The Unbearable Weight of Gravitas

this is the end, goto part 1

Part 9

One by one the balls rolled from her hand, and clinked, almost musically, upon the ceramic tile.

 You’ve been presented a challenge worthy of the movies, and taken several lifetimes to wind your way through, and beyond the obstacles. It’s not all been the stuff of legends. Some has been fun, the commendable distraction of light hearted fluff. You rode some rapids, won some races, and flew some missions. You’ve met the loves of your lives, and screwed the entire football team. There have been bridges to cross, and some of them burned.  Murder, death, blood in plenty. Life, love, family; Nessay, you had it all. What else is there? How long can you tinker? How many mountains will you climb until there are no more?

                “There are more, it’s infinite.”

                Do you think there is something you may have missed?

                “I do. The most important thing.”:

Dust obscured her passage. It wasn’t a stealthy approach, roaring down the open road on her electric beast. This was a scenario Nessay had lived a hundred times, or was it thousands. She had crossed so many times, the details were foggy. This time was born of necessity. She felt an ache in her heart that had been absent for many, good, years. That last dimension, while it had ended in a slow and heartbreaking way, was nearly perfect. All bodies died, there was no escaping that, and Nessay rode that one out to the end. Her death had been a triumph, a fruitful end, and she could have left it at that.     
           Nessay might have Gone On then, at that point. She walked through the front doors of the house, as a wrinkled old woman, and wandered the rooms and halls with her cane clicking on the floors. Back in the way station Nessay felt the rot slowly creep away, sucked through the ceilings and walls, until she stood renewed in the old familiar library room.  The little book was there, lying closed on top of a fading yellow crossword page. She picked it up, but really, what could it tell her now? Nessay walked to the wall and replaced the small tome onto a shelf. All was in order. She struggled, this felt like it might be the right time, but something didn’t add up. A hot cup of tea and a night of rest settled her mind, but it didn’t make her happy. Nessay then pushed through the curtain, into the mist, and began again.

                She made it back early, skipping the sunset, and rushed into her little village. The electric animal was abandoned, off in a hidden place, and Nessay let herself into her home. The shared hallway was bright under Tesla’s wireless bulbs, as she made her way to the last door. She let herself in and walked to the window.  Life was still outside, and the light began to fade. Nessay climbed the ladder to her bed loft, and above that she pulled down a hatch and climbed up to the roof. Up here was a small landing, and steel railing. She lay down prone on the floor and looked out over the village, waiting.

                There had been too much death in her travels. Agony. Heartbreak. Blood. Nessay vowed to end it here, even if it meant her own death. The night had come. From above Nessay saw the plume of sand and dust kicking up on the road, and a man rode through the gates.  He pulled up in front of Nessay’s house and halted there, looking at the door.

                It was Jocu’le. He got off the solo ride and walked through the front door. Nessay lost sight of him, but she heard through the walls the faint sound of knocking. He called out her name, but he must know she wouldn’t be home. Her electric animal wasn’t tied to the stall out front. He called again, then she heard a loud crash and the splintering of wood.

                He was rummaging around the shelves and drawers, looking for something. She could only assume it was the space ball she had missed, and brought back with her. Nessay felt a deep pain well up in her chest for the man. Hadn’t she just spent the better part of fifty years with him? Living and dying? She heard him curse her from below, and the sound of breaking glass and crashing shelves.

                The crunch of sand swung her around, back to the road. Another vehicle pulled into the complex, and parked behind the shelter of another dome. From inside a glass cab a woman emerged and walked out into the light of the lane. Hildy! Nessay breathed in deep. Hildy swept her gaze around and nervously stepped toward Nessay’s house. Before she could enter, she heard a loud noise, and ran back the way she came, stopping at a tree, then crouched low behind it. Nessay saw the glint of steel in Hildy’s hand.  Too much, too much. Nessay sobbed on the roof, frustrated, confused, angry. Nessay stood, she didn’t care now what happened. She only knew that she was done with the blood.

                Slowly, Nessay climbed over the railing and carefully walked to the edge of the platform, where the dome curved and plunged down. Nessay lowered herself onto the curve and let go, sliding faster than she had hoped toward the ground. She hit hard, and rolled. From the trees Nessay heard a gasp, then the front door swung open, hitting hard against the outer wall. Jocu’le hurried out.

                “Nessay, stop right there,” he shouted, striding over and grabbing her by the arm when she tried to rise. Nessay cried out as she put weight onto her ankle. “Shut up. Where’s the ball?”

                “What ball?” she yelled back.

                Into the light another figure rose. Hildy came forward. “It’s too late for that Nessay. I know you have it, and he knows too. Jocu’le read the note.”Hildy pointed the gun at them with one hand, and with the other she brushed some hair from her forehead to show the dark bruising and crusted blood there. “I’ll take that ball.”

                Jocu’le hauled Nessay up in front of himself, as a shield. “I should have made sure you were dead. It won’t happen again.” Quickly, Jocu’le pulled a knife out and rushed forward, throwing Nessay into the woman, and hurling the knife. Hildy stumbled, but the knife only glanced off her shoulder, handle first, and tumbled, sticking in the dirt. She pushed Nessay aside and fired the gun directly into Jocu’le’s chest as he hurled toward her. When Nessay looked up again, Hildy was standing over her with a smoking handgun.

                “Hildy,” Nessay said. “Hildy. I’m sorry. I’ll always be sorry.”

                Hildy stared down, and she tossed the gun onto Jocu’le’s sprawling corpse.  “Whatever for, dear? She kneeled down and hugged Nessay. “Come on, let’s go in. There will be police soon enough.”

               There were no more mountains. Nessay put away her climbing gear and spent her remaining years, on this plane, in the loving hold of Hildy’s strong arms. Another long life, another slow heartbreak at the end. As Hildy lay dying, Nessay brushed her lips with cool water and looked into her open eyes. They were cracked, like a door to another world. Instead of waiting around to the end, Nessay reached out and closed Hildy’s eyes, and edged her way through, sideways, as the door closed. There was no more sorrow, only joy.

The tips of her fingers glowed and opened, splitting bloodlessly, and all the little balls released, then tumbled back into the palms of her hands.  Nessay lowered herself, her legs folding in, and she sat cross legged upon the bathroom floor.  One by one the balls rolled from her hand, and clinked, almost musically, upon the ceramic tile. On? she wondered, and pondered the ramifications. More of these heavy, dense lives would be unbearable. Hadn’t she, by now, wrapped up all the loose ends?

                “Yes, on,” she said, but not over.

                Nessay was four, she had a coloring book under one arm, and her tiny hand gripped a few vibrant crayons of bright greens and yellows, and blues. She reached up to the door and pushed it open, and a final tiny ball dissipated like the fog in the morning.

All done.