EXCERPT



I sat at my desk in the darkened den, allowing me a full view, one final view, of Biscayne Bay. I had only to swivel the chair around to gaze out on that beautiful body of water. The nondescript pills lay in front of me beside a full water glass of Scotch. Waterford crystal. Elizabeth was down to earth with people, but otherwise she believed in the classy household accoutrements we could well afford.

I had placed a bottle of Tylenol next to the pills. If my watchdog used superspy means to see into the dark interior with the array of equipment I suspected he had, he would assume I had a headache and was preparing for an even bigger one with the Scotch. The envelope containing the letter to Jim sat upright behind the devils concoction, leaning against the Mont Blanc pens in the gold and marble pen set the office crew had given me on my retirement. My friend outside would have to guess what the envelope contained. I enjoyed playing the game with him.

The ingredients of the small, oval capsules were well known to me, thanks to a casual conversation with Jim years ago. Purely on an academic level at the time, we had debated the question of whether a suicide could be masked as a heart attack. The circumstances surrounding ones death might give rise to suspicions of self-inflicted death, but the means by which it is accomplished would not show up in an ordinary autopsy. It would read: Cardiac arrest, precipitated by over consumption of alcohol. It would not add but merely imply: by aggrieved subject.

All manners of thoughts raced through my head at that moment. I had not expected this reaction. Suicide seemed so simple, so efficient, when considered from a distance. Offing oneself. Displacing Gods will with Mans desire. Quick and easy, I had always believed. I stared at the three pills, then at the grandfather clock glaring down at me from the opposite wall. 8:30 p.m. How well I remembered when Elizabeth finally prevailed upon me to purchase it. The soft gongs on the hour and half hour were a comforting sound through the years, as if hearing them let us know we would live to see another hour in the day, another hour in our lives. At the end, it betrayed us. The chimes became the sounds of death, of finality. I could not hear them now without thinking of Elizabeths final hours. Donne was right. The bell tolls for all of us.

I turned, instinctively surveyed the pool, the rear yard and the dock to see if I indeed had company, then let my eyes settle on the distant lights of Key Biscayne. The patio lights had been turned on and dimmed, purposely to create a glare on the picture window behind which I sat. I glanced back at the clock.

8:35. Only took ten minutes for the little killers to do their job fifteen minutes to change my mind.

In the subdued light, my attention suddenly was drawn to the backs of my hands as they lay folded in my lap. Wrinkled. Funny, I had not paid much attention to them before now. They trembled slightly. When my father was dying, Elizabeth told me nails turn blue just before death, a way to tell the end is near. His were. Mine seemed so clear, so manicured and clean.

8:42. I propped my feet up on the credenza, leaned back and closed my eyes. I smiled. Why close them? They would be closed soon enough. The Scotch might assure that even before the pills took effect. Was I agonizing over my decision, wavering? No, I will not allow my mind to work me over, to preempt the debate.

It is time. Turning back toward the desk, I reached for the pills, let them roll into the palm of my hand. The first full swallow of Glenlivit tasted good, slid slowly down my throat. I drank down half the glass, paused momentarily, then popped the pills into my mouth. Already a little groggy. The remainder of the Scotch went down easy.

I glanced again at the grandfather clock 8:50 then swiveled around, brought my feet again up on the credenza, leaned back, and took in one last view of the bay. Cutting it close. Almost oversoon nowvery groggysleepycant keep eyes openta ta, bye bye, tschss, adieuadios, amigosgoodbye, my loved onessorry, Jim

Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Eliza