Sitting on that beach, the last thing Eric Anderson wanted was a more acute memory. He was quite nearly giddy looking up at the sky and gently marveling at the wispy threads of green and purple woven into that astounding, impossible blue. For twenty years or more he had been grateful for the dulling of his senses, the abatement of his desires, and the occlusion of his memories. Without that, he would never have been able. The hope, the longing, the shame, the regret that had bled away year after year was a mercy he did not deserve but depended upon regardless; to get it all back, to be able to recall every memory at will, to be filled with needs and wants and uncontrollable vigor and futile hopes, to be all that for perhaps centuries was quite easily the worst hell he could imagine, far worse than the one he had endured. Though he instantly loved that sky, and the delightful warmth and enticing scents on the breeze, he wanted days not lifetimes of it. For him, this was a peace, the most unlikely peace for certain, but brilliant and blessed undoubtedly. To be there, to be free of his most intimate physical pains was nearly revelation. The blinding pain had been of use; constant physical pain damped down the more abastract fears, kept a concrete, practical focus on every moment, which was most assuredly a benefit, considering. After more than 20 years, he wasn't in pain. And he certainly wasn't worrying about cancer or children or his job or money or anything. It was unlikely to say the least. The cottony haze of a dull and aging brain was the fucking icing on the cake. Anything that changed that would have been a disaster.
When he was younger, before Rebecca had come back into his life for the second time, the fall was always hard for him. Not that he ever would have admitted it, but Eric missed school, college, and wanted more than anything to have another chance. Missing Allison, or at least the idea of Allison, the possibility of Allison or someone like her and the imagined possibility of happiness and companionship, was part of it, but Eric focused on his life as it was and was able to continue in a modest fashion. He was saving for a house, and he was able to ride his bike most days, and he actively didn't focus on his mistakes and his fears. After the Rebecca redux, the spring sucked, too, because he lost the opportunity and ability to get out onto the road and into the woods. His existential condition deteriorated rapidly, but for quite a few years, he felt the loss and longed for what he would never experience again.
At some point in his late 40's, Eric's back added a new and frightening aspect to his pain: nauseating pressure. It was not the same rigid spasm or the usual loose weakness, it was another facet to his ever increasing back pain. It didn't seem to make anything harder for him, so as was his SOP, he did his best to ignore it. In his early 50's, something went terribly wrong and scared the shit out of him. His breathing became consistently labored and his chest and stomach routinely hurt like hell. As there was no money for a doctor for him when he had three kids to take care of, and he was worried about not being able to find another job if needed in the future with diagnosed cardiac illnesses on his record, in what passed for a panic for him, he cut out his caffeine and started chomping generic aspirins 20 a day. After a few months, his panic subsided a bit and he learned to live with that indignity as well. Then later the suspected prostate cancer wasn't likely to kill him, and again, one positive test would have done more harm than good. Though, he hadn't been sure up until recently, he lived with that too. Eric was the ultimate hard guy; his fear of dying and being found cold and blue in some ridiculous condition by his horrible offspring was a very real threat. Now, it didn't matter. Relieved didn't even begin to describe his feelings. Freedom. Undeserved freedom for sure, but fuck it. This was as close to happy as he had been in half a century. The others may have been boiling in a renewal of their youth, but Eric wanted nothing of it. The children were safe now, secure, with the mother they'd always wanted; he didn't have to deal with them at all or worry one second about their prospects. Anyone he would have wanted to share vibrant, breathless days with was far away and long dead. Eric was happy--more than happy, ecstatic, and amazed--for some peace, some comfort, more than a little impossible wonder, and a quiet, forgotten end.
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