Link: Every Day Is Your Last Title Page and Description

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Richard moved out of his parent's house in October of eighty-eight, just a few days after his eighteenth birthday while he still had most of his senior year left. He moved into Jack's house and got a part-time job after school to help with money. Jack used to say that after they moved in together was when their friendship saw its first real test.

It was a really hard time for them. Rich was working, Jack was depressed a lot of the time, and Rich's parents were calling him every day asking him to come home. Rich told me that by Christmas break things had hit their lowest point. Most of the details though I got from Jack and Erica.

High school is supposed to be about learning to deal with real life. Jack and Richard only got three years of that before they had to start living it. That year seemed to be a living hell that nearly ruined their friendship, and more.

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Jack was brooding on the couch again. The last day before Christmas break he'd learned that Wendy was changing classes and she would be moved to his Government class at the start of the last semester. To make matters worse, his teacher Mr. Anderson always paired students for study and discussion. The first semester had been great. He'd been the odd student out, so he was solo and didn't have a partner. With Wendy joining the class, Mr. Anderson wouldn't want to split any of the existing study pairs, so he was certain he would end up being assigned as her partner.

"So much for graduating!" Jack grumbled.

Shaking his head, Richard was finishing getting ready for work at a local tire store. "Look, Jack. Why borrow trouble? If you end up being assigned together, there's nothing you can do about it! You'll just have to learn to live with it. It's only for a few months, then you'll never have to see her again."

"How would you like it if you got paired with Anne? Sound like a picnic?"

"Damn it, Jack! Quit sulking and grow up! I gotta go! See you tomorrow!" Richard barked before slamming the front door on his way out.

Mary quietly came out of her bedroom. Since her schedule had changed to swing shift, she usually slept while the boys were at school. "Good afternoon, dear. I hear school was bad. Is there anything I can do?"

"No, Mom. I guess I just have to suck it up if I want to graduate in June."

"Are you still looking at joining the Marines with Richard after graduation?"

Jack stared at the living room ceiling. "I don't know anymore, Mom. I don't even know if Rich will stick around that long. I've sort of been getting on his nerves lately. I know I should try harder, but..." Jack sighed. "...I just... I don't care about anything anymore."

Sitting next to him, her voice trembled. "Sit up, Jack. I want to talk to you."

Without much enthusiasm, he slowly sat up. "OK, Mom. Let me have it."

"No, dear. This isn't a lecture. I want to talk to you about when your father died. Do you remember that?"

"How could I ever forget." he replied sarcastically.

Looking away from her son, Mary swallowed hard. "After the funeral, I... I knew I had to get a job, but I just couldn't seem to get out of the house to do it. It was... just too hard! I... I couldn't see the point. Why face that hardship? What made it worthwhile?" She looked back at him. "Sound familiar?"

"Vaguely." he quipped. "So how'd you do it, Mom? What magic gave you a purpose?"

"You." she said simply.

"Oh. So, you saw I needed to be taken care of and did what you had to do?"

"No, I saw you needed the same thing I did... purpose. You were just as lost as I was. So I left the house so you had to do things for yourself."

"I don't see how this helps." Jack sat back. "I mean, I get it. I was important enough to you that you had to make me find a purpose, which gave you a purpose, but how can I do the same thing?"

Mary's voice quivered again. "Jack, I'm not as young as I used to be. I... I'm getting old dear. I... I can't keep working much longer."

Sitting up, Jack really looked at his mother for the first time in many years. Intellectually, he knew she was sixty-five, but he'd never seen her look it so much as she did now. "Mom? I... I'm sorry! Sorry that I was ever even born! You shouldn't have had to put up with a baby at your age!"

"No, dear!" she cried. "I wouldn't trade being your mother for all the youth in the world! You were a true gift from God! Your father and I loved every second we had together with you! Don't ever think otherwise!"

Taking a deep breath, Jack began trying not to care about his own problems. All that mattered was his mother and seeing to it she was taken care of. "I... I'm sorry, Mom. I'm really glad you and Dad got to have your baby, and by lucky coincidence, it's was me!"

"Oh, Jack!" Mary laughed. "You always could make me smile! It's your gift. You know just what to say to put a little laughter in people's lives when they need it!"

"Comes from watching all those old TV shows with you and Dad! Comedy hasn't been the same since they took Uncle Miltie off the air!"

"So that's where you get it!" she joked.

"OK, Mom. I get it. Turn that frown upside down, make lemons into lemon pie, make my smile my umbrella, put my shoulder to the wheel, get those high apple pie in the sky hopes, and so on, and so on." Taking another deep breath, he stood up, stretched, and headed for his room. "I have semester finals to study for, so I better get cracking!"

Mary smiled as she heard his door close. Danny? He's hurting so badly. If there's anything you can do for our boy, he surely could use it soon!

Jack dropped into his desk chair, his false optimism spent in his display for his mother's benefit. Thinking how he could help her with Wendy about to become his study partner only led to one conclusion. I'm not gonna graduate anyway, so I might as well drop out and get a full time job so she can finally retire. Failing to graduate was a huge blow to his ego. If there was a certainty in his life, it was that he would get his diploma and see Mary sitting there proud of him, but that was gone. They needed money and she couldn't earn it much longer. Richard's part time job only offset the higher cost of food and utilities he'd added to the household, so they were no better off than before.

Doing some quick math, he determined that the start of the spring semester should be his target for having a full time job that paid at least ten dollars per hour. Any less and they wouldn't be able to get by, let alone deal with emergencies. Jack then spotted the discrepancy. There's no way for a high school dropout to get a ten-dollar job!

A new despair straddled his shoulders. Nice little catch-twenty-two! If I quit school, I can't get a good enough job for her to retire. If she doesn't retire, then I don't need to quit high school, but if I don't quit high school, I'll flunk out anyway and Mom can't retire.

Now even more depressed, he sank into an apathy that would take a near catastrophe to shake him from it.

Richard walked in the front door to the Dunning home at eleven. Bone tired, he dragged his body down the dark hallway to the room he and Jack shared. When he opened the door and saw Jack passed out on his bed, not Jack's, it was the final straw. He kicked his bed.

"Get up!" he shouted. "Jack! Get your lazy ass out of my bed!" He reached down and jerked his friend up by the hair.

Jack was awake in the blink of an eye. "What the hell! Let go! That hurts!"

"That's it!" he yelled. "I've had it! I'm moving out of this shit hole and into somewhere decent enough to shower and sleep in!"

Only vaguely aware of his surroundings, Jack only knew that Richard was pulling his hair. Fighting back, he elbowed Richard in the kidneys, making him let go. The two boys stumbled in the mess of their room for a minute, each trying to punch the other's lights out. The only advantage Jack had was familiarity. He knew where to step in the clutter, while Richard scrambled for footing. The outcome was inevitable though.

Jack felt Richard's fist connect as he tried to escape over his bed. He had a feeling of falling, then he noticed that he really was falling. The last thing he saw was the corner of his nightstand racing towards his head.

Richard watched himself deck his best friend as if it were a scene in a movie that he was idly watching. When the blood splattered out of Jack's nose and he fell face first into the nightstand, Richard felt a moment of terror. The two blows had to have killed his only true friend.

He backed away from the body, every instinct in his brain telling him to run away as far and as fast as he could. Back to his parent's house, steal their car since it would have more than the five gallons of gas in his own used vehicle, drive all night, then just before they got up in the morning, abandon it somewhere out of sight and run until he dropped from exhaustion.

The only thing that stopped his flight was the desperate need to stand up to the worst enemy his best friend had ever faced; him. Looking down at his bloody fist and then his friend's apparently lifeless body, he saw Jack move. Just a ragged breath, but it told him that Jack was still alive and needed help.

Carefully, he moved Jack to the floor while supporting his neck and head. Remembering the first aid training they'd both received in ROTC, he knew what to do, making an improvised cervical collar by tearing up his pillow. Once Jack's neck was immobilized, he checked all his vital signs. He was breathing and he had a pulse, but he was unconscious; probably with a severe concussion.

He lifted Jack up off the floor gently, making sure to keep his neck and back straight, and carried him out to the station wagon he'd bought from his father the previous year for five hundred dollars. Sliding him carefully into the back seat, he buckled him down and got behind the wheel. Driving as fast as he could, he got Jack to the hospital in less than five minutes. The story he told them was the truth; they'd been fighting and he'd knocked Jack out. Confused by the obvious concern that Richard was showing to his alleged victim, they nevertheless followed procedure and called the police.

When Jack woke up, he knew something was wrong. His room was never this bright. The world now just consisted of a blanket of whiteness with nothing visible, not even himself. He vaguely recalled the nightmare he'd had of fighting Richard. He knew it couldn't have been real because if he ever fought his best friend, it wouldn't have lasted that long. Slowly, he became aware that his nightmare had turned into reality.

Or is this still part of the nightmare? he wondered.

He existed nowhere for an unknown amount of time with minutes seeming to stretch on for centuries. It let him think. He thought about his father, his mother, Richard, Buttons, Frank, Judith, Wendy... everyone. He seemed to have all the time in the world with nothing to do but think. He went over all the things that had led him to that fatal point in his life where he'd driven his best friend to turn against him.

After spending a seeming eternity mulling it over, he eventually saw clearly that his entire life had turned on a single point; the day Richard stopped Ox from pummeling him in the lunchroom. Remove that one event and the entire thread of his life came apart. Then it was joined by millions of other events, each just as important as the rest.

He thought about God, his mind drifting aimlessly through scripture, some of which he was sure he'd never read before. He thought about his problems; school, work, and his mother's retirement. Then oddly enough, his thoughts drifted back to Buttons. Always around, always underfoot, always... there. She seemed one of the few constants in his life, as constant as his mother, Richard, or sunrise. Sometimes he could almost hear her voice, but then he would drift again and be thinking about Wendy or his mom.

When he thought about God, he wondered what He was waiting for. If this nightmare was real, then he must be in limbo waiting God's judgement. But I've already been waiting forever. How much longer will it be? he wondered. He tried talking to God. He asked questions that received no answers. He asked for an end to his unending nothing of an existence, but it never came. He thought about his life and all the bad things he'd ever done to anyone, and then he thought about all the good things he could have done and didn't. And his bodiless life wept.

Once during his eternal drifting, he thought he heard a voice. Not really a voice, but a half-remembered dream of a voice. It spoke nonsense, but it was definitely there. When it went away he drifted once more. Then it came back and it sounded somehow familiar, like remembering the voice of a person that only exists in your dreams. The words were audible, but too faint to understand. Listening to it, he tried moving towards it. Lacking anything to move, he tried just drifting towards it. It got clearer the more he did, but then the voice stopped and he would drift for another eternity.

When he'd almost convinced himself that the voice had never really been there, suddenly it was back again, but different... smaller... like he'd drifted too far away to hear it clearly anymore. So he tried again. He was sure that if he found the voice it would end his torment of eternity, but every time he tried to follow it, the voice would vanish once more.

The next time he heard it he ignored it. Then again... and again. When he couldn't stand it anymore, he begged for help from anybody that could, but nothing changed. Drifting once more, things became fainter... darker... and the voices disappeared. He figured that finally his eternity of torment was coming to an end and he was going to be allowed to drift off into oblivion; a fitting end for a boy who had cared so little for anyone but himself.

Eventually, the darkness took him and he was no more.

Jack stood in emptiness. It was different this time. It wasn't eternal drifting. It was more like a dream. He wasn't sure if the dead ever dreamed, but here he was, so they must.

"It's not a dream, son. And you're not dead!" the man's voice said.

Looking around, Jack couldn't see him. He couldn't even hear him. It was as though he just knew what the man was saying.

"You can." the voice said.

He tried to speak, but nothing worked. He was a nothing; not even a drifting consciousness.

"You can wake up, ya' know."

Finally able to recognize the voice of his dead father, he wanted to ask how to wake up, but didn't know how to even ask how.

"You just did."

Before he could even formulate the idea of a question, the answer was there.

"I told you! You're not dead, ya' igit! Don't you wanna wake up, Jack?"

"Yes." his thoughts formed.

"Then do it!"

"How?"

"Want to!"

"I do."

"Horsefeathers! If you did, you would!"

Suddenly, Jack saw his father, but it wasn't as he remembered him. It was more like an idealized version of him. He wasn't sure when the man appeared in front of him. It was almost as though he'd always been there, but he'd just failed to notice him.

"So what's holding you back, son?"

"Pain." Jack replied.

"So what! Push through it and it'll be behind you."

"Dad? Are you sure this isn't a dream? It feels like one... and you're dead."

"So? You think that matters, Jack?"

"You're saying I can wake up anytime I want to?"

"Yup."

"So that means I don't want to."

"Now you've got it!"

The distant voice returned. It was small again.

"It's people." his father told him, looking upward at the darkness as though he could see someone who wasn't there.

"Real ones?"

"Yep... and no, not dead ones!"

"So if I can..."

"You can't will it boy! You have to want it!"

"What if I want to be here with you?"

"Then eventually you'll die, and your life will have been a waste. That's not what I raised ya' for, Jack!"

"What did..."

"To live, dag nabbit! You did, for a while, but then you got hurt and you died again! People think living and dying are something ya' do only once, but there are a whole heap of people that're dead inside that walk around every day! They forgot how ta' live! Damn walking corpses with not a shred of life in 'em!"

"Will waking up and living hurt?"

"Like the dickens, kid! But it'll be worth it! 'Sides, you got things ta' do! So git!"

Jack listened to the voice again and for the first time, wanted to be with it.

"so... ... ... school... ... ... mom... ... Richie... ... ... trouble. I guess... love... ... never know."

Jack opened his eyes and they were stabbed with a light that cut like a knife. He quickly shut them again to try and stop the pain.

"Jack?"

He tried to speak, felt his tongue move, and was stabbed again by a knife, this time in his throat.

"I'll go get the doctor!"

With the voice gone and the light too painful to look at, Jack thought he'd drifted to the nothing place again. Then he heard footsteps and the voice.

"See? Look! He's moving!"

A sea of sounds assaulted his ears and he couldn't stop them. He wanted desperately to have the ability to close his ears the way he'd closed his eyes. The sounds blasted his eardrums until he thought he'd gone deaf. Then he noticed he hadn't. The sounds were just finally tolerable and sounded normal once more.

"BP?"

"One hundred over sixty."

"He's trying to talk. Jack? I'm Doctor Marks. You're in the hospital. You've suffered a severe concussion and neck injury. If you can understand me, try to open your eyes."

Jack tried to shake his head no, that he didn't want to open his eyes because of the pain, but his head wouldn't budge.

"He's getting agitated, Doctor. Pulse one fifty."

"Very well. Administer five CCs morphine."

Knowing that would knock him out, he forced himself to calm down.

"His rate's dropping."

Gathering all his nerve, he opened his eyes.

"Jack!" the small voice cried out. He was finally able to recognize that it was Erica Hargrave. Buttons!

"Nurse! Get her out of here, please!" the man's voice spat harshly.

Terrified that if Erica left he'd lose her voice and fall back into the nothing, Jack began to panic.

"Pulse rising rapidly, doctor. One forty."

"Wait! Nurse, bring her back."

"Pulse dropping."

"You want her to stay?"

He tried to nod, to no avail. He blinked.

"OK, once for yes, twice for no. Do you want the girl to stay?"

Blink.

"The girl has a name!" Erica snapped.

Blink.

"Do you know her name?" the doctor asked probingly.

Blink.

"Do you know who you are."

Blink.

"Do you know how you got here?"

Blink... blink.

"Do you know the date?"

Blink... blink.

"Alright he's breathing on his own. Let's remove the breathing tube. Nurse? Alright... hold his head steady..."

The knife was carving into his throat again, and then just as suddenly it was gone. He moved his mouth ineffectually, trying to form words, but they wouldn't come out.

"Is... is Jack trying to talk?" Erica asked.

"Yes sweetie, but his throat is sore... very, very sore!"

Jack looked down with his eyes and for the first time could see something. Not exactly faces, but the sort of images that you think are faces but are just random patterns in things. Then the faces started clearing and Jack could make out details. Glasses over eyes. The one on the right was a woman. There was another face... smaller and farther away.

"Try to make a sound with your mouth. Whisper. Not your speaking voice."

"Ouch!" Jack whispered.

"Jack!" Erica giggled.

Smiling, Jack knew he'd used his gift the way God had intended him to. Becoming very tired, his eyes closed.

Some time later he woke up to the sound of his mother's voice.

"Thou hast set our iniquities before thee, our secret sins in the light of thy countenance. For all our days are passed away in thy wrath: we spend our years as a tale that is told."

"Thirsty." Jack whispered.

"Jack!? Here..."

Wetness touched his tongue again, slowly loosening it. "Thanks."

"Jack baby, do you know where you are?"

"Hospital."

"Do you know what happened?"

"Rich."

"Yes." she said, her voice hard. "He's under arrest for attempted murder."

"No!" he almost spoke.

"Jack, he tried to kill you!"

"No!"

"Well, what happened then?"

"Me."

"You?" she asked confusedly.

"My fault. Selfish."

"Jack, someone being selfish isn't a reason to..."

"Both... fighting."

"You... you hit him?"

"Poorly." he smiled.

Hearing his mother laugh brought tears to his eyes. "Jack!"

He tried nodding, but couldn't. "Can't move."

"You're immobilized, dear. Your neck was nearly broken. Richard... he immobilized you before bringing you to the hospital."

"Good thinking." Once more exhaustion overcame him and he fell asleep.

When Jack next awoke, he was alone. When he tried to move he found this time he was able to, lifting his head and looking around his room. Seeing he was in a private room with the second bed empty, he looked down and saw a remote control with a red button on it. He chuckled when it made him think of Erica. Reaching slowly, he grasped it and pressed, hoping that it was a nurse call button and not a trigger for an infusion pump. When he didn't fall asleep, he waited until the nurse came.

"Good afternoon!" she said cheerily. "I'm Maggie. You need something?"

"Water." he whispered. Once she'd handed him a cup, he tried swallowing. It hurt badly, but he endured it and it went away. "Thank you."

"You're welcome..." she paused and looked at the foot of his bed. "Jack!"

"Where's my mom?"

"I believe your mother's gone home to rest. She's spent a lot of time here. A lot of people have."

"Phone?"

Maggie retrieved it for him and set it next to his right hand. It was an older phone with a rotary dial instead of touch-tone buttons. "Dial nine to get an outside line. Anything else?"

"No, thank you." he whispered.

After she left, he tried dialing his mother's phone number. It rang until he'd figured if anyone was home that they would have answered. Hanging up, he tried the Hargrave's house. This time, it connected.

"Hello?" Erica answered.

"Buttons!" he croaked.

"Jack! Dad! It's Jack! You're all the way awake?" she asked.

"Ouch!" he croaked again.

Hearing her giggle was like the ringing of angelic bells, until they stopped.

"Jack? This is Frank. You alright, boy?"

"Hurting. Where's Rich?"

"He... uh... he's in jail, Jack. Under arrest for attempted murder."

"Not true. He saved me."

"Jack, he confessed!"

"He lied."

"Listen, Jack. I know you two had a row about something. That's none of my business, but he says he tried to kill you and was going to flee prosecution. He's being held without bail."

"But he didn't. He lied when he confessed. I hit him first."

"Where? The police found no marks on him except on his right knuckles where he... well... bashed your face in."

"Elbow... kidney..."

"Hmm... he's been hit there so many times I doubt a single hit would show. Jack, are you saying it was self defense?"

"Yes... and an accident. Hit nightstand. Rich saved me."

"I'm going to talk with our lawyer. Would you swear to what you're saying?"

"Not polite to swear!"

"Alright, boy." Frank laughed. "I have to go. Do you need anything?"

"Mom? No answer."

"Oh. I... I think she's down in the chapel, there at the hospital. She spends a lot of time there. Anything else?"

"Buttons."

"You want what? Oh! Erica! Jack wants to talk to you, sweetie. Daddy's gonna make a phone call in the office. Talk to Jack."

"Jack?" she asked.

"Hey ya, Buttons. Wanted to ask you something."

"What?"

"Did you come in my hospital room and talk to me a lot?"

Silence filled the space between them. "Yeah." she finally said shyly.

"You helped."

"I did?"

"Uh-huh! You're my miracle girl! I heard you."

Again dead air filled the void. "Um... all of it?"

"No, just pieces. Couldn't tell it was you, at first. I think I heard Mom talking once, and a doctor... I think. Who all came to see me?"

"Um... a lot of people. Dad, Mom, me, your mom, they let Richie in once before he went to jail, and that Wendy twice, I think."

He heard the disdain in her voice at the mention of Wendy. "Don't like her?"

"She... she hurt you, Jack! Maybe even worse than Richie did!"

"Richie didn't mean to hurt me, Buttons. I told your dad that. He's calling his lawyer to try and get your brother out of jail."

"But Richie told me..."

"He lied. I hit him and then fell. Rich saved me."

"Jack, I... I told Richie that I hated him and never wanted to see him again because of what he told me he did to you."

"He'll forgive you, Buttons. He always will." Jack coughed painfully. Taking a sip of water, he said, "Can't talk much longer. How's everyone?"

"Mom moved out. Her and Dad had a big fight. She's staying with Aunt Edina. I... I think she went a little crazy after you got hurt."

"OK. I hope she's better soon."

"I thought you hated her, after she let Wendy hurt you."

"I want to forgive her. She didn't mean for me to get hurt."

"I don't know if I can. I warned her, and she let you date Wendy anyway."

"Buttons, I know you may not understand this now, but someday you will understand, I... I had to get hurt."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I just know I had to."

"Oh. Alright. If you say so. Doesn't mean I have to like it!"

"That's OK. I have to go, Buttons. Thanks again for helping me get better."

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you just call me Erica from now on? Buttons is so... childish. After all, I'm fourteen now."

Jack did an unconscious double take. "Wait, what?"

"Could you just call me..."

"No! You're how old?"

"Fourteen. You were asleep through my birthday."

Afraid to ask, but more afraid of not knowing, he forced himself to ask the question. "How long... what day is it?"

"It's Sunday... um... February twelfth."

Slowly it came to him that he'd missed nearly two months of his life. "Gotta go, B... Erica. Bye." At that he hung up.

Erica heard him hang up before she dared say it. "I love you, Jack. I'll always love you! Bye."