Naked Singularity

Victoria N. Alexander

• Publisher: The Permanent Press
• Year: 2015
• Print ISBN: 9781579620783
• eBook ISBN: 9781504012270
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Literature General
• Index: Literature

When Hali's father asks her to help him commit suicide to spare the family the misery of a long illness, she reluctantly agrees. Hali's family insists on letting "God's will" decide. Hali, brooding upon the idea of predetermination and an afterlife in a way that is both challenging and deeply moving, is ultimately unable to do what her father wishes. She is forced to accept the help of a manipulative male nurse, adding further complications and a slow and painful end.

XXIV

The sun is so bright you can hide in its blinding light. The hot rough concrete feels good under my bare feet. Four laps, six laps, ten laps, then I go out of the park, running down the side of the parkway, under electrical Eiffel towers. Turning my forty-five minute tape over for the second time. The same tape I listened to in France over and over again. It feels good to push my body. I start to sprint down a long asphalt stretch. I can feel my heart pounding and sweat gets in my eyes.

I try not to think what it was like for him, sitting there in front of the dammed TV, knowing he was dying. What was on? some idiotic program? What was he thinking? Did the morphine help him not think or care? or did it make his fear even more large and monstrous? And when he woke, was that fear relieved with a grateful sigh?

Seth had not let me wallow in it. He was jealous of the time that I spent on my father. “Can you help me write about my father’s death?” he had asked. “He was ill for so long. I think I should use the idea of assisted suicide in my paintings of my father. I wouldn’t do it for my father, you know. I don’t think it’s right.”

Singularities are linked to mental breakdown. The point at which an unpredictable new structure evolves. I think I remember reading there is universality to mental disorders, just as there is a universality to cloud formations. But remaining locked in a single mode can be death. A little chaos is “a health.” Flexibility prevents breakage. Thomas says I must bend or else I will break.

When I returned from my run at six, I burst through the door to Dad’s office, disturbing Thomas and Irma in a conference. They looked at me guiltily. Thomas seemed angry or disappointed, as if I had slighted him. I looked him in the eye: everything is true; pity me; help me; I’ll love you if you do.

Thomas stared at my face. I was flushed from the heat and breathing hard. Then he stepped back and looked at me. My hair was in pigtails, and I was wearing a Cat-in-the-Hat shirt Dad had found for me in the boys’ section at K-Mart. Thomas’ expression went from shock and jealousy to pity. Irma watched us looking long and hard at each other. Thomas started to speak. “I …” then he shook his head and said instead, “You look like a kid.” You’re just a little kid without your high heels, your make-up, your stockings, and your fancy words.

“Excuse me. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I said, backing out, and closed the door.

Later, I found Thomas smoking on the patio alone. He gave me one.

“I don’t smoke much, but it’s a good excuse to talk to you in private.”

Why trust Irma? he asked. Why not him? Huh? He had dreamt I would ask for his help. He had dreamt it. He was coming to me tonight with that dream in his mind.

“I was afraid you would get too involved,” I said. “I just wanted information.”

“Don’t ever trust weak people!” he said. “Weak people will mess you up. Irma can already see herself on Oprah talking about how you did a Kevorkian on your Dad. A rich girl like you, good-looking. They would love to get your ass on video. And Irma wouldn’t sell you out just for the money. No, she wants her fifteen minutes. Let me tell you about weak minds,” he went on. “When they have a secret, they tell it. It doesn’t matter what. You thought she was stupid and you could pick her brain, use her for what you want, then ignore her. Never ignore the weak ones. They’ll hurt you.”

“You’re right,” I said. I was thinking of my mother. (And he had been thinking of his mother, I could tell.)

“You’re not a good judge of character. Why didn’t you come to me? I’ve helped your father. Didn’t he breathe better last night?”

“Don’t you remember I asked about the Dilaudid?”

“Yes, I do. And I said to myself, what’s up with that? Now I know.”

“You just supposed I was interested in it for my own use.”

“I was just feeling you out. So tell me.”

“My father took an overdose of morphine and Demerol on Wednesday night.”

“I thought that coma of his was strange!”

“I’ve known he was planning this since the summer. I helped him hide the drugs. But he told me he wanted me to give him the lethal dose. He didn’t want to die in pain, ‘crapping all over himself,’ is what he said. He made me promise. If I hadn’t promised, he would have blown his head off. He’d already cleaned his gun and bought bullets. I promised.”

Thomas said my dad must trust me an awful lot to have chosen me to help.

“He knows I’ll do it. What does that say about me?”

“He knows you’re logical.”

“Yes, logical. That’s what I am.” It made me cry. And logical people are unpoetical, Dad once said. But this one has doubts and fears.

“He’s never asked for help from anyone. Why me?”

Thomas said, “Because you’re his baby girl.”

I was stunned by the beauty of his statement. It meant nothing and everything.

“What kind of help do you need? You only have to ask, Hal. Ask.” He looked away and added softly and ironically, “I’m just a drifter from a small East Texas town. I have nothing to lose.”

“Information is all I really need. I know he must have taken a massive dose, and it didn’t kill him. What kind of mixture would be lethal to someone with his tolerance? I don’t want to screw up. He expects me to do it well.” I paused. “Maybe you can give him the suppository tranquilizers the doctor prescribed, since Dad would not want me to do that. I will do the rest. I don’t think he remembers that he asked me to do this for him since he doesn’t seem to remember the last six months at all—or his cancer. Thank luck. But if he does remember, he won’t suspect I’m doing it if you or one of my sisters is in the room with me. We’ll tell him it’s medicine to help ease his breathing.”

It was decided, then. I would get Annie to stay after everyone had gone to bed. I would tell her I planned to give him enough tranquilizers to make him go into a coma till he died. I would tell her we didn’t want him to have any more bad dreams, and she would agree. I would dress for bed myself. Thomas and I would administer the dose at eleven, wait for Dad to fall asleep, and Annie would go home around eleven thirty, before he passed away.

Jack and Molly were going to the opera that night. It was their anniversary. She stopped by in her gown on the way to say good-night to Dad. I wanted to, but didn’t tell her. Then she went away, like a princess to a ball, leaving him full of pride and dear heartache to see her go.

Now the sound of a clock ticking. Thomas sat at the table facing the stained glass lamp that hung in the center. His skin looked warm and smooth. Annie sat to his left. I sat across the table from him, knowing the light would be as kind to my face, and I tilted it up to keep the shadows from falling the wrong way. We looked at each other for a while, saying nothing. Thomas told a story about swimming the river near Uncertain, Texas, where Dad and Candice had visited and where Thomas had spent summers as a child. Annie and I had never been. Was it in bayou country? I asked softly, focusing on his eyes. Yes, it was. He paused.

Then Thomas said, You are a beautiful woman. I am a green-eyed boy, in French. Then he laughed, “That’s the only French I know. You speak it, don’t you?”

I told him no.

Now I hesitated. I could not bring myself to say, It’s time; let’s do it. The clock went twelve. It was my responsibility to say, now, set the plan in motion. But then Thomas got up.

“C’mon,” he said.

I obeyed. Annie and I started to follow him down the long hall to Dad’s bedroom. “Annie, get some cough medicine for me,” he said. “Hal, you come with me.” We went into my dad’s room. “Get that Dilaudid for me, girl,” said Thomas. With that I was equated with Annie, she and I merely following orders. Let him take control. Tell me what to do. I handed him the pill bottle from the nightstand. He took it, looked me in the eye as he did so, and then left the room.

A few minutes later he returned from the kitchen with a wineglass filled with pink liquid. He was stirring it with a needle-less syringe. Annie came in with a bottle of Nyquil and set it on the nightstand. We took our places in the dimly lit bedroom. Only a small yellow light by the bedside was used because Dad’s eyes were sensitive, perhaps from the morphine. A little after midnight now. The house was so quiet but for Charlie, who was snoring noisily next to Dad. He smiled in his sleep.

“Ready?” asked Thomas.

Annie panicked. She said in tears, “Do you think we should? Is it right?”

I answered with a necessary lie, then told Annie to go sit on the other side of the bed. She did.

Now Dad. Here we are. What shall I say as last words? Do you remember talking to me about immortality, just the other day? How we can see light from stars that are ten billion light years away and that might not exist anymore? Do you remember?

You said, The night sky might be filled with ghosts. And I said, But they’re real to us. So maybe if people see you everywhere and think you exist, then you do.

“He is sleeping so peacefully,” said Annie, recovering a little.

“All right, now …” said Thomas, and tapered off.

Dad, I must do this quickly now, without stopping for thoughts or tears, if I can. We will cry later, forever maybe, but we must not now.

I pulled the tube free from Dad’s pajama top. His eyes sprang open. Annie put her hand on his arm. I said softly. “Hi Dad. You’re awake. Annie and I are here.”

He smiled.

“Hi Dad.” Annie stroked his cheek.

“I’m going to give you a little medicine to help you breathe more easily, Dad.”

He smiled again. He never looked so like a little boy.

“You’re doing so much better today, Dad. You’re going to be okay. You know that, don’t you?”

He nodded.

I took the syringe from Thomas.

“Someone has to hold the tube,” he said. Annie was holding Dad’s hand, so Thomas took the tube himself. The syringe was difficult to push, so he helped. The cold fluid gave Dad an immediate rush. His eyes fluttered.

Never would he suspect that his daughter planned a quiet death for him tonight. I was smiling at him. I didn’t seem sad. He didn’t suspect. Everything was too perfect for him to die. I was happy that I had let Molly go off to the opera in a shimmering white gown, with her blonde ringlets piled on her head, enveloped in warm perfume. That is an image of our future without you, Dad. Look at it while you die and be at peace. Molly has gone to the opera.

She has left me in charge. Did I mind? she had asked. Was it wrong to go? she had wondered.

No, go to the opera. Have a good time, I had said, thinking, Let him think of you as going to the opera in a shimmering white gown forever. Die happy, Daddy. Without fear. We will be okay.

Thomas left us alone. Annie and I sat on either side. Dad was fully awake now. I cozied up against him, singing, “Way out here they have a name for wind and rain and fire. The rain is test; the fire is joy, and they call the wind Mariah.” Annie said I had a good voice. I smiled. It wasn’t true.

I kissed his forehead. He smiled. Did he really know? Was he just pretending not to? Maybe. But if so, he would also know how gently I was hiding the fact that I had just given him a lethal dose. He would be able to hang on to a belief in his life till the end. I told Dad about the beautiful fall weather that was coming. “And the plans Candice has for you!” He smiled. “Santa Fe, shopping in the bazaars. You better add another leaf to your dining table for all the new candlesticks.”

“Remember when we used to hold chocolate ice cream pow-wows telling bedtime stories?” asked Annie. I was three; Annie four; Molly five, with messy faces and tablespoons big as ladles in our little hands. “Remember your names for us? Molly was Snaggle Tooth, because of her missing teeth. I was Fizzlebritches.” Annie closed her eyes, laughing in embarrassment.

“And I am still Snakes-in-Hair.”

“And Dad was Big Chief Bumble Butt.”

He smiled, tried to speak. I quickly covered his trachea tube. He said something about, “playing Noah,” or “we know a …” something about his brother Scott, but he became exhausted and couldn’t go on. We didn’t press him.

Annie smoothed his hair and told him how handsome he looked. He pumped his eyebrows, but then his eyes fell, and the drugs plunged him into sleep. His breath deepened. Annie and I looked at each other and swallowed hard, listening to the distant clock chiming the half-hour.

“Goodnight Dad. See you in the morning.”

“You should go on home now,” I said to Annie.

“You sure? You’ll be ok...

Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Title Page
• Dedication
• Epigraph
• I
• II
• III
• IV
• V
• VI
• VII
• VIII
• IX
• X
• XI
• XII
• XIII
• XIV
• XV
• XVI
• XVII
• XVIII
• XIX
• XX
• XXI
• XXII
• XXIII
• XXIV
• XXV
• XXVI
• XXVII
• XXVIII
• XXIX
• XXX
• XXXI
• XXXII
• Copyright Page