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Dying for a Cigarette

Tim Krzys

Craig Morris knew he should give up cigarettes. He’d been told for five years by his physician, and four years, three hundred sixty-four days by his wife Ellen. She’d been visiting her mother the day he went to the physician. It was the only day of peace he’d known. First, she took bacon away from his breakfast. It had been a regular item on the table every Sunday morning since they married twenty-five years ago. Then the butter disappeared and margarine took its place. Two-percent milk found its way into the refrigerator, and even though he didn’t eat eggs, she brought home artificial ones called Egg Beaters and began fixing those for breakfast every Sunday. A bagel with cream cheese was nothing but a memory.
It was almost enough to make a man want to get up early and sneak out of the house to attend church on Sunday morning.
When Ellen did buy beer, it was the light, reduced calorie kind. And if he wanted to grab a handful of nuts or chips, he’d have to stop at the bar on the way home from work when they had free snacks during Happy Hour. It would drive any man to drink.
Craig had cut down on his smoking, going from a three pack a day habit down to one pack, and sometimes less than that if Ellen was gone visiting her mother. For some reason when he was alone, he didn’t have much of an urge to light up. The doctor had warned him that if he didn’t quit, a heart attack was about as certain as crooked politicians in Washington. His cholesterol had been too high but there was medication to help that. Still, nothing could unclog the arteries that years of hard living had plugged up, and that’s what worried Ellen.
Despite her nagging and constant fussing about his health, Craig loved his wife dearly. He often told folks that thirty years ago when they met, he had caught an angel flying low.
“I’m going shopping later today. Is there anything you’d like?” Ellen opened the dishwasher and began putting away the clean dishes.
“Yes, a pound of butter, some chips, pretzels and a six pack.” He was about to add cigars to the list but decided against pressing his luck.
“Can’t you think of something that’s good for you?”
He could, but it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “Get whatever,” he growled.
Craig left the kitchen and went outside to the garage. It was every man’s last refuge, a place where the wife didn’t dust or vacuum, or arrange tools according to size and function. It was a place where a man could get dirty and tinker without being told what to do.
For a while, he tinkered around the garage, changing the lawn mower oil and replacing the spark plug. When he was through with that, he walked out behind the garage and lit one up. That first drag felt good and the years of nagging and special diets disappeared for a moment.
“Craig! Craig! Are you out there?”
So much for peace and quiet.
“Yes, dear.”
“What are you doing?”
He took a long drag off the cigarette then tossed it into the air. It hit the ground in a tiny shower of sparks. “Seeing if the grass needs cutting,” he yelled back.
“I’m sure it will sooner or later whether or not you’re watching it grow.”
Craig grumbled and started walking toward the house. Suddenly a sharp stabbing pain gripped his chest like a tightening vise. His lungs felt as if the air had been sucked out of them. He stopped and gripped his chest with his right hand. He wanted to yell out to his wife, but he felt frozen. In his mind, the words screamed, but he couldn’t find the air to mumble a syllable. Then just as suddenly, the pain began to subside. It no longer flowed down his left arm like hot acid in his veins. The vise loosened its death grip and Craig could breathe again. He stood still for a long moment until the pain had completely disappeared.
Craig wiped the sweat from his brow and realized that his shirt was nearly soaked. He couldn’t go inside looking like this. Ellen would ask questions and quickly come to a conclusion, and in a few minutes he’d be sitting in the emergency room waiting for the youngster physician of the day to examine him.
As a light breeze stirred the air, Craig lifted his shirt away from his body so that the breeze could dry it. The pain was totally gone as if it had never been there. Perhaps it was only a touch of heartburn. Beer had been bothering him lately. His two nightly beers, (three if Ellen wasn’t watching closely), was always followed by a Pepto-Bismal chaser. Sometimes he took a double shot of that. After a couple of minutes, Craig went into the house.
“Any chores you want me to do?”
“I don’t think so, unless you want to tackle that leaky faucet in the basement sink.”
He thought about it for a moment. “Anything else?”
“Not unless you want to go grocery shopping with me.”
“I think I’ll stay home and work on the faucet.” He hated shopping, except on Tuesdays; that was the day the grocery store was least occupied with other human beings. He loved his family, but when it came right down to it, he hated crowds, and that included family reunions. And any gathering with the in-laws. They were family that never really belonged to us, except maybe in times of inheritance, he figured.
Ellen reached into her purse that was sitting on the kitchen counter and retrieved her lipstick. She removed the cap, twisted the tube until a half-inch of red lipstick appeared, then proceeded to apply it.
“Why do women need to wear lipstick to go shopping? Having a thing going with the bagger?” Craig chuckled.
“Unlike men, women like to look nice when they go out. Your idea of dressing up is putting on clean socks.”
“Glad to see you’ve still got a sense of humor.” Craig smiled and watched his wife put away the lipstick. She reached into the purse trying to find the little pouch that she kept it in. She tilted the purse on its side for a better look and quickly tucked the lipstick safely away. “I guess I’m off.”
He already knew that. “Okay, drive carefully.” He bent over to kiss her goodbye.
“Not on the lips. Here,” she said pointing to her cheek.
He lightly kissed her check and smelled the sweet perfume that she was wearing. Despite all the complaining about her, she was a wonderful woman. No one else would’ve tolerated him all these years.
“Have a good shopping trip.” Craig smiled, a smile that touched his eyes.
“Are you okay?”
“Never been better.”
Ellen gave him a puzzled look that wrinkled her nose, then turned, grabbed her purse and went out the door.
Craig watched his wife leave and a feeling swept over him like a cold chill. It felt as though he was watching her leave for the last time. He shook his head as if that would throw off the thought, then grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and went into the living room. He popped open the can of beer and sat down in his favorite chair. It was a fifteen year old Lazy-Boy, well worn in just the right places to accommodate his large body. After setting the beer down on the end table, he fished under the cushion for the remote. Before he could turn on the TV, the phone rang.
“Dag nabbit! Can’t have one moment of peace around here.” Craig got up and walked across the room to the phone. “Hello.”
“Daddy? It’s Beth.”
“Well hello, how’s my little girl?” She wasn’t little any more, but a woman of twenty-two would always be his daddy’s little girl.
“Doing well. How are you doing?”
Her voice sounded different somehow.
“Fine. Is something wrong?”
“No. Just thought I should call you.”
There was a brief pause, a moment of silence that spoke its own language.
“Now don’t tell me that. I know better. You don’t just call unless you’ve met a new boyfriend or need money!” He chuckled and Beth joined him.
“No, nothing like that. Can’t I call you for no reason?”
“Sure you can. You’ve never done it before. Maybe you should try a few calls like this, let me get used to them.” He chuckled again. “Your mother’s not here. She just left for the store.”
“That’s all right. I really called to talk with you. You feeling okay? Any problems?”
“No, why do you ask?” Did she sense something that he didn’t? That chest pain would’ve toppled a lesser man. He was surprised he hadn’t keeled over.
“I don’t know. Just felt I needed to call.” She paused, wondering if she should say more. A few minutes ago, her chest hurt and she immediately thought of her father. The two sensations seemed connected, and her intuition told her to not ignore it.
“I’m glad you did. When are you coming home to visit?”
“Next weekend. I won’t have any exams to study for, so I’ll be able to spend more time with you and mom. How about if you make some of your chicken on the grill?”
He said he would, and they talked for several minutes more. When Craig hung up the phone, he couldn’t help but wonder about the timing of the call. Several times, she asked if he was feeling all right, and each time he reassured her that he was doing fine. The words felt like a lie and there was little conviction in his voice. He didn’t even believe it himself.
After he settled down and watched a couple of TV shows and drank his beer, the chest pain started. It was a mild pain at first, easy to ignore, and then sharp, shooting pains followed. The stabs of pain took away his breath like a punch to the abdomen. The beer fell from his hand and Craig leaned forward in the chair clutching his chest. He tried taking deep breaths, but every time he inhaled, the pain worsened.
“I’m home dear!” came a sing songy voice from the kitchen. Thank God, Ellen was home.
“Ellen,” he gasped, the words coming out weakly as if someone had tightened a belt around his chest. “Help!”
Ellen walked into the living room, and after one look, ran to Craig’s side.
“Oh my God! What’s wrong? What’s wrong?”
“Chest pain,” The words came out in a lethargic gasp as if there was no air behind them. “Call 911.”
“Oh my God. Oh my God!” Ellen ran to the phone and dialed 911. “Hurry up dammit! Answer!” She looked at Craig, her face scratched with lines of worry. “Yes, my husband’s having a heart attack. I don’t know, just now I guess. I just got home. He looks like he’s having trouble breathing.” Ellen watched her husband as he gasped for air. She gave the address, then in the middle of a sentence, hung up the phone and rushed to her husband’s side.
“Oh God, it hurts.” The pain was pushing down his left arm. His shoulder felt like a gorilla was squeezing it. The pain worsened, pulled the breath from him and he toppled over onto the floor.
“Oh! Oh God! Help!” Ellen knelt beside Craig. “Talk to me, say something. Oh God, don’t take him. Please don’t take him.”
“I hope they.. ah. hurry.” The words were weak, nearly lifeless.
Ellen sat on the floor beside him, grabbed his sweaty hand and rubbed it. “Oh please hurry. Oh please God. Oh please hurry.” She kept listening for sirens, but only traffic sounds filtered through the opened window. “They’ll be here any second. Just hang on, just a little longer.” She could feel her own heart racing. It felt like a squirrel was running loose in her chest. Ellen rubbed his head, feeling the thinning strands of hair flow between her fingers.
Four minutes later, the ambulance arrived. They worked quickly assessing Craig, starting an IV and putting him on oxygen. He was semi-conscious, drifting in and out of some ethereal door between earth and the next world. By the time he was loaded on the stretcher, his lips were blue and his skin a pasty white.
“Do you have anyone to take you to the hospital?” one of the EMTs asked.
“No, not right now. My neighbors are all at work and my daughter lives out of town.” She held her hand up over her mouth, and looked at her husband through the blur of tears.
“Why don’t you ride along with us. I don’t think you need to be driving right now.” The EMT noticed his partner looking at him, but it was a brief stare, one that said that was not standard procedure.
The hospital was five miles away. Ellen didn’t even noticed the wail of the sirens or the lumber truck quality ride of the ambulance. Her attention was focused on the nearly lifeless person who was her husband. The monitor showed an erratic and fast heart rate. She didn’t know exactly what it meant, but it didn’t look good. Consistency in anything in life was good, and his heart rate had no consistency.
As the ambulance pulled up to the emergency room entrance, Craig opened his eyes and immediately turned his head toward his wife as if he knew exactly where she was.
“Craig!” Ellen cried and large teardrops rolled down her cheeks.
“I love you, Ellen.”
“I love you, too.”
“Beth called just before this started.” Their eyes locked with all the intensity of two souls parting after a lifetime. “It’s ok, Ellen. It’s ok.”
Ellen didn’t notice that they had stopped and the two EMTs were waiting to bring him into the emergency room. She leaned over and kissed Craig on the lips, which were cool and bluish tinged.
By the time Craig was brought into the emergency room and hooked up to the monitor, his heart had gone into ventricular fibrillation. The two large ventricles, or chambers of his heart had ceased to beat in an organized manner, instead they moved as an uncoordinated quivering muscle. With ventricular fibrillation, there was no real blood flow throughout the body. The brain cells were energy hogs, and twenty-five percent of the heart’s blood flow went to the brain. Without oxygen, it wouldn’t take long for brain cells to begin dying by the millions.
“Epinephrine!” a doctor shouted.
A nurse gave the doctor a syringe with a large, three-inch needle as another nurse quickly pulled the curtain closed around the gurney.
With the skill that comes from experience of having watched too many patients die, the physician touched Craig’s chest, found the desired location, and plunged the needle through the chest into his heart.
The heart monitor showed no change.
“Let’s shock him.”
The defribrillator was readied and the nurse handed the physician the two paddles. A small amount of gel was applied to each paddle to assist in conducting the electricity and the two paddles were rubbed together to spread the gel.
“Clear!”
KA THUNK
Craig’s entire body flinched as the electricity surged through his nearly lifeless body.
The physician watched the monitor for a response. There was an immediate spike, then a tiny squiggle indicating continued fibrillation.
His whole being seemed filled with an immense, overwhelming peace and serenity. There was no feeling of warmth or cold. He no longer had an awareness of his surroundings, only a sense of people working frantically to prevent his movement into someplace he now preferred. It was if he was moving into a new world that his whole life had meant to prepare him for.
He no longer felt like a spiritual being having an earthly existence, but an earthly being now trying to have a spiritual experience. For the briefest of moments there was an awkwardness, like he didn’t really belong to either world, but was caught in the undertow that was now pulling him away from what was familiar.
The sensation of having a body began to fade, and was quickly replaced by a simple sensation of being. He felt no boundaries, no limitations, no pain, no negative feelings at all. It was like being a breath of air exhaled into the endless vacuum of the universe. The sense of peace was almost overwhelming. It was like nothing he had ever experienced nor dreamed of.
He had no cares, no worries, nothing pressing on his thoughts. There was no sense of sadness or remorse. His loved ones who were now left behind would see him again. The time he needed to wait would pass in an instant and seem like no real time at all. He knew that without so much as a thought. It was instinctive knowledge of the soul that was no longer weighted down by an earthly existence and all the doubts and questions that come with it. Only those still living would feel that weight of time and the dark unknown of death so often shrouded in fear. A lifetime, even one that spanned a full century or more was not even a blink in eternity. Time was simply a measure of something, a measure of the earth’s rotation around the sun, or its rotation around its axis. Days and years meant nothing in the other world, a world that watched a universe expand, and bore witness to the formation of galaxies and planets and watched life evolve. Time had no relevance; it didn’t dictate rest and activity, meals or anything else that could be scheduled.
There were distant whispers, and though he could not determine what was being said, the voices were familiar and comforting.
Although there was no darkness, nor noticeable shades of white or gray, there was a brightness that was more intense than staring at the sun on a clear summer day. Craig knew that he was moving toward the brightness and that it was good. The brightness widened and seemed to envelop his seemingly endless being. There was no sensation of time. Events unfolded without the meaning or measurement of time.
As the brilliance of light enveloped him, Craig suddenly saw his entire life. It didn’t parade past him like a movie, or a flash of a million postcard images. There was simply an awareness of its meaning, an awareness of all his shortcomings, his strengths, his triumphs and failures. He suddenly saw his life for what it was, saw the hidden motivations for his behaviors, the truth behind each lie, and the lies behind what he held as truth. He knew every psychological motivation for his behaviors, the meaning of anger that was merely a faade to cover a deeper hurt or fear. He suddenly understood the behaviors of others, what caused their reactions, their sharp words or easy tears.
In that instant, he knew exactly why no human being held even a fraction of the knowledge needed to judge anyone.
In the intense brightness, there was no sensation of warmth or cold.
Though no one was near him, he heard the growing whisper of voices and felt the presence of power, love and knowledge. There was no longer any fear of rejection, but an overwhelming sense of unconditional love and acceptance.
The murmur of voices grew louder and he recognized them as very familiar. Then suddenly there was a hushed silence as he felt the warmth of a gentle hand touch his. He knew he was in the presence of greatness, yet did not feel small or insignificant. All his notions of religion, of God and of Jesus fell away as truth filled his being.
The Son of God embraced him.
Craig looked beyond the brightness, beyond the warm embrace. God was not what he had ever imagined, not what religions preached and zealots warned about. It was closer to what the hippies of the 60s chanted.
God is love.



Scars Publications


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