The Zenith of Things by Jonathan Jefferies

The news anchor was openly weeping now, his impossibly square jaw ajar with a slight tremble as his stoic mask, sidewalk-cracked, crumbled away. Still, he managed to finish, a professional to the bitter end. “…Any military presence is unsanctioned and not to be relied upon. The time we have left, we can only face it with dignity, and trust that we will be judged fairly in whatever place fate leaves us. This is Brant Stone signing off. To all humanity, I wish you good luck and blue skies, until the end.” The channel seemed to fade for a moment before dying, emitting a quiet machine whine before going silent, for the last time.

“Well, we finished T.V.” Josh said, “I guess that’s one less thing.”

“Don’t change the subject, Josh. Stone didn’t off himself on air, after all. Looks like I get the last piece of pie!” Kevin said, a sly grin sliding up his cheek.

“He was crying though! That deserves a bite, at least! I bet he just couldn’t track a gun down, or they took it from him at the last minute, otherwise he would’ve totally done it!”

“Yeah, well maybe St. Peter follows FCC regulations, and he didn’t want to press his luck by losing his shit on air. Whatever, plus one slice to the Kevin.”

“I thought he was a Scientologist though.”

“Didn’t you hear? They’re all going to centers and being put into pharmaceutical comas, something about ‘attuning their wavelengths to anti-thetan frequencies.’”

“Not like it’s going to do them any good.”

“Yeah…”

A lot of conversations were ending that way, in the final week.

“Are you two still betting on that last slice of pie? You know I’ve already won it.”

“Bullshit, Michael. You never proved that Steve burned down his entire block!”

“Emily saw him do it, Josh. He lit himself on fire and jumped into a bathtub full of cheap meth.”

“Don’t give me that – Emily’s been smoking his bathtub meth ever since the government folded.”

“That’s right, Michael. Emily is a meth-head and she dated a guy who wears sun-visors backwards, her opinion is meaningless. Hence, no empirical evidence exists. The pie is mine.”
“You realize that this argument is coming from the two biggest potheads in the unit. That was a feat before the end of the world began.”

“The pie is mine, Michael. If I wake up tomorrow and find it gone I will cut someone. I’m an atheist with three days left to live, don’t test me.”

“I’m more concerned with what you two are going to do now that there’s no more T.V. left. Anyway, someone told me that Samantha’s volunteering over at St. Mary’s, I think I’m going to go check it out.”

“Samantha became a Repentant? Blowjob Samantha? Get your coat, Kevin, we must see this.”
“What? I thought we were going to go to Williamsburg so we could play Bright Eyes albums and see if the annoying hipsters start jumping off of buildings again.”

“Are you kidding, Kev? Skank-ass Samantha got her ass to a nunnery and you want to waste time looking at guys in girl pants? Not on my time.”

“Hold on guys, I’d kind of like to talk to her alone, one last time, if that’s cool.”

“Dude, if she’s gone Repentant for real she’s probably not gonna be down with a quickie, even for old time’s sake.”

“No, it’s not that. I just want to, I don’t know, clear things up with her a bit.”

“Eh? Okay, man, if you think you need to. C’mon Kev, let’s hit your place and get the boom-box.”

Kevin and Josh slowly got up from the couch, giving the television a final, longing glance. I joined them for a brief stare – wishing an old friend goodbye in its own lethargic tongue. Before heading out, Josh rested his hand on my shoulder a moment, giving it a slight squeeze.

“Look, guy. I know you and Samantha didn’t have the best relationship. I remember what she did to you. Just… just be here tomorrow man, whatever happens. Don’t walk off a bridge or anything, okay?”

“Don’t worry about me, okay? I been over her for awhile, I just kind of want to close that book, you know what I mean. Oh, hey, and keep an eye out for Karen.”

“Yeah,” he said, bringing back his smirk, “I’ll see you later.”

Sentimentality seemed to be getting contagious.

The stairwell down was dimly lit, but still powered, somehow. Apparently some utilities retirees stepped in to keep the lights on, until the end. No family left, maybe, something to feel needed or appreciated. More than a few were probably terminal, also, or at least more terminal than the rest of us. Seemed as though people who were already comfortable with their own sentences had gone from the least useful to the most functional. The people that used to remind us of our own mortality were now tucking us in for the Long Night. Not quite yet, though, still a few people left to see. I allowed myself a slight smile as I exited my building, into the grey afternoon. Thanks anyway, Brant.

I had taken to not wearing my coat out. The cold helped keep me moving, less wasted time dawdling about, made warmer places feel more warm. The ten blocks to St. Mary’s had become some of the quieter ones in the city, not much here left to burn away. A small child, probably around seven or so, was drawing a happy, smiling sun on the wall outside my building with a small piece of blue chalk. She drew a little stick figure girl, waving at it, smiling as well. I froze for a minute, backing up slowly while I had a look around. I didn’t see any other kids around. Had to be careful, the ones that the parents abandoned tended to band together, no telling what they would do. We were hearing horror stories about Jersey, it was best not to cross over if you could. Everything looked clear, though. I began to walk over to her almost sheepishly to tell her that I liked her picture when I noticed that she had drawn another figure, labeled “mom,” floating in the sky with the sun, waving back down. I’d better get to St. Mary’s.

Did I mention I didn’t have my coat with me?

The streets were more abandoned than usual. St. Mary’s must’ve been running another soup kitchen. It was cold enough to almost jog, but I slowed down a bit to look at the graffiti while I walked. Each day, the walls of the city would get more and more chaotic, a losing battle against the constant grey. Colorful, peaceful murals at first, born of some euphoric denial, clashing harshly against the more common scrawlings, violent diatribes, messages of frustrated helplessness, admissions of guilt, curses against God, pleading to any power, higher or otherwise, to change fate – and everywhere, everywhere, everywhere, “Too late.” They were getting less clever, as the days grew shorter, but louder, and much more ominous.

I could see the beginnings of a crowd forming down the street from the ancient cathedral. The normally grim structure was alive with bustle, people moving in and out, forced smiles tacked on, and everywhere be-kneeled penitents guilelessly submitting. God hadn’t heard this many prayers from the neighborhood since the Mets were last in the pennant race. As I approached, the smells of fried food and sweaty parishioners became almost overwhelming. Closer now, the second wave hits, the sad murmurs and wails from those who were still not all cried out. And in the midst, applying a bandage to a bloodied vagrant, was Samantha. Her hair was an impossible, blurry light brown, the casualty of trying to un-do too many bad dye jobs. Closer now, I could see the small holes in her face where the jewelry used to be, unsuccessfully hidden behind a thick slather of base. The vagrant was mumbling something about “goddamn kids had a bat” unsuccessfully behind a thick slather of what must’ve been heavily discounted opiates.

Samantha, who would never back down from the opportunity to berate and harass the local bums, now fussed with the dressings, which were quickly becoming soiled in something black and soupy. Her expression was an unbelievable combination of benevolence and revulsion as she finished with the man’s ankle.

“Sam, is that really you?” At hearing my voice, she rose at an odd, swift, practiced pace, as though trying to maneuver in her bulky white robe was still a priority over being surprised. She gave me church-smile. “Michael, how wonderful to see you. I trust you’ve come to your senses and are here to repent for your transgressions?”

“Transgressions” was the longest word I’d ever heard Samantha utter by about five letters.
“Well Sam, kind of. I was hoping we could talk for a little while.”

“I have many people to attend to, Michael. If you have a confession to make, you may enter and wait in line until a priest can see you. I am hardly qualified…”

“Please Samantha, I’m not here about that kind of confession. Well, in a way, I am, but it’s one that I need you to hear.”

“Perhaps it is His will that sent you to me, then. Well, what did you want to confess?”

“I just wanted to tell you that, well, I know a lot of things happened between us.”

”I’ve already dealt with my past, Michael.”

“And that’s great. Look, I know it probably wasn’t meant to be, and I’m okay with that. But I’m not okay with how it ended, with what we said to each other.”

“If you feel as though you need forgiveness Michael, I’m not the one that can give it to you. Only through the love of Jesus …”

“No, it’s – I don’t know how to say it without sounding silly, but even if it did end badly, I just wanted you to know that our time together was special to me. I don’t care if it earns me points to whatever’s after, but I need to know that you didn’t just think of me as a waste of time. I just want to give goodbye another shot, a nice goodbye, for once.”

Samantha looked at me for awhile, not quite an appraising look, more of a confused one, as though she couldn’t even understand what I was talking about. Without saying anything, she turned around and walked into the cathedral. The groaning and grumbling and praying and tightly wound voices suddenly became both infuriating and terrifying to me, forcing me backwards towards the direction of my apartment. Before I could clear the throng, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Please Michael, take this back for me.” Samantha must’ve ran back inside to get it, the pendant that I gave her on that day. The sun was brilliant and I had told her she was beautiful and she teased me about it for hours but she couldn’t stop smiling either. Before I could tell her that I was happy she’d kept it and that I would keep it with me until the end, she spoke again. “I see now that you’ve still got such a powerful attachment to the physical world. This only represents our sin together, Michael, and you should carry it if you refuse to forget us. When you are ready for His forgiveness, you can throw it away yourself.” She produced a scrap of paper, crumpling it up around the pendant before placing it in my hand. “If you must ask someone for forgiveness, ask her.”

Samantha walked away before I could respond. She always had a way of surprising me, it seemed, even at the end.

Confused, I uncrumpled the paper. It showed a name and address. Karen. Too far for walking. I would need Josh’s car.

Breaking out in a run for the first time in forever, I headed back to the apartment, hoping to catch the guys on their way out. Perhaps I just assumed that it was the natural progression of things, but in my excitement I somehow did not notice the growing signs of chaos all around me. Our entire block was ablaze, thick black smoke pouring out from everywhere. The stairwell entrance was clogged with residents slowly filing out with a depressed indifference. Some of them were collapsing as they walked, being ignored as their neighbors shuffled by almost aimlessly. Running to the entrance, I kept low and tried to see past the thick haze of the smoke, desperately looking for any of my friends. Then I spotted him, the telltale grey sweatshirt and threadbare jeans of Kevin. Dragging him out of the hallway, I frantically looked around for the help that I knew no one would offer. Upon getting him out of the building and to the curb of the road, I began to pound on his chest, trying to get him to start breathing again. “Goddamnit Kevin, not now! I need you man! I found Karen, we’re all going to go see her together. All of us. JOSH! Where the fuck are you! Don’t let this happen!”

It was the first time I had wept in years. I didn’t even cry when we all found out that this was It, but this somehow seemed infinitely more hopeless then even then. All I could do was sit there and cry and mumble, “Three more days… we still have three more days left.”

I rose, I’m not sure how, but I felt like I had to walk somewhere where the water ran dark and deep. I didn’t know what was going to happen after that. It was then that the car pulled up on the curb right beside us.

It was a rusted iron hulk, somehow still running strong despite the evidence of repeated strikes from suicidal drivers. The door flew open with a protesting creak, producing a whirlwind of a girl, surprisingly nimble despite the complex and expensive-looking shoes she had on. They seemed so silly in this situation. I found myself grinning. Then I realized she was yelling at me.
“Are you going to hold him still or what? If you think I’m going to let your friend die just because you haven’t seen Manolos before then you’ve got another thing coming.”

Coming around finally, I managed to hold Kevin still while she administered CPR. After a frantic minute, Kevin groaned, rolled over, and coughed up what looked to be a kilogram of whatever the hell was wrong with the vagrant earlier that day before losing consciousness again.

“Hey, your friend’s in pretty bad shape, we’d better get him in the back. I think I know of a place with a spare oxygen treatment.” It was still too fast for me. She put a hand on my shoulder. It was getting a lot of mileage that day. “I’ve seen that look before. You were going to give up, weren’t you? That’s why I stopped you know, ‘cause I know that look. Not going to happen while I’m around, got it? No giving up. Now help me get your friend in the back here. And if you ever decide to start talking, I’m Michelle.” After putting Kevin in the back seat, Michelle ushered me to the passenger door. She got into the driver’s seat and began to drive recklessly through the city, taking some strange back route that wasn’t nearly as clogged with abandoned cars as the rest of the city. A blue lacquered fingernail reached to the dash and hit a button. “Dirt” by The Stooges came roaring to life while she bobbed her head to the music, tying her long red-dyed hair back while she drove with her knees. This might have been the first time Iggy Pop brought someone out of a stupor. I rested my head back against the back of the seat and closed my eyes.

“Thank you.”

“Oh, so you talk. Thanks for what?”

“For driving up. For saving my friend’s life. Maybe for saving my life. For everything.”

We shared our first awkward silence.

“And especially for not playing that fucking R.E.M. song.”

“My God! Are you completely fed up with that song too? I thought I was the only one.”

“It’s not just the song, it’s that expression your friends get when they put it on. Like they’re so clever and ironic-”

“I know! Oh, thank Christ there’s someone in this city who’s at least half sane.”

“Are we driving through an alleyway?”

“Bridge is up, probably for good. Besides, this way is quicker.”

“I’m Michael.”

Fifteen minutes of knocking over trashcans and satisfying small talk later, and we were in the outskirts of Harlem. It was the sanest neighborhood I’d seen in months. For some reason or another, there were about eight ambulances parked in the back yard of a short black man graced with the moniker Stripe. I was told to wait in the car. Ten minutes of bargaining later and Michelle managed to procure some smelling salts and a portable oxygen treatment for Kevin. He roused slowly with a groan, giving us thankful murmurs and rubbing his head. Michelle looked satisfied.

“Is his place all burned down? Do you have a place you can take him, Michael?”

“No, that was my place that burned. He lives a few blocks east of me, hopefully it’s still standing.”

“Oh, that was your place? I’m sorry, Mike. Are you going to be okay? Does your friend have enough to eat where he’s at?”

“We’ll be fine, I think. His uncle ran a vending machine route, gave us his master key before he ran off with some hookers.”

“Far out! People bricked all the machines in my neighborhood. I could really go for some Funyuns right about now.”

I rolled my window down, letting the breeze from the ocean in for a minute, ignoring the decay. I reached into my pocket, digging around until I found a small piece of paper. I tossed it out of the car, resting my elbow on the top of the door.

“Would you like to share a piece of pie with me?”