“I’ll get you there.”
I look up from crunching numbers to see Chief tapping away at his computer. He’s busy trying to make money from home so I can get away from home.
BasedCon is coming, and I’ve been invited to return as a Panellist. In a meeting with more stellar minds, my small-town Texas self has been requested to speak of science fiction and religion, and to tell the world about my latest Book Series. It’s the moment of a lifetime…
my latest book was wrested from the wreckage of The Wreckoning (TM). Written before the wreck, Trail of Travail has been in process, first with my Editor Stephen Black, then with my Self-Publishing Guru Melanie Calahan. Through Spring then Summer, from the ICU to the Dubblewide of D00m, I’ve made edits and illustrations; throughout the book, an overarching theme of Freedom surfaced, swimming counterpoint to an undercurrent of the cost of Freedom:
Leave no man behind.
Now we race against deadlines, and new goals: get Trail of Travail published and somehow get me to the Convention at the same time. Planned long before The Wreckoning, the elements for this cross country Convention trip are all coming together, slowly…
Chief groans. Not in an overt way -
Chief would never let anybody know how bad he’s hurting. He leans his head back against the worn cushions in a tiredness borne of the daily grind of recovery, the slow ascent from death’s doorstep on Life’s stairway. Part of that weariness springs from an extended intimacy with my dear departed Mother’s too-small recliner, which has been Chief’s base of operations for these last two months at home. Rousing, he grumbles and taps the keyboard again.
I peer at my device, trying to make numbers fit. “I have enough to cover the rooms! I’ve already reserved them; but gas is going up...”
Chief grits his teeth and grunts. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll make the money.”
Considering everything he’s been through, he’s done remarkably well. He’s even working with clients again, turning around jobs from his recliner. He can make it happen, I have no doubt. But even though our Children covered our costs while he was in the Hospital, and with all the donations and gifts from our Church, Community, Family and fellow Iron Age Authors, money will still be tight.
Bills, bills, bills, and weeks without his pay mean we have to be careful with each penny.
Gripping a strap, he tugs at his torso brace, uncomfortable. “I ought be the one driving you...” Chief chafes at the harness. The black metal vest digs into his muscles, pressing him into rigidly upright posture, protecting Chief’s broken spine from bends and twists as he heals. But protection comes at a cost of comfort and mobility.
“You’ll drive me next year!” I say it with cheery confidence, because I really do believe it. “But you can’t make that kind of long-distance drive yet… you need to finish healing first.”
Still weaning off the Brace, it is impossible for Chief to sit long. He is constantly moving, constantly shifting, due to discomfort and a massive Pulmonary Embolism with lingering Deep Vein Thrombroses. Even as the Brace slowly comes off and the Embolism dissolves, Chief must learn to drive again, just as he is learning to walk again - and a long road trip could be deadly.
I balk: “Maybe I shouldn’t go…”
Chief growls and tugs at his Harness again. “No, you need to go. This is your big moment. Everyone will be there.”
Famous names and exciting personalities are coming to BasedCon, each alive with ideas about everything from literature to sacred text to AI;
there will be parties and maybe even cake with people I admire and love. Everyone will be there…
everyone except one.
“I’ll be just fine here; I’m perfectly capable on my own. I want you to go, have a good time and sell the Book.” He smiles and I believe him…
Chief strokes his beard, trying to distract himself from pain, then closes his eyes, exhausted. “You need to choose what’s best for you - this moment will never come again.”
He’s right. This moment to connect with this unique set of Characters from my Literary World will never come again; but another moment will also disappear -
I look for the longest time at my beautiful AirBnB reservation and think of friends waiting for me; then I look to Chief, sleeping fitfully in the chair. Despite the pain, his face is serene for a moment, a portrait of an inner peace that only comes from a redeemed heart;
a heart that almost stopped beating, not long ago.
Life is beautiful, and brutal, and fragile. The only certainty is this moment will never come again. What we choose in this moment effects Eternity…
I cancel my reservation, close my screen, then tuck Chief in and kiss his sleeping forehead:
“I choose you.”
Leave no man behind.
I'm glad the healing's going well. I'll miss you, but priorities are important. We'll see you next time.
Wonderful lady you are.