SEDONDS IN A DAY: A Novel

By Ben McElroy

Nice to meet you, too! I'm Vanni, by the way. Say, why don't you join me on my journey? What kind of journey, you ask? One of self-reflection, self-discovery, and a fair share of self-recrimination. Don't pity me, though. No need for that. For the first time in my life, I know exactly what to do and when to do it and why I have to do it. No, I w

• Language: English
• Publisher: Benjamin T. McElroy
• Release date: Dec 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781088010877

Ben McElroy

Ben McElroy strives toward offering you a quality product should you ever feel the urge to purchase and read one of his books. He has previously self-published the ebook story collection Emergence of the Hidden Things & Other Nightmares as well as the ebook and hardcover short novel Seconds in a Day. This newest ebook brings together a dozen pieces of fiction that have haunted Ben for many, many years. At last, he can now move on to other writing projects, including but not limited to his retro werewolf novel, the sequel to Seconds in a Day, and possibly that non-fiction book regarding horror movies he has talked about (and partially composed) for more than a decade. Please feel free to reach out to him with any questions or comments about his output thus far at [e-mail]. Ben doesn't do social media nor does he have the time to maintain a website or any other such drivel. He's 100% old school, so if you like what you've read, please spread the word. He'll appreciate that more than words can convey.

Book preview

Midnight

I’m living a lie, and nobody knows but me. For the first time since I’ve realized that fact, it concerns me; my last day has begun. This is it. One final set of twenty-four hours during which to let the truth be known. Am I ready? Do I have a choice? Does it matter? I don’t know. I don’t know. And, to change it up, I don’t know.

Regardless, here I lie alone in a bed not mine in a city about two hundred miles from home. The sheets and blankets wrap me in a tight cocoon. If nothing else, I must finish re-reading my favorite novel. Something I’ve done once a year for the past nineteen.

As usual, the novel has inspired me to consider life from an alternate perspective. It has also opened my mind to undiscovered possibilities. I’ve limited myself to reading about fifteen pages per day so I can prioritize pondering the end of me. That, and I promised myself I would finish things off the day I reach the last page, number three-hundred ten, of my worn trade paperback copy of the novel. You know, savoring the story, while delaying the inevitable.

I roll over and extract the novel from beneath the unused pillow next to mine. I stashed it there some hours ago before forcing myself to get a little shut eye, which I failed to do because I’ve slept too much during the past couple days. I now open the novel to page two-hundred ninety-two and escape into the fiction built from fact world of my literary hero and his zany band of friends and acquaintances.

About twenty-two minutes later, reality once again exerts itself. A state of consciousness I would rather avoid, but there’s no escaping it. When the clock strikes midnight again about twenty-three and a half hours from now, I’ll transition to a new, unknown reality. Or not. One way or another, it sure won’t be my current reality. And so, I close the book. Return it with reverence to where I’d found it.

I sit up, throw the covers off me, and swing my feet onto the carpeted floor of the spacious bedroom. It’s large for what boils down to an efficiency apartment. I’m lucky to have found this place. For the past three weeks, I’ve paid by the day with an open-ended checkout date.

My overfull bladder throbs. Still, I remain stationary. To avoid wetting myself, I finally stand with a gargantuan grunt. Just another reminder that I’m an early middle-aged washout gone to pot. I conjure an image of Lewis Carroll’s grotesque, humanoid caterpillar. The bizarre Nineteen Seventy-Two movie version with Dudley Moore as the Dormouse. Not a healthy self-image, but it’s all I’ve got.

My pace quickens out of necessity as I cross through the living room and into the kitchenette. It’s small but functional and contains an array of cabinets and drawers as well as a full-sized range, fridge, microwave, and dishwasher. Not bad for about a hundred bucks a night.

The bathroom beckons to me from the left. No sooner do I enter, and I void my bladder into the already open toilet. A wave of despair yanks me into a riptide that carries me so far away from this moment that I release a cry of alarm as I anticipate a glut of seawater filling my lungs. An abundance of salty tears drop into the yellow water in the toilet bowl. I’m a wreck in every aspect of the word. I messed up big time, and there’s no way to rebuild the shards I’ve left behind into a complete and wholesome life again. Once my copious weeping subsides, I flush the toilet.

Control. I must regain it. Thought I had it. Was I ever wrong about that. It all comes down to today. How I use it. Most important, how I end it.

Without further delay, I turn toward the sink and grab the brand new, unopened box of generic caffeine pills from off the narrow counter surrounding the sink. I tear open the box and slide out one of the two blister packs inside. After popping a pill through the pack’s foil backing, I slip the pack back into the box. With surprising ease, I dry swallow the pill I removed. Usually, I need a gallon of water to take even the smallest allergy pill. Maybe change is possible. Based on ingesting a tiny pill? I’m a fool for even thinking such an absurd statement under the circumstances.

The caffeine begins to zip through my bloodstream in record time. My stomach is empty, and I’ve never ingested a drug any stronger than penicillin. With a perky sense of purpose, I hop into the tub, close the vinyl curtain, and take a quick shower.

After that, I return to the bedroom, where I throw on my last pair of clean underwear and the same cargo shorts, polo shirt, and ankle-high socks I’ve been wearing a little too long. Then I slip my feet into my comfortable old loafers. I strap on my wristwatch last.

But I’m not ready to leave yet. First, I’ll jot down some goals for today. No fewer than five, and no more than ten. I want nothing more than to maximize this final day of mine.

Upon taking a seat at the kitchenette table, I institute an arbitrary eight-minute time limit to complete my list of goals. That way, I won’t overthink the matter, a nasty habit of mine going way back. And so, I write. Pause. Write some more. Go blank. Must indicate I finished my task. No, not quite. I number all six items on my list. According to my wristwatch, I have a minute and a half to spare. I use those ninety seconds to add a seventh, and final, item to the list. Finis, as they say in France. And maybe in certain Canadian provinces. Whatever. The people I know seldom, if ever, use the term worldly to describe me.

With that task accomplished, I grab the only remaining pre-packaged gluten-free brownie bar from the box and a heaping handful of dried apricots from their plastic tub. I munch on my snacks and ignore my mind’s insistent need to focus on all the clutter trapped in there.

For no reason, I take a real good look around the kitchenette. Everything seems to be in order. For whatever that means. Actually, no. A rectangular magnet, depicting a monarch butterfly, blemishes the otherwise bare front of the fridge. I gasp. How did I forget to collect that before heading to bed last night?

With my list of today’s goals in one hand, I get up from the table and pluck the magnet from the fridge with my free hand. Then I carry it into the living room, where I left an old Scrabble tile bag on the coffee table. It bulges from the collection of miscellaneous objects stuffed inside. I open the bag and drop in the magnet before cinching closed the top of the bag. I must retrieve a third object, but I’m all out of hands. In a frenzy of frantic movements, I place the full-to-bursting bag back on the coffee table, fold the goal list and slip that into my pocket, and pick up the keyring with my right hand. Into another pocket go the keys.

An intense feeling of having forgotten something important slugs me in the gut. I go from room to room, scanning all visible surfaces. When I return to the living room after my fruitless circuit of the hotel suite, I pat the pockets of my shorts. They’re empty save the goals list and my keyring. What a dope! I don’t have my wallet. For a nerve-wracking few seconds, I slip into panic mode. Not for long, though. A relieved grin spreads across the lower portion of my face.

I rush into the bedroom and stand next to the side of the bed that I don’t sleep on. I flip the pillow onto its opposite side, revealing my favorite novel as well as my wallet. The grin morphs into a smarmy smile. Not often am I this pleased with myself for a job well done. I check the time. I had better get moving, for I have an appointment to keep. An appointment that will help to shape today’s course.

And so, I make my way out of the suite, down the stairs, and into the parking lot of Handy Suites in Burlington, Vermont. A handful of other vehicles lie dormant and scattered here and there. I locate my car with ease.

In I go, and there I stay. I sit still, cautioning myself not to miss any turns or to get lost along the way to my appointment. The dark of night has a way of changing the look of things, rendering the familiar strange, deepening the shadows of the mind to expose memories best left forgotten. But it’s time to make peace with certain parts of my past as well. Uh, oh! Unbidden, here comes one piece of my past fundamental to the essence of me, Vanni Gremo.

***

My entire memory bank of Pepere consists of three mental snapshots. In the first, he’s sitting at a small organ with a huge smile as he watches me chase my little brother Tonio around the den. In the second, I sit on Pepere’s lap in his recliner, both of us in mid-laugh, while The Muppet Show plays on the TV in front of us. In the third, Pepere looks down at me with an indulgent grin, while I’m perched on a concrete patio step, sticking my tongue out at him with mischief gleaming in my eyes. That last one is my favorite.

***

I turned four the summer Pepere died of a massive heart attack, while mowing his lawn one August afternoon. I had no concept of death at that point in my life. My parents did what they could to shield me from the reality of the situation, but even back then, I was more observant and perceptive than I had any right to be. Bottom line, I knew something bad had happened. Very bad.

When I approached my sobbing mom, she explained the passing of her father in simple, easy to understand terms. Although I comprehended her words, I had no clue as to their deeper meaning. Just that Pepere was gone and never coming back.

I withheld all my emotions. Refused the strongest of them that yearned for release. In effect, I imprisoned myself in my mind, both jailer and jailed. Though I didn’t know it then, that was the day I condemned myself to a life sentence of self-enforced incarceration.

***

That day was bad enough, but it isn’t the one my rebellious mind seeks. No. My unmerciful brain wanders to a particular excursion my mom and I shared about a month or so after that horrible day.

***

To eke out some joy amid the prolonged morass brought on by Pepere’s death, my mom took me to Elm Park in Worcester, Massachusetts. My hometown. She left Tonio at home with my dad. My sister Bella wouldn’t be born until later that year.

And so, there we sat on a wooden bench, mother and son, holding hands, while admiring the mallard ducks that glided about on the small, man-made pond laid out before us. A bushel of bees buzzed about, collecting late season pollen from a mob of mums in the nearby flower garden. An occasional beetle zipped by the two of us. A colony of red ants had constructed quite a warren of holes over by the front leg on my side of the bench.

Then I saw it. A butterfly. Orange and black. It rested on the grass to my right. Resplendent. Silent. Unmoving.

Taking a nap, I thought.

Ever the curious preschooler, I toddled over to the butterfly and squatted down next to it. Oddly enough, it remained right where I’d first spied it. What a brave little bug! I figured why not take advantage of the situation and pet it? The wings looked so velvety soft.

I reached down and rubbed along the butterfly’s back. It stayed still. It must have really enjoyed the attention I was giving it. Encouraged, I caressed one of its wings. The delicate membrane disintegrated into a coarse powder. I fell back onto my butt.

A shadow fell across me and the damaged butterfly. I looked up. My mom gazed down at me.

With a slight grin, she asked, What did you find, Vanni?

I returned my attention to the butterfly. It still hadn’t moved, and its wing was still busted.

Realizing the truth, I asked, Is the butterfly in Heaven with Pepere?

Then like a water main break in the middle of Times Square, tears flooded my eyes. I bawled in great, heaving sobs. Snot dribbled out of both nostrils. My mom scooped me up and cradled me in her arms.

Crying now, too, she said, God’s taking very good care of them both.

***

That singular experience has stuck with me all my life. The reality, the finality, of death sucker punched me that day. I carry the wound with me still.

Luckily, it’d be another dozen years before I had to endure the death of another loved one, which impacted me no less even though I was sixteen by then.

That wound also lingers. I’d prefer it no other way.

***

A sharp rap on the front passenger side window shatters my thoughts like so much scrap paper let loose during a hurricane. I look up and over. Then I smile at the person waving at me. What an odd and unexpected turn of events. I motion for the person to enter the car. My smile falters as tears threaten. What a happy moment for me! I no longer harbor any doubts that this final meeting between us is meant to be.

***

I’m surprised. Pleasantly so.

Why, you ask? I seem to recall we agreed that I would pick you up at your house. No matter. This means our adventure together can begin earlier than planned.

No, not exactly. I mean, I have some thoughts jotted down. I’d describe a couple as easy to accomplish, while a couple others are more akin to difficult to attain goals. Everything else fits snug in the middle of those two extremes.

Sorry. That’s not how this will work. As I complete each goal, I’ll let you know. Or not. Depends on my mood at those times.

What do you mean, I’m being meanspirited? There’s nothing wrong with a little mystery. It’ll provide you with something to look forward to.

Other than the goals on the list in my pocket, I have no idea.

Twenty-three hours of nothing, you say. I say there’s plenty of fun and excitement to be had. My favorite kind of day is one when I go with the flow, improvise, proceed in a directionless yet meaningful manner, have a few definite stops in mind, and ensure all the unexpected stops along the way occur by pure chance. As these kinds of days wind down, I assure myself that everything that happened was meant to be. With that in mind, I feel fulfilled when I go to bed at the conclusion of such days.

Because accidental discovery offers the most rewards. That’s why. I can’t stand scheduling every second of each day.

Yes, I fervently hope that by midnight next I will have concluded all my unfinished business, while having had the time of my life with someone as precious as you by my side. Looks like you’re having second thoughts about joining me, however. Why’s that?

No, it won’t be depressing. I can’t promise it’ll all be footloose and fancy free either. But overall, I think you’ll enjoy yourself. Perhaps be entertained at times. At other times, I’ll put your personal philosophy to the test. Through it all, I’ll ask you to explore emotions either new to you or familiar ones never experienced quite in the traditional fashion. That’s my role. Are you prepared to fulfill your role?

Perfect! Let’s hit the road.

***

As soon as I slip the key into the ignition, I freeze. My companion gives me what I anticipate will be one of many funny looks. The kind that make me wonder if I’ve sprouted a beak from one of my eyes or grown a fishbowl, complete with circling tetra, on top of my head. I twist around to examine the back seat. It’s empty of foreign objects except for a book, front cover down and, therefore, an unknown quantity. Not too surprising; I’m a voracious reader, so I leave books everywhere without even realizing it half the time. Dropping my gaze from the book, I check all the footwells. Nothing there either. It couldn’t be in the trunk; I haven’t opened that compartment since my first night here in Vermont three weeks ago.

I turn to my companion and ask, You’re not sitting on anything, are you?

After much shifting around and other awkward maneuvers, we determine that the passenger seat is devoid of anything save for my companion.

Welcome to the first unexpected twist of the day, I say. We already have to hit rewind.

Defeated but determined, I remove the key from the ignition and exit my car. My companion joins me with a mystified expression as we return to where this truncated trek began fifteen minutes ago.

One O’clock AM

As soon as my companion and I enter the suite I’ve so recently vacated, I spy the old Scrabble tile bag on the coffee table. What a dunce! In my haste to locate my wallet, well, no excuses; I’m a dunce. Or maybe the caffeine pill messed with my critical thinking skills more than I imagined it could. Speaking of which.

My next stop is the bathroom. I grab the box of caffeine pills from off their resting place. Time for a second one. I dry swallow it like I did the first. Wow, I’m getting quite adept at that. Come to think of it, I am definitely a dunce. I need these little pills to help me get through the day without any sleep. The bathroom counter is no place for them. I slip the box into the same pocket that holds my goals list.

When I step into the kitchenette from the bathroom, I notice that my companion has taken a seat at the table. I go over and sit in one of the vacant chairs. My companion watches me with an expectant expression. Time to give the audience what they want.

***

About twenty-three hours from now, at the stroke of midnight on June twenty-second, I will cease to exist. That I know for certain. The man you see before you will forever be gone.

What? No! I’m not going to divulge the how or the why or the where. Did you forget that, out in the parking lot, I mentioned something about keeping the mystery alive?

It was just a test, you say. Checking to be sure I’m paying attention to myself, you add. Well, I am! Are you?

I hope so. Anyway, here I sit with you, regretting both decades old as well as much more recent decisions and actions and things said and those left unsaid to tons of people I’ve encountered past and present. More than that, I’ve been hit harder than usual with one awful situation after another over the past four months. I know I could be so much worse off, and I don’t intend to whine about it. Instead, I’m going to do something about it.

You’ll see. Uh oh! As usual, my tumultuous emotions have manifested as stomach troubles. It always happens like that. Runs in the family. My mother is that way; her mother was that way; I’m that way, too. I hope none of my kids ends up that way. But I’m not here to bore you with my bathroom habits, and you’re not here to listen to that kind of thing. So, please excuse me for a few minutes while I go take care of this delicate matter.

***

I’m back. What brought me here to Vermont and, by extension, what is my purpose, you ask? Do you know what your purpose is? Further, what is our purpose as individuals? What about humanity as a whole? Who does know?

I didn’t think so. Why bother contemplating it? It’s all about the journey and not the destination, right?

You disagree?

What do you mean, you don’t know? Whatever. You’re free to leave at any time.

You want to stay?

Good. I want you to stay, too. More than anything else, I want that. Since I have your undivided attention, let me tell you something else. Some people hate endings. Me, I hate beginnings. There’s never a perfect starting point. And I could care less about the end point because, let’s face it, lives (even fictional ones) continue into perpetuity one way or another.

Okay. Yes. That point is arguable. But that’s a debate for another time and place.

I don’t know if it’ll be today. We’ll see.

I could tell you that everything leading up to our initial encounter really happened. Or that it didn’t really happen. Perhaps more of a seamless blend of the two. The truth, in this case, doesn’t matter.

Why not? Remember, we’re going on a journey, you and me. Don’t forget, where we end up is secondary. I’m most curious and anxious to learn about what’s going to happen along the way. Isn’t that why we’ve spent as much of the past three weeks together as possible? To determine what this relationship means to each of us? You must want that as much as I do. Otherwise, you’d have left my side by now.

Of course, I promise not to do anything reckless between now and midnight next. I’m not a daredevil; in fact, the riskiest thing I’ve ever done, other than meeting you, happened back when I dreamed of being a Hollywood stuntman. Why don’t I share that story with you on the way back down to my car? Start on your way without me. I’ll join you as soon as I grab that Scrabble tile bag on top of the coffee table over there.

***

One summer day when I was eight, my brother Tonio, my sister Bella, and I were playing some made-up, childhood, pretend game. The front porch on the first floor of the three-decker in which we lived on Fifth Avenue off Millbury Street in Worcester, made for the perfect launching pad designed for soaring into the hilly and expansive yard. About three feet away from the launching pad, a shallow ditch spanned the entire length of the three-decker’s foundation. But as a kid, I didn’t care about such trivialities.

When it came back around to being my turn to jump from the chest-high railing and onto the lush, green grass, I climbed up there and stood with my feet planted about a shoulder’s width apart. With my flair for the dramatic, I thrust my arms up toward the cloudless, blue sky and let