then came the shaking. The incontrollable shaking.
There was beeping. And red lights. Then came the people. People who pushed without saying ‘excuse me’. And yelling. Lots of Yelling. Lines went up and down. Up and down. Nate’s eyes became fuzzy, going up and down. Up and down, up and down. Then they stopped.
It all just stopped.
Timmy and his bed were being rolled out of the room. Then they were gone. Nate was gone, and his cancer had beaten him. Nate was left slumped against a wall in the empty room. The room that resembled his heart and gave the world glimpses of his soul.
“Today, I learned that the body regenerates itself every seven years…” he whispered.