"How long ago was it Milton?" Carl stared across the deep walnut table at his best friend of almost 70 years. "How long ago did we write this up?"
Carl held the letter gently in his fist. The crumpled yellow paper had become thin like an old Autumn leaf as he had unfolded it and read it many times. Especially in this last year. Milton only grunted, his flabby chin against his chest. His aged-dull eyes stared out from under thick eyelids and even thicker eyebrows.
"Guess that's not important." Carl shifted uncomfortably in his seat across from Milton. "Milton..." Carl sighed. Milton's mouth hung open as he took ragged breaths. Carl always thought the oxygen tube in his nose should have helped his smoke ravaged lungs but it didn't seem to. Milton had been wheezing and coughing for 35 years now. It was one of many things going in Milton that brought Carl here today.
"I don't want to do it friend." So many memories stood fresh in his mind as he laid the letter down on the table between them. Meeting in the war. Carl and Milton were in the same company. Each one of them watched as their team was torn apart. By wars fought abroad and at home. Carl watched as a young private dissolved to tears as he found out his mother had died while he was gone. Milton performed surgery on a man who tried to take his own life after receiving a Dear John letter from his less than lovely girl back home. It was these events that brought Milton and Carl closer together. Their hardships were few. They had both left nothing at home. Nothing when they came to their stations. The only hell was before them. It was nothing compared to the hell they endured in aging. A hell that brought Carl here today.
"23 days this past year...since last November. If I remember correctly." Carl licked his old wrinkled lips. He reached into his tattered brown windbreaker and rested his hand there. "23 times I've come here Milton. And..." The tears stood at his eyes now. It was starting to become more real now. "You don't remember do you?"
Milton licked his lips now.
"Do you remember how we got to this stupid promise?" Carl tapped the paper. A tear fell down his cheek. God, when was the last time he really cried? He had to think about it. The 60's? The 70's? No, it was 1986. The day Milton's oldest daughter died. The cancer got her. That night Milton had called Carl in tears. All Carl heard was the hello before he was pulling his savings from under his pillow to fly across the country where Milton lived. Pulling his friend into an embrace at the hospital made him cement an idea he had been playing around with in his mind. Carl made the move later that year. And he and Milton had hardly been separated since.
"Why...don't...you tell me?" Milton wheezed, his chin still pressed to his chest, mouth open to gasp in as much of that sweet air as his lungs allowed. The sight of him. The very sight of him made Carl hurt. Over the years he watched as Milton slowly fell apart, slowly crumbled like the great Colossus. His strong friend fall to an enemy no strength in the world could destroy. Age. He watched as Milton could no longer walk. He watched as he could no longer hold his grand-kids, his great grand-kids. He watched as Milton could no longer go to the bathroom by himself. Each time something new came up Carl wanted to cry. Wanted to scream. Every obstacle in the world they had fought together and won. But not this one. No this was impossible. It got to the point Carl could no longer watch his friend wither away and he started to make himself scarce. It was rare that Carl wasn't there but he wasn't so sure Milton noticed. There were no calls, no letters. No emails (blasted things) from Milton's wife Caroline. Carl began to feel guilty about November when Milton was given an expiration date. Like a gallon of milk. That's when Carl began to see Milton twice a month. This was the first in October. The last. Milton had began forgetting the visits.
"The promise. I remember visiting you there in Brewster, up there in Washington. What was it? 1956?" Carl didn't know why he was asking. He'd only been thinking it when he found out Milton's mind was going. "And we were going down to drug store to get a coke. Hot somnabitch that day too. Damn..." He wiped his brow as if he were sweating at the memory. Truth be told it was colder than a witches tit in there. Milton always liked it cool. "And we watched old lady Gebber being pushed down the road by her grandson. Remember that Milton?" Milton just kept staring at him.
"Anyway. She began yelling at him. Screaming not to take her. He was kidnapping her she said. Everyone stared and the grandson looked horrified." The image stood with him as clear as day. The look of Gebber (the name escaped him) and the look of pain on his face. It wasn't the fact she was causing a scene. It wasn't that half the town had turned up out of the wood work just to see Old Lady Gebber lose her cool. It was that grandma didn't remember him that wounded him the most. "We watched at how much that boy was sick at the thought of his poor Grandma not remembering him. It was more than that. We didn't want to put anyone through that. So that night...that night drunk on cheap whiskey we vowed that we couldn't go through that. We promised each other that if our memories began to slip. If we were ever at risk of hurting the ones we loved by forgetting..."
With that, Carl wrapped his hand around the thing in his windbreaker. He slid it out and set it on the table between them. It was Milton's old service pistol. Carl had acquired it from him a long time ago and kept it clean and in working condition. Just for this. Just for the promise. Carl didn't bother finishing his sentence. He let the revolver speak. Milton did not look surprised. He only stared forward at his friend. The look in his eyes was one of compassion. Of love. Carl could read his best friend like a book. This was a lot harder than Carl had thought.
"I...remember." Milton grunted. He took a deep breath and coughed. He was able to raise one feeble hand to his mouth and spat wetly into a cloth. Carl knew there was blood in it. He didn't need to see it to know Milton was dying. "What...do you remember...Carl?"
"Milton. I can't...I can't stand to see you like this."
"It's been...more than...23 days."
"What?"
Milton grunted and closed his eyes.
"Caroline..."
Carl looked up towards the door to see if she was there and sure enough, there she stood. Caroline in all her timeless beauty. Her grey locks on her shoulders. He smiled at her the same as he always did. With respect and love. She was like a sister to him and he like a brother to her. They even fought sometimes. Over stupid stuff. What the color of her shoes were. What band sang a certain song (she was right most the time). Even so much as what's in a Cosmopolitan back in the day when closing the bar down was often in the cards.
"Has Milton told you about the promise Caroline?" He felt he should explain the pistol sitting between them.
"Many times Carl. In fact, every day. For the past year you've told me about the promise." Caroline rested her hand on her husband's fat shoulder. Carl narrowed his eyes at the both of them.
"What are you talking about?"
"Your...mind..." Milton started to cough in deep meaty whoops. Carl thought that sounded really bad and he began to get the pit of fear in his stomach.
"You really don't remember?" Carol moved and sat at a chair beside Milton's wheelchair. Her hand was in reach of the pistol. Carl thought about moving it before his eyes met Carol's. The fear shifted in his stomach. What was the meaning of this?
"Remember what?" Carl felt tears leaking out his eyes again.
"Read the letter Carl."
Carl looked down at the letter. The promise that he and Milton had made so many years ago. But that's not what it was at all.
Carl,
This is you. I mean me. A letter to yourself. You used to write those a lot. Remember that buddy? You might not. You're not remembering a lot these days doc. And that means one thing. The Promise. You will be scared. And you will try to talk them out of it. In fact you have many times. But this should be the last letter you read. Because you are hurting them.
The exact thing you two created the promise for. Truth be told Milton is going too. But Caroline and him have made a promise too. And that just leaves you man. You could do it yourself but it scares you more than you know. That and for some reason it seems pathetic. You've done a pretty good job not being pathetic, despite being a perpetual bachelor for eons right?
These two love you a lot doc. Let them send you off the way you want to go. The way you and Milton promised so many years ago. The single gunshot. The way your war buddies went off into the wild blue yonder. And Milton will be taken care of. Caroline is after all...what was it Milton called her...'The male version of you'. Love you Buddy.
Carl looked up from the letter to Caroline and Milton with tears in their eyes.
"How many times have I read this letter."
"23 times. You don't read it everyday." Caroline dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.
"And why haven't you guys kept your promise."
"You're...damn charming." Milton smirked this time. Carl laughed out loud at that. Milton had always tried to make him feel more confident with hyperbole. It worked this time.
"I'm going to miss you guys."
"We'll...see you...again...friend."
"We'll miss you until then though." Caroline slid the pistol to her and slowly made sure it was loaded.
"I love you guys. I hope I haven't hurt you."
"No. You could never do that Carl. We're sorry."
Carl closed his eyes. Maybe he could just do this again tomorrow. If he forgot maybe he could forget he asked for this.
No. He couldn't do that. He couldn't keep doing that to them. He smiled.
"I'm ready."
He barely heard the gunshot. A mere echo rather than the actual noise. That was fine, because in that moment Carl saw his whole life flash in front of his eyes. But oddly enough it started with Milton. The war. The friends they lost. The friends they gained. Carl's first car. Milton's first drink. Carl's college degree. Milton's kids. Carl's failed marriage. Losing Debbie to cancer. When Milton's first grandchild Deborah was born. Milton and Caroline's joy that was never any different when they found out they were having another grand-baby. All of it. He smiled. And felt himself fall asleep. Fall into death. This was going to be peaceful.
"24 days this past year...since last November." Milton watched Carl lick his old wrinkled lips again. And Milton realized again for the 365th time since November, that he'd rather repeat this moment over and over again with Carl, than lose him because his mind started to go. They always did everything together. And he wasn't going to give this beast of Age the satisfaction of knowing it beat them prematurely. He would do whatever it took. Even if that meant making him think this was his first time being here. Carl had forgotten something else that they had promised each other. That they would take care of each other. No matter what. Milton would always keep that promise.
"Why...don't...you tell me?"
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