The Last Piece Of Cheese

Starving to death will be the last thing I do on this miserable planet. Even though I am the chief neurosurgeon at my hospital and was about to do a clinical trial on a new treatment for multiple sclerosis, that knowledge will die with me.

Instead of staring at a microscope, which is my chosen forte, I have been staring at this 3inch wide by 8inch long, 2 inch high, block of molded cheese, for two weeks. Yum. This is the last piece of food I will ever see or eat.

It would behoove me to kill the last two surviving coworkers on my team. All wonderful doctors who will never operate on a brain or spinal cord injury again. I was trained to kill in the army and I could do it, except I’d be lonely.

I don’t want to die alone.

I have seen patients dying with no family around them. After they died, I would go home and shed a tear for them, over a double brandy. However, today is different. Who is going to shed a tear for me?

“Am I dying in vain,” he yells?

“Oh, boo hoo Raymond, you’ve had a good life. Suck it up and do your bid,” she says.

“Shut up, Christina, I have the right to die in utter misery,” he says.

“I have the right to die in utter silence, you buffoon, surgeon or not,” she says.

“I so could use a brandy right now,” Christina says. She starts to cry. “I will never have a brandy again.”

Both men look at her, expressionless. Dan looks up and says, “I prefer martinis, shaken, not stirred.”

They all burst out laughing.

Dan looks at his watch. “What? You got somewhere to go,” Raymond says?

“I’d usually be picking up my daughter from soccer practice right now,” he says.

“Write her a letter. Someone may come in here and find it one day. Who knows,” she says?

“What,” Dan asks through tears.

“A letter. Tell her everything you would have said at her graduation, her wedding, at the birth of her first child. Write from the bottom of your heart,” Christina says. “Write it.”

Dan wipes the snot from his face with the bottom of his shirt. He studies the room, then finds a legal tablet on a nearby desk. He sits down to write.

He cries for fifteen minutes before beginning.

Then, he writes.

“My dearest buttercup, daddy loves you very much. I deeply regret not being there with you and mommy right now. I can see now, how much my job must of sucked to you. I never had enough time for my family and for that, I am truly sorry.

I remember one time I missed your birthday party and bought you a heart shaped locket. You never took it off.

That locket should not have replaced all of the hugs and kisses I should have given you through the years.

You took it in exchange for my emotional unavailability and for that, I’m grateful.” He sits back to take a break.

“I know you’re not finished,” Cristina says.

“No, I’m just getting started,” Dan replies. “Just getting started.”

“It took until the end of the world for you to get my undivided attention. You are the most precious gift in the world to me.

Right now, as I sit here without you, my parenting skills, or lack there of, are the focus, not my ability to mend broken people. I have never been so broken, as I am, right now.

I chose to go to the hospital, instead of staying at home with my family, my little girl. I am not a hero.

A man wants to kill me over a piece of cheese. Sad thing is, I think he may. You are far too young to be thinking about death, but I must talk about it.

When he does kill me, it will just be you and mommy. I know she will take good care of you. I hope for the best for this world, even as it slides off the cliff.

I hope you are eating steak, rare, with garlic butter dripping down the side. I’m sure mommy has a glass of Merlot resting at the top of her plate, her hand caressing the stem.

I can hear him coming. He is banging on the door, trying to break it down.

I can envision you now with a half eaten piece of steak on your plate, anxiously awaiting dessert.

Goodbye my love. If you ever read this, I hope it finds you well.

Love you much, da