December 27, 2022. 7AM

“Lil, I... I love you,” Fred said nervously, his hands shaking as he read from the paper he wrote on. He was standing in front of a mirror. “No, no, no, no, that’s not right. It’s too plain—she already knows I love her.”

He went over to the kitchen table and scratched out what he had written so far, scribbling another line to replace it.

“Lil, we’ve known each other since our university days,” he said, writing his thoughts out. “Eighteen... An age of young, foolish love. Teenage love. Nobody ever thought we’d get this far—but now, here we are! We proved them wrong, Lil! We were friends, then became best friends, commiserating over lost love—you, over the guy you liked who was engaged; me, after the girl I liked who was also engaged. We share a lot of things in common—then and now. From the same classes we had, to our dads having the same job, to our love of Les Miserables... Our love for Django Unchained... After being best friends for awhile, we tried the whole dating thing. I’ll never forget that Monopoly game night! I was in love with you by then. And then just a week later, you told me you were in love with me, that you knew I was the one. I told you I felt the same way. It was the happiest day of my life. You know what would be the second happiest day of my life? The day we both say ‘I do.’ Lil, I want to take this thing to the altar. You’ve been my rock; you’ve been my shelter, my home, my best friend. And always and forevermore, you will be my love... Until death do us part. Lillian Jane Johnson, will you marry me?”

Fred looked at what he had written. It was more suited as a love note, not as a proposal speech. Should he say it? Or should he give it to her? He was an excellent wordsmith, but he was uncomfortable with speaking.

“Maybe I could leave it on the table while she goes to the bathroom at restaurant tonight,” Fred thought aloud. “That could work. She’ll see the note, read it, then when she turns to me, I’ll be on one—no, both knees—the box in my open palm.”

There was a round of applause from behind him.

“Bravo, Monsieur Romantique!” Fred’s roommate Jason said. “You silver-tongued devil, you.”

Fred had to chuckle at the Django Unchained reference. It was his favorite movie, and also Jason’s. When he made Lil watch it, she loved it.

“Why, thank you,” Fred said with a mock bow. “You think she’ll love it?”

“I know she will,” Jason said, nodding, a smile extending from ear to ear on his face.

“How’s Wendy?” Fred asked, inquiring after Jason’s girlfriend.

“She’s great,” Jason replied. “Sometimes her job makes it hard on us, though. We rarely have time for each other these days.”

“Teachers,” Fred said, with a laugh and a shake of the head. Jason laughed with him. “By the way, if Lil says yes... You’re my best man.”

“It’s an honor to be your best man.”

 

Back in 2013, if you asked Lillian Jane Johnson what her favorite song was from Les Miserables, she would’ve said “On My Own.” Now all that has changed. If you asked her now, she would give “A Heart Full of Love” as her answer. She was humming it now. Her heart was full of love—love for Fredrick William Phillips, the man of her dreams. Her Prince Charming on a white steed. Her Knight-in-Shining-Armor, who would cross ten-thousand alligator-filled moats for her, scale high walls for her, slay dragon after dragon for her... She stood there, in front of the mirror, deciding what dress to wear.

Fred had called her earlier, telling her to meet him somewhere special. Their favorite Italian restaurant, Fantasia. Fantasia was the kind of rich restaurant couples went to on their dates. Where businessmen would conduct meetings over lunch or dinner. This was where rich families celebrated their children’s achievements. Fantasia came with a high price tag. Some of the food on the menu reached up to $25.00. It wasn’t a mom-and-pop restaurant; that was for sure. Not your diner at the corner. No, sir. Its patrons were expected to dress nicely. Richly. Red curtains, soft to the touch, lined the walls, coming down from the ceiling and touching the floor. Its silverware was spotless, its beautiful porcelain plates rimmed with gold at the edges, its light fixtures looked like they belonged in a palace.

This was the kind of place where you had to make reservations in advance. How Fred could afford all this on a journalist’s salary, Lil didn’t know.

So now here she was, in nothing but her underwear, in front of the mirror, trying to pick out the perfect dress for the evening. Nothing too elegant, but nothing too drab either. Something in between. Rich-looking enough to warrant entrance into one of New York City’s finest restaurants, but not rich-looking enough to dazzle everyone. She hated drawing attention to herself. The occasional compliment was alright.

She slipped on a black dress that shimmered in the light. It only stayed on for seven seconds. It wasn’t a bad dress. She just wasn’t content. And after seven seconds of scrutinizing, she decided she wasn’t wearing it.

“I don’t want to look like I’m going to a funeral,” she mumbled.

She tried on dress after dress after dress. She finally settled on a green dress, one of Fred’s favorites. She could almost hear him say, “It looks good on you.”

 

December 27, 2022. 6:15PM

Fred knocked on his editor’s door. He was done for the day. He usually worked overtime, sometimes even past ten. If he could camp in the New York Times’ bullpen, he would. He was dedicated. He was so dedicated that Earl McHaddad, editor-in-chief of the New York Times, sometimes wanted to drag him out of the office already, on the nights when he worked overtime.

But he was leaving early tonight.

“Well, that’s a first,” the editor said with a chuckle. “Off somewhere, Phillips?”

“I have a date tonight, Chief,” Fred said, a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

“Gotcha,” Chief McHaddad said, shooting him a knowing wink. “Let me know how it goes with your girl.”

“Will do, Chief,” Fred said, then vanished.

As soon as he was out of the bullpen, he dashed over to one of the elevators, pressing frantically until the doors opened. He was thankful for that. You know how Murphy’s Law is—whatever can go wrong will go wrong. Good thing the elevator was empty and it opened immediately. He hoped it wouldn’t stop, leaving him trapped in there.

Time seemed to slow down as he waited to get to the ground floor. It felt like years before he heard the sharp ding of the elevator, letting him know he was on his intended floor. He pressed the open button and strode out of the elevator.

As he came out of the building, he noticed a bum on the sidewalk, shivering from the cold, his back pressed against a newsstand for warmth. It didn’t help. Fred took his jacket off—he had a spare in the car—and draped it over the poor man’s shaking shoulders. Then he dropped some change into the man’s cup.

“G-g-g-g-od b-bless you, s-s-sir,” the vagabond said in his frail shaking voice. “Th-th-thank... Thank you...”

“It was my pleasure,” Fred said with a smile. And then he walked away.

Four seconds later, shots were fired, people screamed, running in all directions. And then darkness. The last thing Fred remembered was someone screaming, “The poor guy! Somebody call 9-1-1!” He also remembered the searing pain that tore through his back and chest.

And he remembered the last words that came out of his lips. “Lil... love... you...”

He felt for the velvet box that contained the ring he bought for her and his letter before passing out. He was losing blood—fast. And an awful lot of it too. His shirt was almost all red.

 

December 27, 2022. 7:40PM

Lil sighed, looking at her watch. It was already 7:40. No sign of Fred. It wasn’t like Fred. He was never late before. But tonight, he was. Lil had been waiting for an hour and ten minutes now. No Fred. Lil knew he wasn’t a jerk—she wouldn’t have fallen in love with him if he was. And she knew, too, that he was never late. He was always punctual. It was crucial—it’s what his job demanded of him. Nobody has ever heard of a journalist who was late.

“Where could he be?” she thought out loud. “He’s supposed to be here.”

She got up and paced. This was unbearable. She didn’t like it, not one bit.

“I’ll give him twenty more minutes,” she said with a sigh, sitting back down.

Just at that moment, Devon, a friend Fred and Lil’s burst through the doors, fists clenched.

“Sir? Sir!” the maître d said. “Sir, you can’t be here—you don’t have a reserv—”

“Get out of my way!” Devon shouted, at the top of his lungs.

He made his way over to Fred and Lil’s table. The ruckus made Lil look up.

“Devon?” she said, surprised. “What’re—”

“I’m sorry,” Devon said in a shaking voice. Then he burst into tears.

“Devon?” Lil said, alarm in her voice. “Devon, what’s wrong? Where’s Fred?”

He couldn’t stop sobbing. Without a word, he handed her the bloodied piece of paper and the box that contained the ring.

Something bad had happened. Lil knew that now. Her lips shook, tears forming in her eyes. With shaking hands, she unfolded the letter and read. She dropped it and covered her mouth with her hands. She began to cry, shaking her head.

“No! No! No! No!” she kept repeating. “This isn’t true! It’s not true! It’s not happening!”

2: Coma

December 27, 2022. 8:45PM

Lil paced back and forth in the waiting room, impatient for news of her beloved Fred. The doctors have been working on Fred for more than an hour now. Trying their best to save him. What is taking so long?

“Who...who would do this?” Lil said in a weak voice muffled by tears and mucus. “Who would do something like this?”

“He’s a fucking journalist, for Pete’s sake!” Devon said, standing, pulling another cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it. “Who do you think would do this? God knows he has enemies.”

“Sir, you can’t smoke here,” one of the nurses reminded Devon.

“The hell I can’t!” he shot back. The nurse backed down.

“Calm the fuck down, will you?” Fred’s cousin Jim said, looking up. He had been on the floor, his back against the wall, head down, weeping silently. “Throwing a hissy fit won’t help any of us—not you, not Fred, not Lillian, not the doctors.”

That seemed to have worked. It shut Devon up. Temporarily, at least. He was bound to have another fit later. That’s how he reacted to stress and situations like the one they were in. Jim and Lil hoped he wouldn’t. Devon’s temper and ranting would only make matters worse.

The double doors to the waiting room flew open and one man and two women rushed in. Fred’s roommate and best friend Jason, Jason’s girlfriend Wendy, and Wendy’s twin sister Amy.

“Guys, what happened?” Jason asked, frantic.

“Someone shot Fred,” Jim tried to explain as calmly as he could.

“Who?” Wendy asked.

“We... We don’t know,” Lil said, on the verge of crying again. “The police have no suspects yet.”

“Probably someone he made an enemy of,” Devon said, adding an inaudible curse at the end of his statement.

“Dammit!” Jason said, running his hands through his hair. “I told him to get out of journalism—did he listen to me? No!”

“Journalism was his life,” Rachel, Jim’s wife said. “I remember the time he told me the first time he decided he was going to be a journalist. It was on the day of Nine-Eleven.”

“And it will be his death,” Devon muttered.

“Can we not talk about death here?” Lil shouted. Devon flinched for the first time in his life. He never flinched when women nagged. But there was something in Lil’s voice that threatened bloody murder if he didn’t shut up. And her eyes showed it too. She was shooting daggers at him.

“I’m sor—” Devon tried to say, hands up, palms open in surrender. But Lil gave him no chance to offer his apology. In a split second she was out of the waiting room in an angry huff.

“I’ll talk to her,” Amy offered, following her friend down the hallway.

 

You know how they say your whole life flashes before you before you die? Fred’s life flashed before him now as he lay on that table, being operated on by the hospital’s best surgeons. He heard a baby’s cries filling the air. Saw a man holding him upside down by the heel, spanking his bare bottom. Heard people singing happy birthday. Saw a cake with one candle, people clapping. His dad, bursting through the door, soaking wet. The man had braved a storm just to get to his birthday. Saw his mom at the piano, how he walked over and sat beside her, wanting to learn. Saw himself at age seven, his mom giving up on teaching him how to play. Selling the piano. Their second home. The neighborhood kids. He saw himself crushing his little sister’s dollhouse because he had nothing better to do. Dropping a slimy frog inside his sister’s Sunday dress. Time outs. Then he saw himself at age eleven. He saw friends and relatives gathered together on New Year’s Eve, anticipating the drop of the ball, eyes fixed on the TV. Counting down. Five... Four... Three... Two... One... Happy New Year! And then Auld Lang Syne. In German, of course. He and his sister Liesel were singing. Uncle Will at the piano.

 

Nehmt Abschied, Brüder, ungewiss

ist alle Wiederkehr,

die Zukunft liegt in Finsternis

und macht das Herz uns schwer

Der Himmel wölbt sich übers Land,

Ade, auf Wiedersehn

Wir ruhen all in Gottes Hand,

lebt wohl, auf Wiedersehn

Die Sonne sinkt, es steigt die Nacht,

Vergangen ist der Tag,

die Welt schläft ein und leis erwacht

der Nachtigallen Schlag

Der Himmel wölbt sich übers Land,

Ade, auf Wiedersehn

Wir ruhen all in Gottes Hand,

lebt wohl, auf Wiedersehn

 

He saw himself at the kitchen table after school, working on homework and eating a PB&J sandwich. He saw his high school days. Dating Melissa, and then Joanna. His and Melissa’s first time in the backseat of her car. Melissa’s cheating ways. Their breakup. His and Joanna’s first time. The breakup. And then university. Meeting Lil for the first time. Hitting it off quite well. The progression from friendship to close friendship. To flirtation. To dating. There was no first time here. Lil wanted their first time to be on their wedding night. And Fred respected that. He would honor Lil’s decision and make love to her when the time was right—on their wedding night.

He saw Lil’s departure for London—that broke his heart. He missed her terribly. Her return. The continuation of their love story. The day he decided to propose to her. He saw himself walking out of the New York Times building. Gunshots. Pain, searing pain. The taste of blood in his mouth. Darkness...

 

In the little chapel of the hospital, Lil cried. It was all she could do. She could no longer pray. She had exhausted every word—every plea, every bargain, every bribe. She was so weak. All she could do was hang her head and weep miserably. Why was this happening? Their path had been set! They would marry; Fred would work hard and earn enough money to raise a family... They would have kids. She wanted four, he wanted five. They were ready! And now this? It was unfair. It was so unfair. How could this happen?

Lil looked up when she felt someone rubbing her back softly, comfortingly. It was Amy. She sniffled and embraced her. They cried together.

“Why is this happening?” she said, her sobs muffled against Amy’s shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Amy said, shaking her head. “I don’t know. Maybe this is a test.”

“What test?” Lil said, a little irritated. “I can’t think—why? To what purpose?”

“Maybe it’s a test of faith,” Amy answered. “Like God did with Job.”

“I don’t know...”

“You’ll get through this,” Amy encouraged. “I know you’ll get through this. You’re a strong gal, cowgirl.”

Lil smiled a small smile.

“That’s better.”

 

“What’s going on with Fred?” Jason said, stepping forward as Dr. Farid Ezzat came out of the ER.

“How is he?” Devon asked.

“He’s in stable condition now,” the Egyptian doctor said with his British accent. “We’ll be wheeling him into ICU in a bit.”

“Can we see him?” Wendy asked.

“In awhile,” Dr. Ezzat said.

“How long will it take for him to wake up?” Jim asked.

“We can’t say at this point,” the doctor said. “It’s too early to tell. He may wake in a couple of days or even a couple of weeks. Maybe months.”

“Jesus Christ! What kind of goddamned doctor are you?” Devon said, at it again with his flaring temper. “Damn quacks. That’s all you are!”

“Devon!” Jim warned.

“Calm down, Mr. Culpeper,” Dr. Ezzat tried to reassure him and the group. “We’re doing the best we can.”

“Make damn sure you do!” Devon said, pointing a warning finger at the doctor. “Make goddamn sure! If he dies—if he dies—my God! If he dies, I won’t blame you for killing him, but I sure as Hell will blame you for not keeping him alive!”

“Alright,” Jason said. “Everyone, keep calm. I know this is hard for all of us, it’s a tough time. What sane person wants to see his friend dying? But tension is the last thing we need right now. We need to keep a level head.”

“I agree with Jason,” Jim said, nodding.

“Me too,” Rachel concurred.

Devon nodded.

“Someone go tell Lil and Amy that Fred is out of the operating room.”

“I’ll do it,” Jason volunteered.

Devon nodded again.

Jason exited, walking down the hallway, turned left, then rode the elevator to the ground floor where the chapel was located. When he entered, he saw his girlfriend’s sister kneeling in prayer and his best friend’s fiancée sleeping soundly on the pew, snoring softly. He approached softly, like a cat. Soundless. Amy opened her eyes. Realizing they weren’t alone, she turned to see Jason standing behind her.

“How is he? What’s the report?”

“He’s out of the ER,” Jason said.

“Oh, thank God,” Amy breathed. “Where is he now.”

“ICU. He’s in stable condition... So far.”

“That’s good.”

On the pew, Lil stirred.

“Hm? Wh-what is it?” she asked, in her charming sleepy way. “What happened? Is Fred okay?”

“He’s out of the ER,” Amy announced. Lil hugged her tight. “He’s in Intensive Care right now.”

“That’s great,” Lil said softly.

“When can we see him?” Amy asked.

“The doctor said we could see him soon,” Jason said. “Maybe not now, though.”

“I want to see him,” Lil said resolutely.

 

December 28, 2022. 12:04AM

The EKG monitor above Fred’s head beeped steadily. Every one of Fred’s closest friends and relatives thanked God it wasn’t a flat line. They hoped they wouldn’t see that—Lil most of all.

She rested her head on the mattress, crying softly, tears staining her face and the sheets.

“Now I know why you wanted us to go to Fantasia. I got your letter,” she said, wiping furiously at her tears. “I got the ring, too. And... the answer is yes. It always has been, it always will be. Fredrick William Phillips, I love you with all my heart and soul. I would love to be Mrs. Fredrick Phillips. Just... Do me a favor? Please? Just... Just wake up? I need you... I love you.”

“Penny for your thoughts?” Devon said, knocking on the frame of the open door.

“You’d need Fort Knox for my thoughts,” Lil said without looking up.

“No need for biting sarcasm, Ms. Johnson,” Devon said with a smirk. “I bought you coffee, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Lil acknowledged. “Set it down there on the coffee table.”

“You’re welcome,” Devon said, doing as he was told. “Let us know if you need anything.”

Lil didn’t reply—just ignored Devon. He took that as his cue to leave. Exit, stage left.

Everyone went home except for Jason and Wendy. They wanted to stay with Lil. With Fred. They slept on the couches in the waiting room.

 

The sun streamed in through the hospital’s large glass windows. The city was alive, except that with snow, fewer cars were out. But there were people in the streets, some huddled together, others alone. The ones with no companions wore thick jackets, beanies, gloves, and scarves to keep themselves warm. Christmas songs were still being played on the airwaves. As a matter of fact, “White Christmas” was playing on the radio. But for those near and dear to Fred, this was a black Christmas—and an even blacker New Year by the looks of it.

“Do you think he’ll make it?” Wendy asked softly, as she laid her head on Jason’s shoulder.

“He’s a fighter,” Jason said. “I know he’ll make it. He’ll survive this, pull through.”

“What if he doesn’t, Jazz?”

“Don’t say that,” Jason countered. “He’ll make it.”

“When will he wake up?”

“Dr. Ezzat said they’re not sure, remember? It could take days, weeks, even months.”

“I know they’re doing their best,” Wendy said, nodding.

 

January 1, 2023.  7AM

“Happy New Year, bud,” Devon said, trying to put on a smile. “Don’t sleep in too much. You already missed out on the grand celebration last night, you know?”

Nobody laughed.

To defuse the tension, Jason pulled out his harmonica. Should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind...?

Jim sang, remembering their childhood.

 

Nehmt Abschied, Brüder, ungewiss

ist alle Wiederkehr,

die Zukunft liegt in Finsternis

und macht das Herz uns schwer

Der Himmel wölbt sich übers Land,

Ade, auf Wiedersehn

Wir ruhen all in Gottes Hand,

lebt wohl, auf Wiedersehn

Die Sonne sinkt, es steigt die Nacht,

Vergangen ist der Tag,

die Welt schläft ein und leis erwacht

der Nachtigallen Schlag

Der Himmel wölbt sich übers Land,

Ade, auf Wiedersehn

Wir ruhen all in Gottes Hand,

lebt wohl, auf Wiedersehn

 

Everyone sang, even those who didn’t know the German lyrics. A nurse, happening to pass by, joined in as well. She sang the rest of the song.

 

So ist in jedem Anbeginn,

Das ende nicht mehr weit,

wir kommen her und gehen hin

und mit uns geht die Zeit.

Der Himmel wölbt sich übers Land,

Ade, auf Wiedersehn

Wir ruhen all in Gottes Hand,

lebt wohl, auf Wiedersehn

Nehmt Abschied, Brüder, schließt den Kreis,
Das Leben ist kein Spiel.
Nur wer es recht zu Leben weiß,
Gelangt ans große Ziel.

 

Everyone was happy that New Year’s Day—or at least they were trying to be (or pretending to be). But no one could deny the fact that their dear Fred was still in a coma and may not get out.

When everyone had gone, Lil bent over and kissed Fred’s cheek.

“Happy New Year, babe.”