Secret for a Song by S. K. Falls

eyes at me, she said, “He’s on a
mission and can’t be disturbed.”
     I
smiled a little awkwardly. “What mission?”
    “It’s
always something new,” Zee replied.
    “It’s
important,” Drew said, moving the sheet of paper on top to the back. He looked
up at me. “It’s a petition for a TIDD member.”
    “Jack
doesn’t come to TIDD anymore, ergo , he is not a member,” Zee said, as
Ralph brought us our coffees. “Thanks, hon. Put it on my tab, will ya?”
    I
took my coffee and tried to pay, but Ralph shook his head, his hoop earrings
jangling. “First time no charge,” he said. “Hope you’ll come back.”
    “Stop
flirting with her and give me my coffee,” Drew said, feigning annoyance. “What
do I have to do to get some service around here?”
    I
watched them, my brain teeming with questions. How could they act like this,
like it was any other day? Didn’t they want to go skydiving or setting world
records? Why were they wasting their time with me when these were their last
days? I felt like this was all just a dream, a surreal, bizarre dream from
which I’d wake up at any moment. Maybe Dr. Stone and I’d discuss it at my next
appointment—the implications of coffee and a yellow car.
    When
Ralph went back behind the counter, Drew set his coffee on the table in front
of us. “Jack’s too sick to come to TIDD meetings,” he said, as if he and Zee
had never been interrupted. “That doesn’t mean he’s not a member anymore. I
don’t understand why you’re so against this.”
    “It’s
just a bad idea for the group to be involved in something so divisive,” Zee
said, her eyes going dark in a way I was sure wasn’t common for her. “We depend
on the hospital administration for fundraisers and other things.” She looked at
me. “They’ve paid for family members’ hotel rooms in the past, when people had
to be hospitalized in a different city. They pick up the bill for stuff like
that all the time. And they’re totally against this plan.”
    I
nodded and took a sip of my coffee. It scorched my tongue.
    Drew
sighed. “It’s Jack’s choice.”
    “Jack
isn’t...all there anymore. You know that. You’ve got to admit it.”
    Drew
ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I’d always thought was annoying and
pretentious on guys. On him, it looked genuine. I could see frustration in the
tightness of his jaw. “That’s not his fault. That’s part of the very thing he
wants to stop.” He looked at me. “I’m sorry. We’re probably talking over your head.
The thing is we have a TIDD member who’s too sick to come to meetings now. He’s
got encephalitis—a brain infection—as a complication of cancer. So he wants to
petition the court for physician assisted suicide.”
    Physician
assisted suicide. I looked at Drew, sitting there with his cane balanced
against the arm of the couch. I wanted to crawl inside his brain and see what
he felt when he said those words. Was it frightening? Or did he feel like it
didn’t apply to him? I knew what I’d be doing that night: researching more
about Friedrich’s Ataxia, just how quickly it progressed.
    “I...see.
That’s, um, euthanasia. Right?”
    “Right.”
Drew took a deep breath. “I think it should be his choice.”
    “Do
you think the court will approve something like that?”
    “It’s
considered a felony in New Hampshire,” Drew replied. “But I’m hoping a petition
from the community might change the court’s mind.”
    Zee
made a noise somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “Are you kidding? Do you
live where I live? This little elitist Republican community is never going to
approve of something like that. It’d hurt their delicate sensibilities too
much. Besides, I’m with them on this one. The nature of Jack’s disease makes it
too close to call. How do we know it’s really what he wants and not just what
his addled brain is saying?”
    Suicide.
This guy, Jack, wasn’t exactly talking about offing himself in the