The Twenty-Seventh Night

 

Nick has a habit of throwing strange questions at me when I least expect them, and tonight was no different.

“Hey, you ever think about how you're gonna get old and, like, die?”

“Like anyone else, I thought I was immortal until I hit forty. Then, suddenly, on November 15th, 1999, at exactly 1:30 in the afternoon, I stopped being immortal. And that changed my life.”

He looked at me with a kind of dumbfounded disbelief that was almost comical.

“Well, all right,” I went on. “Maybe not precisely on that date and time—but I still remember the realization striking me like a bolt from the sky.”

“Yeah, dude, same here. It was a shock. But for me, it hit while I was lying in that hospital bed, a few days after I came outta the coma. I was just lying there, flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling like... there’s an open grave waiting for me.”

“And where exactly did this come from, on such a beautiful warm night?”

“I dunno, man... I guess I just wanted to know if it happened to other people too. You know, I laugh, I try to keep life chill and light—but honestly? That grave, it’s always there in my mind’s eye.”

“No, you're not alone. Everyone goes through this. Some sooner, some later—but it's part of growing up. We even gave it a name: the midlife crisis. And it’s a good thing, actually. That crisis gives us a moment to reevaluate everything. It’s like nature saying: ‘Okay, you were a child, a teen, a young adult—but now it’s downhill toward death. So what really matters to you in this life?’”

Nick’s eyes were quietly fixed on the stars above.

I continued, “But in your case, I think there's a deeper layer—something most people don’t experience.”

“Like what?”

“My first therapist once told me that people change in two situations: either through trauma, or through therapy. And you went through the worst kind of trauma there is—death itself. Okay, you didn’t actually die, but let’s be real: you brushed right past its doorstep.”

“My therapist told me something kinda like that too.”

“And you didn’t believe her?”

“I just... I wish I could stop seeing that grave, you know?”

“Are you seeing it now?”

“I’m not crazy, Doc! I don’t actually see it!”

We both laughed, and I replied, “Of course not. I just mean... maybe that grave is less of a grim threat and more of a promise—of a better future.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well, if you live with the reality of your own end always in view, then that’s also an invitation. To live fully. To live with meaning, and order. We’re all gonna meet Death one day. Better to live a life that lets Death show up like a beautiful and loving bride, not some hideous skeleton.”

“I’m not there yet, man. I mean, yeah—I’m clean now, I got a job, I’m not selling myself anymore... but it still doesn’t feel like enough.”

He took a breath and went on, in that easy rhythm of his.

“I’ve been thinking about your life motto, but honestly? (1)  I don’t know if I can live up to it.”

“Well, one thing I can tell you for certain: the meaning of your life doesn’t lie within you. That’s what my motto makes very clear.”

Nick stood up and began to undress.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I need a swim in the ocean. My building doesn’t come with a private beach like yours.”

“You’re crazy,” I said, laughing.

 (1) See The Seventeenth Night.