The Kill Switch
by Jeffrey Greene
Part 1 appears in this issue.
conclusion
Contrary to their mutual expectations, it was George who got the bad diagnosis, just six months later. When Jules showed up for their drink, George had just come in from the golf course, and looking, Jules thought, tireder than usual.
“Didn’t think I’d forget your birthday, did you, Georgie?” Jules said as the waiter brought their drinks. “Happy eighty-three. Drinks are on me today.”
“Thanks, Jules. I’m really touched,” George said, toweling off his gray, exhausted face.
“You okay, man? You look a little under the weather.”
“Understatement of the year, old buddy. I... Well, I got some bad news the other day.”
“You mean...?”
“Yeah. You know you’re in trouble when your doctor leaves a message on your machine saying, ’It’s essential that I talk to you.’”
There was a silence broken only by the ice clinking in their glasses as they drank.
“How long?” Jules finally asked.
George looked at the Kill Switch remote on his wrist. “Exactly thirty-three more minutes.”
“Oh my God, George, you didn’t really set it, did you?”
George drained his drink. “An open tab’s a nice present, Jules, the best one you ever gave me. If you don’t mind, I’m having as many drinks as I can squeeze into the next half hour.”
Jules finished his drink, and held up two fingers to the bartender. “Have as many as you want. But, George, why now? Why here? Wouldn’t you rather be, I don’t know, home in bed or something? You really want to go right here in front of God and everybody?”
“Home? That’s a laugh. What have I got waiting for me at home? An empty house. Not even a cat to keep me company. My son lives on the west coast, my daughter’s in Israel. I’m not bothering them over this. They’re busy people. Better if they hear about it after the fact. Truth is, Jules, I’d rather be here with you, with a drink in my hand, than anywhere else in the world.”
“I appreciate that, George, more than I can say. But...”
“I hope that’s not a problem for you?”
“Problem? No. No problem. I’m just trying to get my mind around it. Look, I know it’s selfish as hell of me to say it, but are you sure you want to go through with this?”
“What do you mean, do I want to go through with it? Goddamnit, Jules, I thought you’d be supportive. This isn’t fair. You don’t know how hard I struggled...”
“Now wait a minute, George. Don’t tell me you didn’t think I’d try to talk you out of it. What, I’m just supposed to toast your departure, then say ’Godspeed,’ and watch you keel over right in front of me? That’s not fair, either. How much time did your doctor give you?”
“Well... six months, more or less.”
“Six months!? Hell, man, that’s ten or twelve more times we could get together before you, uh...”
“Die? Say it. Before I die. And all that time I’ll be getting sicker. Then one day, when I’m looking like Death’s ugly brother, you’ll come and tell me how good I look. What law says I have to put up with that shit? I just played golf, Jules. And you know something? I finished at par, my best score in years. That’s how I want to go out. A winner.”
“Yeah, but next week you might shoot one under.”
“You’re not helping, Jules.”
“Here come the drinks. Thanks, Irv.” He raised his glass. “A toast, George. To life!”
“Go ahead, rub it in.” But he clinked glasses and drank.
“I meant that sincerely, George.” He raised his glass again. “To the life you have left. That we both have left. May it be as long as it can be.”
George frowned and lowered his glass. “Remember when our toast was to death with dignity? Remember that, Jules?”
“Of course I remember. It’s like you said, George, setting the kill switch is too big a decision to be made by committee. When you decide to do it is none of my business. I’ll miss you, is all I’m saying. Hell, I’m missing you already. God knows how long I’ll last after you’re gone. What I’ll have to live for.” His voice broke.
“Now wait a minute, Jules,” George said. “Don’t do this to me. You’ve got a wife to live for. What have I got?”
“You’ve got kids who love you, for one thing. And you’ve got me, George. I thought sixty years of friendship counted for something. But I guess in the end, it all comes down to me me me. Man is such a selfish beast.”
“Talk about selfish,” George said disgustedly. “I have a terminal illness, and all you can think about is how hard it’s gonna be for you. You’re losing a drinking buddy, Jules. I’m losing my life. My last few minutes on this earth wouldn’t be so damned hard to bear if you’d show a little compassion. I have to say, I’m pretty disappointed. For God’s sake, we should be reminiscing over the good times, not arguing. I wanted to make this precious time count for something.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, George. But I’m feeling manipulated. You set your kill switch to go off while we’re celebrating your birthday? You didn’t ask, you just did it. And I have nothing to say about it. I’m just supposed to raise my glass and toast you and reminisce with you like a performing seal until it’s time for you to make your grand exit.”
“Doesn’t seem like that much to do for a dying man,” George said.
“Okay, if you happened to drop dead out of the blue, I’d be very sad, but you know, happy for you, too, that at least you died with your boots on. But this way is so goddamned arbitrary. I’m sorry, George, but it feels wrong to me. You’ve got time left to live, and by God, you should take that time and live it. It’s a sin not to. Don’t cop out on me now, old buddy. Turn the damn switch off, while there’s still time! Please, George! Not for me, for yourself. Will you please push the damn button, before it’s too late?”
Scowling, George finished his drink, crossed his arms and looked up at the ceiling, then at the table. He looked at his watch, then glared at Jules, drumming his fingers on the table and sucking in his lips. Finally, he reached out his hand, theatrically raised his extended finger and slowly guided it toward the button on the timer. He held it posed above the button for a long moment, then shook his head and looked up with a shamefaced smile.
“All right,” he said. “You’re gonna be mad, Jules, and you have every right to be. I didn’t really set it.”
“You didn’t... set it.” He tossed off his drink and stared hard at George. “Are you even dying?”
“Oh come on. You don’t think I’d lie about that, do you?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“I guess I wanted to... I don’t know. See how you felt about me, uh, checking out early.”
“Ever heard of the boy who cried wolf?” Jules asked.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted to see how you’d, uh—”
“How I’d react? Well, now you know. That was a pretty nasty trick, George. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“I know you wouldn’t, and again, I’m sorry, Jules. I came pretty close to really setting it today, honest to God. And I’m just as scared of dying as I was six months ago, or at least the pain of dying. Hell, more scared, because now it’s real. Maybe I was preparing both of us for when I actually do set the timer. But it was still a rotten thing to do to my best friend. Can you forgive me?”
“Well, under the circumstances...” Jules paused, raised his hand as if to order another drink, but took out his handkerchief instead and wiped his forehead. “Under the circumstances, I guess I do forgive you, George. But if you really decide to set your kill switch, sometime in the near future, I just wish you’d...”
“Yes, Jules? You wish I’d...?”
He shook his head. “Nothing, George. Nothing at all. Let’s have one more for the road, shall we? A weak one.”
“Okay. But only if you let me buy.”
Copyright © 2021 by Jeffrey Greene
