She wakes in the late morning to the sun warming her toes. She has rarely been in bed at this time of day and the light is beautiful how it filters through the East window. Years ago they would sleep in like this, make love and drink coffee in bed. That was before they were spouses, parents, respectable citizens, grandparents. Deryle is in his deep sleep oblivion. She could wake him, but she'd rather him remain there. It was only four hours ago that they sat on their deck watching the sunrise, permanent and tragic. Finally unable to fight off the exhaustion, they crawled into bed. “I can sleep when I’m dead,” she joked. He didn’t laugh. She sits on the bed next to him and gently kisses his check, careful to leave him in his dream land. His 73rd Birthday is in 9 months, she wishes he had been born first, so that he would never know this loss.
The bathroom
She decides to leave the water in the tub. They used their daily ration early this morning and Deryle may need water today. When they had built their house they had recreated the Japanese soaking tub from the night of their honeymoon. Tubs were old fashioned, and most people had already converted theirs into hydroponic vegetable gardens. She is finally grateful they hadn’t. They talked briefly about making love, but it felt too forced. So, the two old friends settled on a bath. She was wrapped in his arms, while they cried. He washed her hair, while they laughed. “I can go with you, I should go with you,” he had said. “Don’t be silly”, she answered, “I’ll see you soon enough.” But, she wasn’t completely sure if that was true.
She looks in the mirror. A sea of wrinkles, like waves, is drowning her still bright eyes. She unbraids her long, silver hair. Puts on her favorite crystal earrings and her grandmother’s wedding dress. The simple, satin dress hangs on her petite frame. She decided against the “Next Step” center, where death is pleasant. She wanted to die at home where her children were born, where her garden grew and where her husband slept. In less than one hour, the chip, that sat dormant in her for years, will finally fulfill its ghastly destiny and end her life.
The kitchen
She labels the last two frozen meals and adds heating directions for him. She hopes he continues to eat healthy. Not that it matters. Regardless of health, wealth or responsibilities, everyone’s life will terminate at 10:59 am on their 73rd birthday. In their 30’s they were both vocal supporters. The country was bankrupt. Young people and children were dying from lack of health care, housing and food. There were many drastic changes everyone had to make. The most difficult being supported by the data that after the age of 70, life was just too expensive to sustain. She had divided a few precious items and put personal notes in each for her family. She sadly wrote the name of her first granddaughter, Pearl, on the box containing her wedding ring and the bronzed shoes of her eldest daughter. She remember bronzing the shoes, baby shoes, they used to call her.
The mudroom
She cuddles up next to her large Labrador who is still sleeping on his mat. He too is aging and fortunately no longer requires long walks. How long will it take him to stop looking for her when their car drives up. She wishes she could explain that she isn’t abandoning him. She thinks of her two sons and her eight grandchildren. They had come for dinner last night, the house loud with laughter, voices and music. There were secret tears in the corner, where she wasn’t supposed to see them, and a great big cake with 73 candles on top. One blessing was that now her children’s chip would take effect at age 77, her grandchildren’s at 84. It was a natural effect of the improved health care and quality of life.
The garage
She gets into the passenger seat of his tiny car. She reclines the seat back as far as it will go, then waits. She didn’t take the anti-anxiety pill that her doctor gave her at the last visit. She wants to be in her mind and her body. She has lived with the morbid shadow of this day for most of her life. She once had the romantic idea that she would dig a whole in the cottonwood bosque and die there. But, she could no longer dig. And Deryle can no longer carry her, so she walked her self the car. This car will do. She speaks to the car’s chip, “Pink Floyd, Wish You Were Here” and the soft melodic tune drifts out of the car speakers and soothes her. “Pearl” Deryle calls out from the bedroom. “Pearl,” he is walking over, his voice frantic. She looks at the clock 10:5
