"You've gone through everything; listen to what I say.
All deaths are hateful to us, mortal wretches..."

"The Odyssey," Fitzgerald Translation, Book 12, Lines 438-439. Used without permission.
 

MELVIN (near death):

I am in the strangest place I have ever been.

It's very bright, but not oppressively so. The ambient light is plentiful, yet filtered. Like sunlight late in the afternoon at the shoreline.

The shoreline. There's water here...I think. Yes. It sparkles, flashes of gold on blue.

It's so quiet here.

Where is everyone?

The last time I was here, I was with my son and his girlfriend and Jo. Where are they?

I don't see them here.

I've been here with Dee...is she here?

Where are the noises that go with the ocean? Why can't I hear water dashing the rocks, seagulls screeching overhead, the subtle whisper of the breezes?

It's silent here.

How did I get here?

I don't remember the journey...and I know every landmark on the way here. How the trees like, how the air changes smell as I pass certain milestones.

"Mel." Finally, a voice...one that grabs me with a start.

Dee's voice.

Dee is no longer alive...how is it she can be talking to me.

"Dee?"

"Mel. How are you?"

"I don't know. Where the hell am I?"

Her face comes more into my line of sight, but not enough that I see her features in clear focus. I recognize auburn hair. And the voice.

"It's not where. It's what."

"Meaning?"

"Mel, if you can hear me, you're dying."

"I'm what?"

"Mel, listen to me. I've missed you...more than I can say...I've wanted to be with you again more than anything...but now that I can see you, hear you, I realize, you can't."

"I don't understand."

"You can't die. Not yet. Not for a long time. And when you do, you can't be with me."

"I'm still not understanding this."

"Mel, people need you out there...just hang on. Don't let go."

"Can't...go on being sick all the time...suffering...making them suffer..."

"When you're in the world, it's circumstance. Here, in this world, a choice."

"This is making no sense...choice of what?"

"You have to choose this world, or the one from which you came...and you have to go back, Mel. This isn't your time. Or your place."

"What is my time and place?"

"Here and now."

"My son."

"He's part of the world, and he needs you."

I can see him somewhat...a little boy, shrieking and running at me from the shoreline, laughing at how far out he could go today...every day, he gets a little further from the water's edge, and every day, I cringe a little more as the abyss threatens to swallow him...but he is a strong swimmer, and he has always come back...

When I see him again, he looks the way I remember him...older, trying to swim out farther, but still calling to me...

"And she waits for you."

"She?"

"Mel, I've wanted you with me...and now that you're here, it's occurred to me that we weren't meant to be. Not now. Not here. Not when love waits for you in your own world."

"You mean?"

"Her. The lady you dream of who is not me."

"I'm-sorry---"

"No. Don't be. It's not right your life be empty of love. And it's there, and it waits for you...don't leave that behind without having lived there."

"She...has..."

"Yes. She has feelings for you, Mel. You'd be amazed. But you have to go back."

"You mean, I get another chance."

"As long as you're in your world, there's always another chance. While you breathe, you hope...breathe, Mel..."

I feel her fading away from me, like invisible soap in imperceptible water...

And then nothing, nothing but dark and quiet...
 

MICHAEL:

This night is going on forever. I keep looking at my watch, I think hours have gone by, then I see it's like only ten minutes.

It's been over five hours of ten minutes now.

God, please tell me what the fuck is going on!

Jo has gone out-I think she's in chapel, that's where she goes. Martha sits apart from all us, just quiet, her head in her hands, and when you see her face, it looks like she's been crying. I don't know.

The prof and Juliet are snuggled against each other on the sofa, and they look like they might've gone to sleep, although if someone disturbs them, they'll jump straight up.

Ally's sitting on the other sofa, Langly's lying down with his head in her lap, they're not sleeping, she just keeps stroking his hair and trying to keep him calm. When he's not anymore, they run out, I think they go out for a smoke or something.

We've got four beers left from the second 12-pack. I'm sort of surprised they're not all gone.

Kelly's sitting by me, her hand on my back, her other hand holding open one of her books. She's trying to get me to study. She says she knows I'm freaking, and she is too, but if I bomb my bio quiz, my dad's gonna have a cow.

I'm trying. I really am. And she's right. My dad will kill me if I fuck up. But I look at the words on the page and it's like they're this big blur, like when I don't have my glasses or my lenses on. Nothing makes sense. I see it, but it won't stick. Kelly says, read it anyway, it may come back to you.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Please, somebody just come out and say he's all right. That he's alive and well and breathing.

That the worst thing I have to worry about is my dad yelling at me for fucking up, instead of worrying that he won't be around to do it...

Dr. Scully and Mulder have come back. Dr. Scully I guess was doing some arm-twisting to see what was happening with Dad, and she comes over to me and gently puts her hand on my shoulder.

Oh God. She looks more serious than I'd like...

"He's alive, Michael."

I didn't realize I'd forgotten about little basics like breathing in there. I almost faint in Kelly's arms.

Everyone else's ears come to at this, even though they're telling me first.

"He's okay, isn't he?" Byers calls out, and he sounds not at all like a prof...more like a scared little kid.

"He's alive. He made it." Mulder tells everyone. "Tough old bird's gonna pull through."

"So he's doing okay?" Langly sounds like the prof here, only even younger.

"Well..." Dr. Scully winces. "He's in rough shape. He's going to be in intensive care for a while yet...he had to have a bypass done."

"A what?"

Jo's back, and I can understand the way she explains things better than Dr. Scully, and her speech is easier, too, so she tells us.

"They've taken a section of leg vein and grafted it to his heart, in hopes of stopping any future heart attacks."

Martha's been quiet, I think she's been crying, but if she has, no one's known about it.

This time, though, she isn't gonna be shy about it.

She breaks. I can see her shaking even from here.

So I do the only thing Frohike men seem to know how to do with crying women.

I go and put my arms around her.
 

ALLY:

I check the time.

I've been here since 7, Langly since shortly thereafter. It's now 2:12 a.m. Frohike is in intensive care, and Langly is determined he's going to see him before we leave. I have a terrible cold, so I won't be getting near him, and I really think it would be better if we left, but Langly is determined to have his fifteen seconds.

He's so exhausted, and I have a feeling that Frohike won't wake up for many hours. He won't even know that Langly is there.

"Babe, you have to get up in the morning," I remind him gently-as if morning were someplace apart from where we are now.

"I need to see him."

Byers is being equally recalcitrant. Juliet has been urging him since surgery ended to leave and return at a later time, for his own sake...

Michael hasn't even been let in yet, and Jo is trying to work her contacts to get Martha permission to be with him.

We could be here for a long time to come.

We've been here for seven hours, sixteen cigarettes, 20 beers, 14 coffees, five sitcoms, the evening news, Jay Leno, Conan O'Brien, and God knows how many talk shows. The line from T.S. Eliot's 'The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock" keeps coming back to me..."I measure out my life with coffee spoons..."

How do you measure out life? Does it even make sense to?

It probably doesn't, but as humans, we are always attempting to understand by quantifying.

It's when we get to that we cannot define in any kind of fashion that can be translated into language or numbers, we feel that we are losing our grip.

We're long past that point here.
 

MARTHA:

God bless Joanna Gilfillan.

Normally, in CCU, only immediate family would be permitted to visit with the patient, and while I am a nurse, I am not on staff in this hospital, and I don't have the privileges associated with that role when I'm here.

But Jo has worked here, and knows the staff, and she has made it so that I can be with him.

"Just as a curioisity," I ask her, "how did you manage it?"

She smiles, a sly grin that transforms her very exhausted face. "Easy. I said you were the fiancee." I can feel myself blushing furiously, which only increases her amusement.

Jo then says goodnight, and promises she will be back during her lunch hour tomorrow.

Mulder looked like a sad puppy when his wife informed him that he was not going to see Melvin right now, but he also seems smart enough not to argue with her. She is the physician, after all, and she understands the nature of illness and hospitals. They also bid us goodnight. I'm a bit surprised when Mulder reaches over to hug Michael-I didn't figure he'd tolerate such a
gesture, let alone return it.

Of course, that surprise came nowhere to what I felt when he came over and embraced me. That was the last act I anticipated from him.

I wonder if his father's hands feel like his. They look like the same hands. The arms are strong and the embrace is tender.

If it's genetic, he'd damn better hurry up and get better...assuming he'd be interested in wrapping those arms around me...

Which his son seems to think he does.

His two friends, Byers and Langly, are more problematic. They are determined to see Melvin before they'll even consider calling it a night. The respective wife and fiancee have long since given up arguing with them.

I decide, along with Michael, that they can go in and say good night, although I am not convinced this is something that is going to make them feel better.

On the other hand, it will ground them in reality, and they'll know what Michael is going through.

And me.

Michael is going to desperately need their support. This is going to be a long recovery, no question about it. And I haven't told him yet, but if he thinks his father's been disagreeable lately, he has seen nothing yet.

I will tell him. He needs to be prepared...and not take it personally.

Michael and I wait quietly near the door to Melvin's cubicle while we tell Langly and Byers they can go in-and they've got two minutes.

I don't think either of them stayed the entire two minutes. Both looked even paler and more frightened when they emerged. Byers and Juliet lean over, give Michael a brief hug, and tell him that he can call them for ANYTHING.

I don't think that's an exaggeration.

Langly grabs his wife as if he's about to pass out, she steadies him with one arm. They look like Mutt and Jeff together, their difference in height being so pronounced. They both hug Michael, tell him they'll be back, he can stay over at their house with Kelly, who is on the other side of Michael, propping him up.

Michael tells Kelly to go home and get some sleep so she's not as wrecked as he'll be in the morning. She says she's not leaving without him.

I softly tell him that he should really get some sleep...and he does have school tomorrow, which, if he misses, will displease his father immensely.

He looks torn. I know he wants to stay with him...and I understand that.

But Mel, from what I've seen of him, would be irritated at the very least that the boy was wasting time hanging around (his words, and I quote him on this) instead of doing what should be done. This seems to be a constant theme with the two of them.

Michael wants to see him-alone.

I hope he's ready.
 

MICHAEL:

And I thought he looked bad the last time.

That was nothing. I can feel my chest squeezing...and I feel real rotten when I tell myself to head for the shore...weirdness. But it works. I mean, it's not gonna help anybody if I pass out right now.

Yeah, it's dark, but there's enough light that I can barely find him in the mass of tubing and wires and devices. Looks like us guys when we're trying to build or fix something.

I giggle to myself, even though I shouldn't, but for some reason, I think Dad would like that-what did Casey call it?-analogy, I think.

He seems like he keeps shrinking, and there ain't much real estate there to shrink, folks. He gets any smaller, we're gonna have to buy for him in the kiddie department.

Now the kiddie department thing, that could get my mouth smacked.

I giggle anyway.

Why I'm having these insane, stupid, not appropriate thoughts right now, I got no idea. Maybe worry and no sleep will do bizarre things to your brain.

I really don't want to leave him. I've got this fear-and this shows how out of it I really am-that if I don't leave, he won't die.

Like I would have some sort of magical powers to make him better or something.

Get over it, Frohike. You're probably the reason he's like this in the first place.

God, what should you say? It's like, you wanna say, I'm sorry...but that sounds so stupid and it's not enough...

And he probably can't hear me anyway. He's not conscious yet. I wonder how long it's gonna take.

I'm so tired. No way can I do school tomorrow.

I like look around for a place I can sit down. This room's even more crowded than the last one. You couldn't get one of those Rubbermaid step thingies that Ally depends on for anything over child height in here. Hell, I barely fit in here, and I'm not exactly a giant among men.

Actually, I'm about as small and low and scummy as they come...I feel like shit.

I jump when I hear feet behind me-they're quiet, like little mouse feet, but they make me just about hit the ceiling and land in a splatter pattern.

Like I said, I'm losing it.

A hand on my shoulder. Martha.

I should push her off, but somehow, I don't mind her doing this. She's not trying to be a bitch or anything.

"Michael." She has a real soft voice, and it's got like this drawl on it. Like Kelly's but more southern. "I think you should take Kelly home."

"We came separate," I just realize.

"Kelly says you have a quiz tomorrow morning."

"Yeah, like I'm in real good shape to take it."

"I realize you're not, and that's perfectly understandable, but you have to attempt it. Your father's going to get upset if you just collapse under all this. You need to keep going."

"What'm I gonna do when he wakes up? I go to school, I don't get to see him till tomorrow night!" And Thursday's even worse. I got labs all fucking day long.

"What's your schedule like tomorrow?"

"Two lectures, quiz in the first one, calc from 5 to 7, I'm supposed to work 12 to 5."

"I think maybe skipping work would be all right. Skipping classes, well, I know how your dad feels about that."

Oh Christ. Work actually starts tomorrow. Fuck.

I got to get out of it. Debbie, who's the coordinator, is gonna be pissed, but she can eat it if she doesn't like it. Lots of people ask for me there now. I'm not-what's the word I learned last year?-a pariah. Least not there I'm not.

I don't need my GPA getting fucked up-that'd give Dad another heart attack, that's for sure.

If he survives this one.

I don't know what to do...so I just lean over amid all the crap on my dad, and I give him a hug.

I tell him I love him.

I hope he heard me.

I hope it matters to him.
 

Kelly's waiting for me. She's almost asleep.

"Michael, let's go home." She puts her arm around my waist.

"Don't wanna go home. Wanna go with you." I'm so tired and strung out, I can barely talk.

"That's what I mean, Michael."

We walk out together...and I swear I'm sleeping on my feet.

END OF PART 28