The Contemplations of Perry Asher

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It's hard to admit you're dying at first. You don't accept it, you don't want to register it. You try to find excuses around it, try to convince yourself that you can beat it. But in the end, you have to realize that there's nothing you can do about it. It's something that you have no control over. Everyone dies, it's just a matter of when.

For some people, death may come sooner. Others are lucky, or unlucky, enough to live over a hundred years. I don't plan on seeing my 23rd birthday.

Don't get me wrong, if I had a choice, I'd live until I was 95. I'd prefer the nice, long life. I'd like to know what it is to be married, to have kids, to have a career. I haven't even finished college yet; probably never will. Death isn't the lenient. It doesn't ask you when you're ready, nor does it care. It just takes you whenever it feels like it. Impatient bastard.

I thought I was done a couple weeks ago. I wasn't any more ready for death then as I am now. But like I said, death doesn't care. I guess it still hadn't seemed real, but when that first wave of fogginess came over my eyes, the realization hit me hard.

I had moved back home to be with my parents and my brother. My brother's still a kid, just 16. I feel guilty, making him worry so much about me. I don't mean to make his life hard. Sometimes I just wish that I'd die and let him move on. I want him to move on, I don't want this to ruin him.

Our bathroom isn't that big. My mom always used to complain to my dad that we needed to move into a house that had a bigger bathroom. They had been looking after I left for college, but now I don't think they're looking anymore.

The migarine came fast and hard. I hadn't been expecting it. It was one of those pains where you can't move, you can't seem to breathe. Suddenly I was losing my balance. I reached out to grab onto something, but only caught the shower curtain. It ripped off the shower like a page from a notebook. I crashed to the floor, but not before my head hit the sink. I don't know how I stayed conscious, maybe I wasn't conscious at all. But I can remember everything that went through my head. There was only one thought that can sum everything up that I had been feeling; I hadn't spent enough time in my life admiring the mildew on the ceiling of our bathroom.

As I was lying on the floor, my head filled with sharp, shooting pains, I could only stare up at the ceiling. It hurt to move, to breathe. I could feel the sticky wetness of blood trickling down my forehead. I still can't seem to figure out how I ended up on my back. Maybe I rolled over, but I can't remember.

Our ceiling hadn't been cleaned for years. There was years mildew piled up on the bone colored paint. I realized that I'd never noticed it before, it had always just been there. It was just part of life, like so many things are.

My eyes traced the intricate designs that the mold and mildew shaped on the ceiling. It was beautiful. There was an array of colors, pale oranges, dark greens, black, and maybe it was just the blow to the head, but I saw purples and blues as well. It reminded me of something mystical, magical. Wizards and faeries maybe. I wanted to be a part of that colorful world of mildew, I wanted to stare at the beauty for ever.

My mind started to drift towards other things; mainly my brother. He was another one of those things that had always just been there, like the mildew. I don't really remember a time when my brother wasn't around. My childhood was dull until he was born. I remembered the day he was born and our mom brought him home. I hadn't known how to act around him. But when he looked up at me with those baby blue eyes, I couldn't help but fall in love with him. I was small then and treated my brother like a tiny puppy, tenderly and lovingly. The bond between us stayed that way for a while. Though we had our fights, we knew we could always depend on each other.

I don't know when the relationship between my brother and I became less than what it started out as. I don't know when he became just another part of my life. I know that sounds like a big deal, but think about it. There are some things that just become an every day thing. Drinking coffee in the morning, taking a shower, going to work, breathing. Things that we take for granted because we've had them all our lives.

As I laid there on the bathroom floor, I started to cry because I realized my brother had become one of those things. He was no longer a pleasure that came along with life, he was just a minor detail in the overall painting. The thought made me wish that I could die and have it be over with right there, lying on that bathroom floor.

But it doesn't work that way.

Through the ringing in my ears, I heard my mom and brother come home. She was probably bringing him home from school. I heard my mother's voice tell my brother to stop bouncing the ball in the house. I wanted to smile, but my body wasn't listening to what I wanted to do anymore.

My eyes drifted back to the mildew. God, I had realized so much about life from staring at those mix and match colors playing across the ceiling. I cried again, staring up at them. It wasn't fair. Death isn't fair!, I wanted to scream.

I heard my brother's voice outside of the bathroom.

"Perry? Are you in there?" He sounded excited. I wondered what had happened to him to make him so happy. In the back of my mind, I wondered if I would ever find out. My vision was starting to blur, and I was sure that death was ready for me.

The door opened and I heard a small gasp escape my brother's lips. "Perry?" He asked meakly at first. But his voice took on a frantic overtone. "Perry!" He yelled, pushing the door open and rushing inside the bathroom. I felt his hands on my cheeks, his face appeard above me. Tears had filled his eyes and instantly another wave of guilt hit me hard. I cried again, with him crying above me. His hands moved over my head, and he turned away and called for our mother. When he turned back, there was a look of determination on his face. "Perry, please stay with me. I'm not ready to let go yet." His voice was shaky, but he looked strong.

I wanted to touch his face then. I had never noticed how beautiful my little brother was. I wanted to hold him and tell him that everything would be all right, that he didn't have to worry or be sad anymore. I wanted to take away all his pain, to wipe away his tears. But I couldn't do anything. I could only close my eyes...

"Perry! No!" My brother's voice was in a tunnel. I felt myself sinking, but he shook me, rather hard. I felt pain shoot up my head where it had hit the sink and I winced, opening my eyes again. "Please Perry." He was sobbing now.

Our mother appeared in the door. She let out a small yelp, close to a scream and ran to the phone out in the hall. My brother kept looking down at me. I had to say something to him, something to make him feel better.

With every ounce of strength I could muster, I pulled my brother down next to me. I didn't mean to make him lay down in my blood, but he didn't seem to notice it either. His eyes watched my intently. I tried to talk, but my throat constricted. I let out a low growl, anger with my body. I finally managed to clear it enough to talk a little.

"Look." I said, nodding slightly at the ceiling. My brother, now sobbing even more, looked up at the ceiling and shook his head.

"I don't see anything." He said, now stroking my arm a little.

"Bet you never noticed the mildew." I said, feeling darkness tugging at the corners of my eyes again. My brother burst into tears, wrapping his arms around my chest. I couldn't fight it anymore.

I woke up a few days later in a hospital. It was unfair. I had been so ready for death, and now here I am, still alive. Still kicking. I'm to spend the rest of my days in a bed. They say I don't have much longer. I can handle that. I've talked to my brother, told him he's more to me than just an every day thing. I don't think he understands, but I don't expect him to.

I found out why he was excited when he came home that day. He'd found a girlfriend. I sure have my ways of ruining everyone's day. I told him that and he said it wasn't my fault, but I know it is.

Sometimes I think about the mildew, and how I took it for granted. It makes think of things, my brother, my family, my life. It makes me think of everything I've ever done and everything I haven't done.

I'm a dying man, with only one piece of advice. Tomorrow may just be your last. Don't waste anymore time ignoring the mildew on your bathroom ceiling.