LIVE-A-LIFE

            Harold Beachman lived a good life, no, a great life, and in the final moments before he died, he contemplated that great life. What made it so good, so great? He had been born in the midst of the Roaring Twenties and spent his childhood surviving through a depression so great it would be forever remembered as the Great Depression. Not that he noticed. Not that his family was rich or anything, in fact, they were quite poor, but then, so was everyone else in his neighborhood, and so, young Harold never knew of anything better. He grew through simpler times, times of kick-the-can and jack-o-lanterns and cheap thrills, very cheap thrills. And then came the war, The Great War, Part II, and young Harold was shipped off to Europe to fight the axis of evil. He survived D-Day and returned a hero, if only because he survived, and was given a hero’s welcome, parade and all. And then he met Nancy, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and he won her over, he won her over Richard McCasey and Francis Browner and Peter Astridge, and he married her and they had three beautiful children. After a short stint in professional baseball, briefly playing centerfield for the Milwaukee Braves, Harold realized that the life of a traveling athlete was not for him and so he settled on a job in an advertising firm where he would prosper for nearly two decades, pitching products like cigarettes and soda pop and men’s dress shoes. Life was good, no, great, until that unjust war in East Asia took his oldest son from him, the greatest loss of his life. But Harold would bounce back, starting his own business, selling cheap thrills to a new generation, which made him millions, which allowed him to retire at a younger age than most, which allowed him and his wife Nancy to travel the world. Harold would return an old man and Nancy, an old woman, and they would buy land, a boatload of land, in the mountains, where they would build a cabin, with a master bedroom bigger than most houses, with windows that pointed to the east, where they would watch the sun rise each morning. And it’s from those windows that Harold looked out as he contemplated his life, as he lied in bed, surrounded by his loved ones, his wife, his two remaining children and their spouses, and their children, and even some of their children’s children. And Harold would look around and crack a smile, satisfied with the life that he had lived, and take one last breath and close his eyes one last time.

            Jacob Gatlin opened his eyes. He unbuckled the strap around his chin and removed the shielded helmet that surrounded his entire head. He stood up out of the reclining chair and wiped the sweat from this brow. He looked around to see a dozen other people sitting in identical chairs with identical helmets hiding their faces. He stared up at a sign lit up in bright letters that read: LIVE-A-LIFE. Below it, it read: $99 FOR 10 MINUTES, AT YOUR OWN RISK! Just then, Dominick DePelegra, the shop’s owner, shuffled out of the back room. “What the hell are you doing in here?” He yelled. “You’re going to get my permit revoked, you little bastard! Can’t you read the sign?” Jacob looked toward the far wall, where the fat man was pointing, at a sign that read: 21 AND OVER, NO EXCEPTIONS! Dominick grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the front door, shoving him outside, where three of his friends waited. “What was it like?” one of them asked. “It was…It was…” Jacob paused. “It was what?” Another friend asked. “It… just… was…” Jacob said, before collapsing to his knees and bursting into tears.