Terminal Read Online Free PDF Page B

walked down the hall, undressed, and slipped beneath the covers. The cool sheets felt good on my skin. We cuddled in the glow of the television. Within minutes, Michelle was breathing softly, sound asleep. I was always amazed at how easily she could fall asleep. I watched her for a long time, the rise and fall of her breasts, the way her forehead wrinkled up as she dreamed. This was when she was most beautiful.
    I smiled, content.
    Then I remembered I was dying. The fact popped back into my head from out of nowhere. Most people don’t think about dying, especially at the age of twenty-five. The cop walking his beat isn’t dwelling on it, even though he knows that there’s a chance it could happen to him every night. The drunken driver isn’t pondering the ramifications right before he flies through the windshield and becomes a bloody skid mark on the road. For people like that, death happens quickly. It may be there in the back of their head, knowing that it could happen, but they aren’t thinking about it at every second.
    What about the everyday schmuck? Do they think about dying when they get up in the morning, take their shower, and spill coffee on themselves during their commute? Do they dwell on it while the boss is hollering at them? Fuck no. Of course not. Human beings don’t walk around thinking about death because we don’t really believe that it’s going to happen to us. Sure, we know that it will happen eventually. Maybe sometimes we even stop and consider for a moment that it could be today. But we don’t know for sure. We’re never one hundred percent positive.
    Let me tell you, when you know for sure that it’s going to happen, and that it will happen soon, you can’t think about anything else. I tried to, though. I tried to change the subject with myself. I thought about our debt, and how much we owed, and I wondered how the hell we’d ever get out of it. Wondered how Michelle and T. J. would survive it after I was dead. Would they be forced into bankruptcy and living on the street? I watched her sleeping and thought about T. J. and the Lorax and the sound of the axe cutting down the last Truffula tree. The very last one. And after it was gone, everything in the Lorax’s forest had turned to shit.
    I knew I had to do something, but at that point I wasn’t sure what.
    The volume on the television was turned down low, so it wouldn’t wake T. J. up. There was a cop show on, and in it, three guys were robbing a bank.
    I fell asleep watching it. It looked pretty easy on TV.
    I wondered if it was that easy in real life.
    FOUR
    So, let me get this straight. You’ve got hair on your dick? Not on your balls but on your dick? On the shaft?”
    “Yeah.” John took another bite of his bologna sandwich. “Doesn’t everybody? You mean that you guys don’t?”
    Sherm and I arched our eyebrows at each other, and after a second’s pause we started howling. I sprayed soda across the lunchroom table, I laughed so hard.
    “John,” I wiped the soda up with a napkin, “how many guys have you seen in porno movies with hair on their fucking dicks?”
    He shrugged. “I just figured they shaved, dog. A lot of those guys shave their balls, you know.”
    Still howling, Sherm turned to the table behind us.
    “Yo, Louis, check this shit out. John’s got hair on his dick!”
    Louis, who ran the Number Four line, looked perplexed.
    “What, you mean like around the balls? Don’t we all got that?”
    Sherm nodded at John. “Tell ’em.”
    Frowning, John’s ears began to turn red.
    “I’ve got hair growing up the sides of my dick. It goes about halfway up. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
    The entire lunchroom exploded in laughter. John’s ears turned completely scarlet.
    “I’m gonna start calling you Carpet Dick.” Sherm chuckled.
    That was pretty much how it went every day. We’d file into the lunchroom at twelve, head back out at twenty-five after— just enough time to take a piss or call home