Hector gasped as he came awake to the strident beeps of his alarm, clutching at the remnants of the powerful dream that had just been ripped away from him. It had been so real, like he actually lived through it. He remembered the grief and the exhaustion and the discomfort, then the fear when faced with the Lord General. The cowardly acceptance of his renaming. The memory of that brought a surge of heat to Hector’s chest. How dare the killers of his parents force a new name upon him? He ought to….
None of that was real, he thought. Hector pushed down the emotions and turned the alarm clock off. He had enough drama in his real life without getting sucked into the imaginary woes of a dream character.
His father was unlikely to leave the hospital alive this time, his boss was playing hardball with the budget, and Jennifer had been trying to get back together with him. If anything, Volithur should be getting upset on Hector’s behalf. Sorry, kid, I’m going to focus on my own struggles for a while and probably forget all about your stuff. If I ever dream about being you again, though, I’m going to strangle that Lord General Asshole.
Hector rolled out of bed, limbered up his back with a couple of stretches, and shuffled to the bathroom for his morning routine. Not long after, he left his house with a bag over his shoulder. He drove a couple of miles to the gym he was a member of and used his electronic fob to gain entry.
I bet the Lord General Asshole would hate key-less entry systems. He shook the thought out of his head, surprised the memories still stuck with him. Most dreams vanished from his mind within minutes of waking, with the exception of the nightmare where his teeth fell out. Maybe there were two exceptions now. He might prefer the teeth one if given the choice. At least that one was quick and done.
It was a Wednesday, which meant resistance training was on the menu. Hector placed his bag in the locker room and claimed an open squat rack. Owing to the early hour, it was mostly old guys and one young fellow. Hector was not the young fellow, though he sometimes forgot that fact. He configured the hook height, placed a wooden box, and then did a few warm-up sets of box squats with just the bar. Then he began adding weight. Nothing too much, as his back was no longer as supple as it had once been and even minor injuries required weeks of healing.
I can’t believe I was dreaming about being a teenager this morning. I might sometimes forget that I’m in my fifties now, but I never confuse myself for a kid. Following five sets of squats, Hector moved the bar out of the rack and strapped on a back brace. Then he proceeded to dead lift five sets at a moderate weight. When he finished that, he put away the bar and moved on to a bench press. Five sets of that and it was time for weighted pull-ups. With that out of the way, there was only one thing left. Hector grabbed a heavy kettle-bell in one hand, stood with a straight spine, and walked across the room and back. Then he switched hands and did the same thing again. A few more sets and he hit the shower.
His gym clothes went away and out came khaki pants, a polo shirt, and nice steel-toed boots. Hector drove straight to the hospital and went inside to the room he was getting to know so well. His father lay insensate in his gown, the television tuned into some infomercial selling fancy pots and pans that did a decent job of drowning out the constant beeps and hisses of the environment.
Terry Thoreaux looked like a disposed outer garment that his muscles had removed and left behind. Hector sighed as he sat beside his wheezing father, wondering how long they had. Wondering if it was more selfish to want the days that remained to be many or to be few. This weak, skeletal figure had very little resemblance to the powerful figure he had known his whole life.
Cancer would do that to a body. Drain away all the strength and vitality until all that remained was a shell of the person that could barely gasp in the next breath. Eventually, Hector knew, it wouldn’t even be able to do that. He tried not to imagine the many and varied options for final moments. Passing peacefully while asleep somehow seemed the most terrifying. You just expired without even being aware that it was happening.
His mother had gone that way, taken by a heart attack in her sleep. Cindy Thoreaux never even knew she was at risk for a cardiac event. She went to sleep with plans to clean up the motor home in preparation for camping season and that was it. Had she known it was coming, maybe she would have had something important to say or an important memory to reflect upon or even just the chance to stare down death in defiance as it came for her. Instead, she just stopped existing.
Hector didn’t know that fighting a losing battle until the last moment was any better, but surely it couldn’t be any worse. The joke from when he had been a kid was that the best way to go out was by heart attack as an eighty year old banging an eighteen year old babe. It had been funny back then. Now, he couldn’t help but notice several problems with it. First, eighty didn’t seem all that old to him any longer. Second, the extreme age difference had more than a little ick factor. And third, there would be no dignity whatsoever in a corpse that expired mid-action.
A quiet knock on the open door caught his attention. A gray-haired doctor approximately Hector’s age entered the room. “How are you today, Mr. Thoreaux?”
“I’m fine, Doctor. The real question, how is the patient?”
The doctor nodded. “Stable. That’s about the best we can hope for at this point. Have you thought more about moving him to hospice?”
Hector felt his heart flutter. “I don’t know about that, doc. I live alone and I can’t take off too many more days from work this year.”
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“Hospice doesn’t have to be in your home. There are places that specialize in providing palliative care as the end nears. There would be dedicated staff present to ease any physical pain or emotional distress he might experience.”
“I know, I know,” Hector muttered.
“He’s not going to get better. The masses are occluding the blood supply to several organs and he is too weak to survive surgery and chemotherapy. I know it’s a difficult decision, but the hospital is not a peaceful environment to pass in.”
“I’ll give it some more thought, doc,” Hector blurted out.
The doctor sighed. “That’s all I can ask for, Mr. Thoreaux. I’ve got to make my rounds.”
Hector let his head sink down to his hands. He knew the doctors and nurses were right. He just couldn’t give up on his dad. His family had never been large, not even before the tragedies began. His younger brother had died in a car wreck two weeks before high school graduation. His favorite uncle overdosed when a mid-life crisis led him to trying everything he hadn’t done when younger. His mother with the heart attack. Jennifer separated from him because he ‘worked too much’, though who knew if they were reconciling or moving forward with a divorce. Now his dad.
A phantom pain stabbed him in the chest as he vividly recalled seeing the heads of his parents crunch into gory balls. Not my parents, he reminded himself. Those were Volithur’s parents and Volithur wasn’t real.
“Hey there, kiddo,” his father wheezed, blinking up at him. “Been here long?”
“Just sat down, dad,” he responded, banishing all traces of grief from his features. “I was really looking forward to seeing the lady on TV talk about how easy these pans are to clean, but we can chat if you like.”
“Cleaning pans. Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
Hector winced. “Dad, I’m fifty-two years old, I have no idea what the kids call anything.”
“They say ‘fire’ when they like something,” his dad wheezed.
“Not in a crowded theater, I hope.”
His dad smiled for a few seconds before the energy drained out of him. “Funny thing, Hector. Slept all day and still tired. At least the dreams have been good.”
Hector forced a laugh. “I had quite the dream myself last night.”
“There you go. Mine have been so realistic, though. Might be because my time is close. One last adventure while I’m bedridden.” His dad smiled up at the ceiling for a moment. “Got lucky with a cute girl. I woke just as we finished up.”
“I swear, dad, if you start telling me the details of your wet dreams I am going to have the funeral director dress you up like a woman.”
“Guys from the lodge would get a hoot out of that. I do have a serious request, though.”
Hector leaned in closer, caught between a goofy grin and serious expression. The ‘serious request’ could go either way with his dad.
“Put a banana in my trousers for the showing. I told all my friends I was hung like a stallion.”
Hector snickered as he sat back. “I just might carry through on one of these requests.”
“Which one would you pick? Chicklets in place of my teeth?”
“While that would be hilarious, that would be a little too involved. And we both know posing your body to do a keg stand isn’t very realistic. I think I have to go with the girl mannequin.”
“Dressed in sexy lingerie.”
“Of course. My daddy didn’t raise no fool.”
“Debatable.”
Hector sighed. “It really is. Jennifer has been calling me.”
His dad grunted.
“I guess she got all the wild experiences she wanted when we were separated and wants a stable financial situation again.” Hector shook his head. “It would save a lot of money if we called off the divorce.”
“Money,” his dad spat. “Can’t take it with you. Find a better woman.”
“I don’t know that I would trust anyone after what happened.” Hector snorted. “Maybe I should just dream about women like you do.”
“It was something, Hector. Not just the canoodling either. I was young, the future was boundless, and life was beautiful. I wasn’t sure how long I wanted to put up with the oxygen hose up my nose and needles in my arms, but every time I close my eyes I have the most wonderful experiences. It’s amazing.”
“That’s great, dad.”
“What was your dream?”
“It was more of a nightmare, to tell the truth,” Hector said.
“Too much negativity in your life right now. I want good things for you, Hector. Do me a favor and make sure you find your happiness.”
Hector glanced away, his eyes hot. “I have a great job.”
“Yeah. Work.”
“Don’t start sounding like Jennifer.”
“Never.” His dad muttered the last word as he drifted off to sleep.