"Damn that Auden," sighed Hank as he drove after hearing Harris's account. "You okay by the way?"
"Yeah." Harris concealed, although his insides weren't hurting as much from the cancer as they were from the events that had unfolded.
"Should've gotten yourself checked out...seems to be in demand," Hank muttered to himself.
"What?"
Hank sighed again.
"Sylvia says I should get my – can't believe I'm saying this – my potency level checked. Because we haven't had any luck yet," he said awkwardly. Knowing Hank, this must have been a huge blow to his masculinity.
"There's no shame in it, man."
"I just don't know how I can call up a clinic and ask them to prepare a room for me where I can deposit my...whatever, in a cup. And now I have to go home and have a long chat about this with Sylvia."
"This is the place?" Harris observed a card placed on the dashboard.
"Damn, I shouldn't leave that lying around." Hank looked even more embarrassed. "Please just keep it with you, will you?."
Harris didn't press on further. Roslin had delivered a huge blow to him, and all the strength he had collected was beaten out. Hank seemed relieved when they parted. It was late in the night but Harris had no intention of sleeping. There was somewhere he needed to be the next day.
There were many people at the funeral. He hadn't expected that. As the coffin was lowered into the ground, the mourners grieved. Some sobbed into their tissues, some held onto one another, while some – like Harris – stood back. Evidently, the man had a large number of siblings, but problems with his addiction had caused them to sever ties one by one. But the collective sentiment around the graveyard was one of regret.
"It was his choice," consoled one sister to another, who was sobbing. "We tried helping but he wouldn't accept."
"We shouldn't have let him go," wailed the woman.
Roslin's last words to him flickered in Harris's mind. He looked at the grave. The man had had people willing to support him, but not taken it. Much like Harris himself.
Little by little, the mourners left until only a few people remained in the graveyard. Harris stayed behind. After so long, he had nowhere to be.
Oreo's grave was encapsulated in darkness the first time he'd seen it. Now he appreciated just how small it really was. It was remarkable, he thought, how that space occupied by her had so much impact on the world she had left behind.
Harris had hoped visiting the little girl's grave would have brought him some recompense, but he was wrong. Looking at it, he only felt his sorrow exacerbate, for a life so precious to be snatched away so quickly. He looked at the man beside him who had accompanied him here; he seemed to be on the verge of tears. He considered consoling him but decided against it, not wanting to intrude on his moment with his deceased loved one.
"It's been such a sad day...but I like that," he heard someone speak to his right and looked down to see a young girl pointing at Oreo's gravestone.
– Happiness is just a smile away –
Oriana
"That really is beautiful." Harris hadn't noticed the inscription before.
"It made me smile," said the girl. Harris realized who she was. It was the addict's daughter. He hadn't noticed her at all during the funeral.
"I'm...sorry about your dad," he offered his condolence to the girl.
"Thank you. Did you know my dad well?"
It was odd to be speaking to a child – who seemed barely a decade old – about her father's death. This girl clearly hadn't lost any of the innocence that children so aptly possess.
"You could say we were bunk buddies," he said; they had shared adjoining beds.
"That's nice, I'm glad he had a friend," the girl grinned.
"Are you okay?" he asked unsurely. Harris considered the possibility of her being in denial.
"Everyone keeps asking me that. It's just that I promised my dad I would always be happy whenever I saw him, and I saw him again today so I have to keep my promise, don't I?"
"I suppose so." Harris smiled, fortunately, the girl couldn't see the sadness in his eyes.
"My mom says he'll be happy here but I'm not sure, because he never did well with adults."
"Well, I think I can put you at ease." Harris cleared his voice and pointed toward Oreo's grave. "My friend here was around your age, maybe a couple of years younger."
"You think she'll keep him company?"
"I have no doubt about that. Your dad's going to have his hands full."
"I hope she makes him smile like he always did around me."
"That's Oreo's specialty, she was smiling the day she went, and I'm sure she still is. In fact..." He glossed over his final meeting with the addict yesterday. "...Last time I saw your dad he had the biggest smile on his face."
The girl nearly laughed in relief. "Thank you so much for telling me. I never got to see him a last time."
Behind Harris, the man finally broke into tears.
"My mom kept crying like him. I heard her saying she wished she could have told my dad so many things."
"Last times count, I'm afraid." Harris thought of his own family.
"But if people can tell how they feel whenever they can, then why don't they?"
"It's..." Harris had no clue why he was so stumped, perhaps because she made it all sound laughably simple.
"I wish someone had told my father how they felt sooner, maybe they could have helped." The little girl said in a matter-of-fact manner. "Anyway..."
She moved close to Oreo's grave and kissed it.
"Take good care of him, Oreo."
Harris resisted the urge to drop down and hug the girl.
"Thank you for talking to me," the girl bid him goodbye.
"I figure you like keeping promises, so please keep this one for me. Don't ever change."
"I'll try not to. And if you have someone you want to help, please do, promise?" she beamed at him as her mother escorted her away.
"Yeah..." He mouthed.
Harris turned back to Oreo's gravestone. Just a smile away.
Without a second thought – not for the weeping man next to him or for his own health – Harris treaded toward the exit gate before breaking into a run. His destination was far away but there was no one he could call, and at that moment, Harris had no care for that.
His body, however, began its refusal to comply with his demands; his insides heated up the more he ran, akin to the rumblings of a long-dormant volcano ready to explode. He implored his willpower to enable him to move one foot after another, to resist the intensity of the pain.
It was a long time before he could continue no longer. Harris fell on a wall for support, and wheezed his breaths, almost gasping for air. However, he found his motivation to continue when he realized he'd been resting on the wall of a liquor bar.
The sight of a man holding a tankard of alcohol was enough to make him set off again. His tired legs dutifully complied now as their master finally had control over himself.
Harris jumped over the stairs, not stopping to wait for the elevator. Without bothering to knock, he burst into the apartment. His friend sat on the couch, with trembling hands holding the head that was hunched down, the faint sounds of sobbing could be heard from behind a door to the right.
"So it's come to this, huh?" Harris asked.
"Harris... you look...my God...What happened to you?" Auden saw him. Instantly, his face morphed into concern, eyes wide as he surveyed Harris's condition, who saw his reflection in the mirror behind Auden.
Harris's eyes were bloodshot, his hair tattered all around, his clothes soaked in sweat, and his torso heaved dangerously as his lungs struggled for air. He had one hand on the wall while the other gripped his gut tightly; it was all he could do to prevent himself from screaming.
"What happened to you, man?" Harris cut him off.
"Look, I don't need this right now-"
"When will you need it, then!?" He shouted, and it helped with the pain. "When you've gotten yourself thrown six feet under?"
"Look, Harris-"
"I'm not here to discuss anything... I don't have the luxury of time," he wheezed. "You do, Auden, every second you're breathing, every thought you have in your head, you can take as long as you want with them. But that doesn't mean you should. Because you're not living just for yourself, don't be selfish to think that."
If Auden had anything to retort with, he held it back, even he knew that Harris wouldn't have been there had he not had something remarkable to say.
"I didn't bring you and Laarni together all that time ago just so you could shatter her life. I knew who my friend was, and he was someone who didn't give up as I did." Harris continued. "You brought me friendship – all you guys. We mean something."
He grunted as he tried to stand straighter.
"I just saw someone who lost her world and she still wants to live. And you... you're throwing everything away when you don't have to... you said you felt as if life was moving past you... that doesn't happen, we move past life. We refuse to accept what it's trying to show us, and it's what drives us to mistake the people that love us for a burden."
Harris pointed toward the door.
"She has done everything in her power to stand by you, she still hasn't left. I only see you doing that. And you know what, if you think it's too difficult to understand, then you need to realize... she's there to help you with that. All you need – what we all need – is someone there to help us. And you've got her." He spoke powerfully, voice strong with emotion. "Because I can guarantee you, one day you will be dying inside with the memory of your last parting. With everything you could've done or said, but you won't get to do that, because you won't have the luxury of time..."
Harris leaned onto the wall now, as standing up became too difficult. Meanwhile, Auden looked up with tears in his eyes. His head darted back and forth between Harris and the door behind which Laarni was.
"I don't know what to say..."
"You've got nothing to say to me... just go get your girl..." Harris managed a weak smile, Auden sprang forward to pick him up as he fell to the ground. "No... just go... I'll manage..."
"I'm sorry, Harris, for the way I've been acting." Auden patted him, not bothering to wipe his tears away. "But I was just going to call you to give Roslin's message."
"What message?"
Auden produced an envelope from his pocket that Harris snatched quickly and tore open to read the contents of the letter.
Harris, I'm sorry for what I said to you, and I'm sorry for all the sorrow you had to endure because of me. I got to know you for the person you are, and if there is anyone worth saving it is you. You brought me the comfort of friendship and an end to years' worth of loneliness I never knew how to overcome. I would give my life in a heartbeat to save yours. But I can't. And I don't have the courage to see you move toward your death. I want so badly to make you see how much you can offer the world by choosing to live, but the choice is still yours. And I respect that. I think it's best if I stop lying to everyone. I'm leaving, I don't know where I'm going but it doesn't matter. What matters is that you're at peace, and I will spend all my days praying for you. Maybe that will be my closure.
Thank you for your friendship,
Roslin
Harris was no longer on the ground. He had leaped up with the vigor of a revitalized man.
"Harris, where are you going? You're in no state..." Auden exclaimed in alarm. But Harris had already dashed off.
He could not bear to imagine what it would mean if he were too late. Each memory of Roslin raced through his head as he cantered halfway across the city. Passersby stared in astonishment at the man who seemed to be dwindling between life and death. But it didn't matter if he died on the way; he would at least be at peace that his last act meant something.
Harris's lungs were on fire now. But he was dead set on making it. His left leg gave out; it could barely move. However, Harris put double the pressure on his other one as he limped on, coughing up a few droplets of blood from his throat.
"Come on! Move!" he bellowed in the air, finally making it through the final block. After what felt like an eternity, he halted to a stop. His heart bounded hard against his chest. Still, he pushed the door open, knowing this was where she would be.
Sure enough, there she sat. In her favorite spot. A zebra-striped mug in her hands. Harris had no care for discretion as the sounds of his labored breathing carried over to her. Her eyes traveled to him, from his hair to his face and down to his feet. Every second she looked at him, her face melted with sorrow, but she never turned her gaze away. Choosing to look at the person she felt she had wronged, and intending to let the image sink in.
"Harris." Roslin breathed. For the longest of moments there remained a silence between the two, save for his grunts of pain.
"Roslin." He acknowledged, with his hand on a table nearby to rest his weight on.
"I'm..."
"Don't apologize. I'm not here for a doctor," he spoke. Blood was trickling at the side of his mouth, his eyes leaked with red-hot tears, and his left leg limped to his side. But he was not there for pity.
"Good, because I'm not one anymore. I'm the one who's responsible for what's happened to you," she said quietly.
"Then running away is taking responsibility?"
"You're safer without me around."
Roslin didn't speak further, now turning her face away, as Harris gritted his teeth to control his pain.
"I've failed, Harris. Being a mother, a doctor, a wife. I thought I had something with you, but I'm not going to be selfish by making my problems yours."
"You think I sat through all those hours when you recounted Oreo's life – your life – thinking you were being selfish? I was there with you because I felt humbled and honored that you would wish to share your grief with me." Harris told her, his voice quivering. "I told you everything about myself...my parents, siblings, friends... and you sat patiently through all that... did you think I was selfish?"
"Absolutely not." Roslin broke her silence desperately. "Harris, every time I spoke to you I wanted to help you, I wanted for you to feel the love of family."
"I felt that when you spoke of yours, because I found someone who went through the same loss as me, I could talk to you without feeling ashamed... and I wanted to help you too."
"You did, Harris, you did." Roslin choked.
"No... I... went with Auden to visit your husband. And I convinced him to see you. Because I saw you needed your closure."
Roslin raised a hand to her mouth, tears streaming down into the cup she held.
"But today I met the daughter of the man who died. And it's not your fault, Roslin. Life wasn't fair to him, it wasn't fair to me, and it wasn't fair to you. But God sends someone for each and every one of us to help us with our loss. We just have to accept their help." Harris coughed. Roslin rose to help but he raised his hand to stop her, not finished with what he had to say. "As for closure, I apologize. Because I've been reminiscing with you thinking it was helping the both of us, but I didn't see how much it hurt you as well. You needed that closure, and I had hoped bringing your husband would've helped. But that wasn't my call to make."
"Please don't apologize."
"I hoped that you cared the same for me."
"I do, Harris," she assured him, her hand touching her heart lightly. "But I failed to be your doctor."
"Don't you dare," he coughed, shaking his head. "Don't you dare make the mistake of thinking that's all you are to me."
Harris struggled the last two steps and fell by Roslin's chair.
"I see now that all I can do is be here for you... because you're my friend." He gulped, his throat extremely raw. "I hope that's enough."
Roslin dropped from her seat as well – on her knees and level with him – taking his hand and placing hers on it. Harris grasped her hold.
"That's more than I ever asked for," she said, wiping the blood and tears from his face.
Harris laid his forehead on her shoulder, the toll on his body finally catching up to him. But Roslin's embrace and her gentle caressing on the back of his head brought ease to his pain. A sense of peace and comfort no amount of medicine could have brought him. And they remained so in each other's company.
"Har-Harold...?" She whispered.
"It's Harris, actually," he smiled, only to realize what she meant.
Someone else had entered the coffee shop. A middle-aged man, with a fair amount of hair still remaining in patches, a pair of glasses covering the eyes that had become frail from years' worth of solitude. His stance showed the same nervousness that Roslin was displaying. After all, they were meeting after so long.
"Roslin...?" he murmured.
She looked at Harris for answers.
"I didn't call him here. He was with me at the graveyard but I left." He picked himself up and moved clear.
"Harold, I am- I am so sorry for everything." Roslin breathed.
"No, Roslin. I turned Harris down when he'd called on me at first, but I visited Oreo's grave today. And I read that thing she always used to say about being happy." He smiled through his sadness. "I remembered this shop and thought how wonderful it would be to be back here."
"It does feel like home...But about us...about Oreo...I could've handled it better. I didn't think about you."
"We both made the same mistake." Harold raised his hand. "But I actually came here because Harris told me you had something to give me."
"I've got it." Harris extracted the dashboard polish from his pocket.
For a moment there was silence as all three of them looked at the bottle in confusion. The next second, they burst out laughing.
"This is as good a reason as any to see you, I suppose," said Harold.
"I don't know about you guys but I'm beat." Harris limped toward the door.
"Wait, Harris." Roslin jumped forward. "You're in no condition to walk."
"I'm not crazy, I'll take a cab." He winked at her. "Don't worry, I'm just going home and throwing myself on the bed. You and Harold have a lot to talk about."
And he left them staring at his wake, knowing they needed to embrace the grief they'd tried to hide from each other.
Stepping outside, Harris remembered how his father had always wanted him to be a champion runner. Considering the amount of distance he'd covered, he deserved a gold medal.
"Finally made you proud, huh, Dad?" He chuckled to himself as he sat at the back of the cab, with all the pain washing over him, as Roslin watched him leave.