Tom looked up at the white plenum tiles of the examining room as a nurse slipped a needle into his arm. He took a deep breath to counter a wave of lightheadedness and tried not to imagine his blood squirting into a clear tube.
A short time later, he sat in his doctor’s corner office, which had a spectacular view of nearby mountains. Tom had always wanted to hike those mountains, but had never made time. His life was mostly wrapped-up in his work as an engineer for a web hosting company, where he was overworked and underappreciated. There was little energy to spare.
“My view is a mixed blessing,” Dr. Wu said, entering the office, “my patients don’t hear half of what I say.”
“Hmm?” Tom asked. The doctor grinned.
“Your EKG was normal and your lungs sound fine. Give me a day or two for the lab results, and we should have some idea why you’ve been feeling so tired.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Tom said.
#
Out on the street, Tom paused for a moment to catch his breath. He’d been sedentary in recent years and had gained more weight than he liked to admit. What if the tests found a serious health problem? What if he was dying? He was thirty-two and had always assumed that a long life lay ahead.
The distant parking spot he had struggled to find earlier lay on the far side of a temporary fairground set up in the large empty lot across the street. Tom paced himself as he wended his way through the crowd. He was forced to stop several times as gaggles of people drifted through the narrow spaces between attractions. At one such bottleneck, a woman in a fortune-teller outfit called out to Tom from her table.
“You need to hear your fortune!”
Slightly annoyed, Tom avoided her gaze. The knots of people had almost cleared enough for him to pass.
“Your time is running out,” the fortune teller said. She pointed to her sign, ‘Fortunes, $30.’
“I don’t believe this stuff,” he said. Still, she had touched on his exact train of thought.
“It doesn’t matter,” she answered. He paused, then sat down and took two twenties out of his wallet. She handed him a ten-dollar bill as change.
“Cherish the person you spend this on while you have her,” the fortune teller said. Tom opened his mouth to speak but she shushed him.
“Just listen,” she said, and she took Tom’s hands firmly, closed her eyes, and appeared to be meditating. Her face was very compassionate, and several emotions passed through it in close succession, including pity and a tender smile. When she opened her eyes, they held the hint of tears.
“You will die when you reach a number. I’m seeing one five zero,” she said.
“Die? When? How?”
“I can’t see that,” she said.
“You can see me dying but not when or how?” He asked, exasperated.
“I can’t control my visions,” she said, “may I finish?” Tom shrugged.
“I see a sick cat under your toilet. I see a butterfly on a beer glass. I see blue sky and new life even as the sun sets.” She released his hands.
“That’s it?” He asked, disturbed in spite of himself. She nodded.
“Don’t hesitate or waste a single moment,” she said.
#
Tom started his car. The odometer read nine miles shy of one-hundred and fifty thousand miles. Could 150k be the fortune teller’s number? Tom sat back and considered what he had heard. The woman could have simply presented a made-up number and relied on Tom himself to fill in the blanks. That was it, he decided. Would he drop dead if he saw a doughnut for sale for a buck-fifty? If he woke at one-fifty in the morning, was it curtains for him? He didn’t have a cat and he drank beer from the bottle.
#
The next day was Saturday. Tom yawned over late-morning coffee at the kitchen counter. He paused, mid-sip, as a bumping noise came from the corner. He turned his head and saw the pet door from a previous owner wobbling back to center. There was a slow scamper of an animal running to the back of the house. Tom put down his coffee and edged into the hall. Nothing was in sight. He searched the house, peering into closets and under the bed. In the bathroom, a pair of baleful yellow eyes stared at him from under the toilet tank. It was a scraggly, emaciated gray cat.
“Hey, old fella,” Tom said, “where did you come from?” As Tom moved closer, the cat hissed at him. He raised his hands in surrender and went to the kitchen, returning with a can of tuna turned up on a small plate and a bowl of water. He carefully nudged these near the toilet and the cat wasted no time tucking in, all the while keeping a wary eye on Tom. There was blood and matted fur on its neck and it didn’t have a collar.
“I’ll get you some real cat food later, and maybe take you to the vet,” Tom said. He returned to the living room and sat on the sofa. The late winter sunlight slanted through the front window, touching the blanket Tom had pulled over his legs. The cat didn’t show itself and Tom left it alone. Gazing out the window, he watched gleaming clouds morph against the deep blue sky. He forgot about his troubles and was content in that moment. He napped.
The sky was dark and overcast when he awoke. Tom tiptoed to the bathroom and saw a tail and bedraggled haunches protruding from under the toilet. The cat didn’t seem to be breathing. Tom gingerly touched the animal’s fur, it was cold and dead.
“Sorry, buddy,” Tom said, “I didn’t think you were that sick.”
#
That afternoon, at the pet hospital, Tom stood at the counter with the cat wrapped in an old towel.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” the woman behind the counter said, “what was your pet’s name?”
“He didn’t have one,” Tom said, “we had only just met.”
“At least someone cared for him in the end,” she said, “we do same-day cremations, if you want to come back in a bit.” He offered up his credit card.
#
Tom entered his house and shut the door. He placed a small decorative cardboard box with the word “Cat” stenciled on it onto the mantle above the fireplace and sat on the sofa. It was still overcast as the sun faded that evening. Tom surfed restlessly through the cable channels, then he shut off the TV and sat in the gloom with a matching sense of desolation. Finally, he stood up, took his coat and went out for a walk. Once he was out in the darkness, it invigorated rather than drained him. A few stars shone through gaps in the cloud cover and a light wind touched his hair. He cursed himself for letting his fitness level drop so low, and he resolved to get more exercise and to restore his health.
As he passed a busy intersection, there was music audible from a bar on the corner. He’d been meaning to try the place but hadn’t gotten around to it. There was a wooden sign out front, ‘Happy hour all night, $5 beer.’ Tom crossed the street and entered the bar. It was lively, but not too loud. The decor was comfortable, wood and plaster without a lot of extras. The bar stools were all taken so he circled back to the tables, but the only open one was a booth made for eight. The waitress stopped next to him.
“You can sit here, but you’ll have to move if a group arrives,” she said.
“That’s fair,” Tom said, sitting down. He nursed a beer and people-watched. It was an eclectic crowd, with a few business suits, a few artsy types, people in work boots and jeans. No one noticed Tom and he liked it that way. A group of five, three women and two men, approached the table. The waitress returned.
“This is when I ask you to move,” she said. Tom stood up.
“He shouldn’t have to move,” one of the guys said, “he was here first.”
“It’s okay, I can lean up against the wall and try to look cool,” Tom said.
“Or, you could join us,” one of the women said. She had dark hair and a color tattoo of a flowering vine that extended from below her neckline to touch her shoulder. “So I don’t have to be a fifth-wheel,” she finished.
“If you guys don’t mind…” Tom said.
“No problem,” said one of the other women. The others nodded in assent. The tattooed woman stood by Tom’s arm as her friends threaded into the booth and then scooted after them. Tom followed her in. The waitress stepped up to the table.
“This way, you won’t look like a weirdo, perving everyone from the corner,” said the waitress.
“Yeah, thanks,” Tom said, with a grin.
Beers were ordered and introductions made. The tattooed woman’s name was Mia, she was outgoing and made an effort to include Tom in the conversation. Her friends were a pair of very easygoing couples. A very pleasant few hours passed. Tom couldn’t remember the last time he’d been out and had fun. Mia was a nurse and did some tattoo art on the side, and she was the same age as Tom.
“I designed this,” Mia said, tugging her shirt collar aside to show more of the green coil and its magenta blooms.
“Beautiful,” he said, not just referring to the tattoo, and the gleam in Mia’s eye told him that she knew it.
“Another round?” The waitress asked.
“No, thanks, we have to be up early, especially Mia,” one of the women said. The waitress placed the check down.
“Fifteen bucks each,” said one of the men. Mia reached for her purse, but Tom touched her arm.
“I’ve got it.” He tossed a twenty into the tray, and stared at the ten-dollar bill he had just pulled from his wallet. He placed it with the other offerings and looked at Mia. She smiled brightly at him.
“Thanks, Tom, I’ll get tip,” she said.
Outside, they dispersed to their vehicles.
“Bye, Mia, call me!” One of the women said. Mia waved to her.
“Which one is yours?” Mia asked Tom.
“I live just up the road.”
“I can drive you,” she said. In the car, Tom pointed the way. She stopped at the curb in front of his house.
“Can I use your bathroom?” She asked, “I love that bar, but their restroom…”
“Yeah, okay,” he said.
“You don’t seem so sure.”
“I’m trying to remember if I picked up the place.”
Tom stood by the open fridge as Mia emerged from the bathroom.
“I have lemonade and beer,” he said.
“Lemonade, please,” she said. Tom had broken his last real glass a few months before. He took down a glass beer stein and rinsed it.
“Nice place,” she said, settling onto his sofa, “I like all the books.”
“Thanks. I’m comfortable here.” He handed her the lemonade and sat beside her. She picked up a book from the coffee table.
“Walt Whitman.”
“I was reading him last week.”
“Read me something,” she said, handing him the book. He opened to where his bookmark lay.
“A noiseless patient spider,
I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling down, ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to
connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.” Tom finished.
“That’s nice,” she said, “his thoughts were like the spider’s web, searching for a connection.”
“We’re all searching for something, aren’t we?” He put the book down.
“Even if we don’t know it.” She turned her head up to face him. Tom felt intoxicated by her nearness. They kissed, gently at first, then more insistently. She broke off, wiping her mouth.
“I haven’t dated in a while.”
“Me, neither,” he admitted.
“Sometimes I think I have something with a person, and then I find that sex is all they wanted.”
“I want you in every way,” Tom said, realizing as he said it how true it was. Mia put her glass down on the window sill behind the sofa.
“We could just wait…” Tom began, but she pounced on him, kissing him harder.
“I’ve been having some trouble lately with getting out of breath,” Tom said.
“Then it looks like I’m driving.” She peeled off her top.
#
As the morning light eased through the curtains in his bedroom, Tom woke to find Mia nestled in his arms, gently breathing onto his shoulder and drooling slightly. The floral tattoo curled all the way around her body and ended just above her hip. He lay with her hair in his face, afraid he would break the spell if he moved. A few minutes later, an alarm sounded. Mia stirred and hunted for her phone and stopped the alarm. She turned and kissed him lightly.
“I have to get to work,” she said. “I’d rather stay with you, really.” She got up and walked into the bathroom. The shower started.
“When can I see you again?” he asked.
“Work will get crazy today,” she called from the shower, her lithe form twisting behind the frosted glass, “maybe tomorrow night?”
“Sure,” he said, “do you want some coffee?”
“Oh my God, yes please,” she answered. He put on a robe and headed to the kitchen, opening the window behind the sofa as he went to air the place out. She finished her shower and they chatted briefly over coffee. She checked her phone.
“I’m late, sorry to rush off.” She said. Tom walked her to the door.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“It really wasn’t a line?” She asked, looking up at him through her eyelashes.
“What wasn’t?”
“I want you every way…” she said. Tom shook his head slowly.
“I’ll bring this cup back tomorrow night,” she said, hugging him. He held the door for her. She waved as she drove off and he shut the door with a feeling of wonderment at how much his life had changed since the day before. He turned towards the sofa and his eye caught a yellow glimmer at the window. A swallowtail butterfly rested lightly on the edge of Mia’s beer glass, attracted by the lemonade. In another moment, the insect flitted off outside, bouncing away over the air currents.
Tom’s heart froze as he remembered the fortune teller’s prediction, the third to come true in the last twenty-four hours. On a whim, he went out to his car to check the odometer, it read 149,998. Was it even possible to avoid every occurrence of the number one five zero? Just in case, he pulled the car into the garage, put the keys into the glove box and locked himself out of the car.
In the shower, he mused about things he still wanted to do in life. He’d never really traveled and he wanted to see how things went with Mia. He could ask her if she’d to go away with him for a while. He had plenty of savings, so he decided to quit his tedious job first thing on Monday.
As afternoon advanced, Tom decided to start exercising right away, so he dressed in his hiking clothes with a knapsack and then he took a city shuttle to the nearby mountains. Early blooms dotted the ground cover as he headed out on a trail marked as ‘not strenuous’ in his trail guide. The sky was mostly clear and he soaked up the warm afternoon sunshine as he made his way along the rugged path. He was easily winded, so he often turned to look back at the terrain below, inhaling the freshness of the forest and wondering why it had taken him so long to come out here. As he watched a hawk soar overhead, he felt such a sense of elation that he laughed out loud. All things seemed possible. Soon, he reached a place where the terrain crested and he could see a long distance in all directions. There was an ancient tree there, the trunk gnarled with age and the branches verdant with the approach of spring. Tom placed a hand on the rough bark and looked up at the stout branches.
#
Doctor Wu sat in his office, on the phone. Tom’s voice mail beeped in his ear.
“Hello, Tom, this is Doctor Wu. Your lab results have revealed a predisposition to form blood clots. I didn’t place you in the risk group for an embolism before, but clots in the lungs are very dangerous and can cause the kind of breathlessness that you’re experiencing. I’d advise against any unnecessary exertion until we know more. Please call me as soon as you can.”
#
As Tom stood by the tree, several young rabbits darted playfully around the great trunk as the shadows lengthened with the approach of sunset. Tom smiled at them, curious that they weren’t afraid of him. He checked the pedometer on his watch: 4200 steps. Pressing a button, he saw: 1.50 miles.
A large blood clot that had formed in the usually turgid blood of Tom’s left thigh was jostled loose by his elevated heart rate. It shot rapidly up through his blood vessels and whipped through his heart to block the already clogged junction where arteries forked into each lung. Tom’s vision paled and he went down on his knees, then rolled onto his back, chest heaving. Through rising panic, he wondered if he was having a heart attack, but there was no pain. The brilliant blue arc of the sky, and the lush canopy of the tree, filled his sight as he lay weakly in the dust. Leaves gently tossed in the wind stood out sharply in his narrowing vision. One had a hole nibbled by some bug. Tom lost consciousness and stopped breathing. Brain death took several more minutes but he was not sensible of it. Hikers returning from the peak found his body within the hour, and he was on the news by evening.
#
Seven months later, Mia placed a bouquet of fresh flowers into the water cup at Tom’s headstone and put a hand on the polished marble for a moment. She stood up with misty eyes and smoothed her shirt over her pregnant belly.
“I was going to call her Grace,” she said, “what do you think?”
