The Black Teakettle

          White knuckles curled around the smooth edges of the rocking chair. It sat motionless in the room devoid of any other furniture besides an old plasma TV that flickered shadows on the hunched figure in the darkness. Otis sat with his eyes staring blankly ahead at the colorful people on the screen. They were laughing, talking, being together. Beautiful people who still had time, thought Otis to himself.

            As the scene on the television changed, Otis’s eyes recognized the local news station. 10:00 already, too fast, much too fast. He watched the reporter’s mouth move without hearing the words. This time tomorrow, nothing in the world would matter to him anymore.

            “…that today marks the tenth anniversary of the Elderly Restriction Act being put into effect. The Act that started today in 2065 has kept the population under control successfully giving us more resources and more room on the planet. Since the rebel forces tired to take over in 2067, folks have been cooperating and suicides have been greatly diminishing in the last few years due to an understanding with Population Control and Services. As you all know, they are here to help you, not to hurt you. Well that’s a wrap up of tonight’s news…” Otis’s ears perked up when the words Elderly Restriction Act floated to him in his chair. The tenth anniversary. He remembered the day the United Nations announced that they were going to start putting a time-limit on how long people lived. Otis knew then he had ten years to live. Ten years went by much too quickly.

            It was two hours until he was eighty and a day old. The United Nations decided to kill you the day after your birthday, you could celebrate, get your affairs in order, then go to die. Would your last piece of cake still taste as sweet?

            Otis’s eightieth birthday had been quiet. The empty room had kept him company for the majority of the day. Eighty was just as lonely as seventy-nine had been. As the news ended Otis’s mind mulled over the events of the last ten years: the rebels, the suicides, the PC’s hiding around every corner, the protests, the riots, the crying, the dying, the pain. Sure Population Control was handling it. It had only taken them six years to get it into their heads that people only responded to torture. When you were going to die anyway, what did it matter by whose hand? Two years after the shock wore off of what the ERA actually was, the rebels attempted to unite the world against the act. That’s when Population Control came in and started murdering people. The rebels called them PC’s for short. They were slow and malfunctioned like the old PC computer systems that had been discontinued in the late 20’s.

            Otis’s eyelids drooped as he sat in his chair. Flashes of memory hurled through his brain as it began to mistake what was dream and still reality. Don’t sleep. You don’t know when they will come for you. You’re about to sleep for a long time, stay awake. Otis willed himself to open his heavy lids and slowly pushed himself out of the chair. He looked down at his hands as he pushed. They had become wrinkly, the skin loose and folded, the veins turning blue then black across the backs of his hands. Crooked fingers stared back at him as he asked himself, when had he gotten so old?

            He remembered when he first bought that chair. He had been thirty-three on a windy afternoon when Mary and he had walked out of Frank’s Handmade Furniture, their first gesture of the life they were about to share together. Not many things were made with such care anymore, as Frank put into all his pieces. This chair had lasted him almost fifty years, it was still sturdy, it still rocked, he could still smell the varnish when he sat in it for a long time. It was a shame it was going to be burned after Otis was gone.

            Otis trudged to the barren kitchen. Everything had been taken to the incinerator except for items that Otis would need for his last few days. He picked up a black tea kettle and set it under the faucet. A round dent in the side flashed in the dim overhead light above the sink. He had to fight for that tea kettle. The PC’s didn’t believe him when he said he needed it.

            The tea kettle had been a wedding gift of unusual sorts.

            “It’s black,” Mary exclaimed holding it in front of her white lace gown. “Who gives a new couple a black present for their wedding? Our kitchen doesn’t even have this color in it!”

            “Our kitchen? Since when do we have a kitchen?” Otis laughed. He grabbed Mary by the waist and sat her down on his lap, his arms curled around her front tracing the patterns of the fabric with his fingers. “I can’t wait to get you out of this.” He whispered, his chin resting on her shoulder, his lips at her ear. She giggled and hastily set the tea kettle on the table where it tottered alarmingly for a second and then settled in its spot. Mary turned to face Otis, her eyes bright with anticipation and desire. Pulling up the folds of her dress, she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, their lips met…

            Otis watched the stove gradually turn red with heat, he watched the water slowly build and start to boil through the glass window in the top of the kettle. Finally, the whistle rang out, loud, in the still night air of his apartment. Carefully taking the handle, Otis lifted the kettle and poured some of the water into a mug that was left in the sink. He grabbed a tea bag from the cupboard, struggling a bit with carpal tunnel hands, and commenced making his tea. Everything was a slow process now, things always took more time. Slowly he trudged with his mug back into the living room, careful not to spill his tea, and sat down in the rocking chair again.

            Something moved in the darkness.

            “Mary, is that you?” Otis half whispered.

            “Of course it’s me. Who else would it be, my love?” Mary entered the room and sat down on the floor next to where Otis sat.

            “You should have let me make that tea for you; I didn’t hear you get up.”

            “Oh, Mary, you know that old kettle. It’s too heavy for you now. Don’t worry about a thing, my darling.” Mary smiled up at him. He had looked upon that smile for almost fifty years. He tried to capture the image in his head, it wasn’t hard. It was already burned into his mind as a brand, but the longer he stared at her, the more he remembered how that smile wasn’t always a part of her porcelain features. Tears suddenly pricked Otis’s eyes as he looked into hers.

            “Don’t be sad, Otis,” she said, leaning against his chair, hugging his brittle legs.

            “Mary, I’m so scared.”

            “I’ll be right with you, through the whole thing. You won’t even feel any pain. They will gas you before they give you the shot. You’ll just go to sleep. I will be right beside you.”

            “Why do I have to go through with it? We could run away. Just you and me, we could live the rest of our days together.” Mary smiled at him again.

           “You have to go through with this because it will be easier this way. You’re a good man, not a criminal. You’ve never run away from anything in your life. Why start now? We will be together.”

            “How are you so calm with this?”

            “Otis darling, I will be with you so soon. You and me and God-“

            “What God, who is this God? There is no God.” Otis jerked out of her grasp, spilling tea down the front of his shirt. Cursing under his breath, he bent down and set the cup on the floor. Pushing himself upright he staggered to the kitchen to look for a towel. Remembering that they had all been burned along with the rest of his belongings Otis grabbed the tea kettle and in a fit of rage hurled it, with what was left of his strength, into the living room.

            “God damnit!” He let the scream echo in the wide space, collapsing onto the table with his head in his arms. As his body shook, the table moved with him, making the wood creak under his weight. After a few minutes, he composed himself and looked up. Mary had gone and the kettle hadn’t been moved. It lay to the left of the room, the dent facing Otis. He felt his mind whirl back to almost 45 years previously.

            “I’m making myself some tea.” Mary murmured through gritted teeth. Otis could do nothing but sit and watch her get up.

            “We’ll try again. There must be another way. We were so close last time, surely…”

            “There is no other way Otis. The doctor said so. He said that there was no chance that I would ever get p-pregnant. You heard him.” Her last words were stammered as she felt the tears rising in her throat. Mary put her hands on the sink to steady herself, trying to breathe evenly. Suddenly, she picked up the kettle and bashed it into the side of the refrigerator, making a medium-sized round dent in the side of it. She let it clatter to the floor as she collapsed there herself. Otis scrambled down to catch her before her body hit the ground. He held her as she cried, wide eyed and weeping himself.

            Staring at the kettle, Otis felt ashamed for scaring Mary with his lack of control.

            “I’m sorry.” He said to the air. No one answered but he knew she heard him. Before picking up the kettle, he glanced at the clock. 12:51 am. The PC’s could come for him anytime now. Grudgingly, Otis left the table and retrieved the kettle from the living room. Making his way back to the kitchen he heard footsteps on the stairs outside of his apartment. His heart lurched, a cold, painful, prickling feeling ran through his body. He wasn’t ready. Why would they come this early, shouldn’t they still give him most of the day? What day was it? It was a Tuesday, that’s right. But what about Mary? Why would they take him now without letting him say goodbye to her and get his affairs in order?

            Bang, bang, BANG.

            “Otis Muldoon, please open the door. You are being summoned for your Passing courtesy of the Elderly Restriction Act.”

            Elderly. The word hung in the air. He never remembered becoming elderly, death always seemed so far away to him. But here it was, knocking on his door. Otis allowed himself three deep breaths and started walking. More bangs on the door shot off making Otis jump, sending his blood pumping. He felt his stomach turn over like he had just fallen from a great height. Too soon he was at the door. Without thinking about what he was doing, his hand found the knob and he turned it. Three men in official-looking green polo’s stood outside of his door. ERA was stitched on the left side in white block letters. Otis’s eyes traced the outline a few times before finally landing on their faces. They didn’t look menacing. They were just here for another appointment.  

            “Good morning, Mr. Muldoon.” The man in the front spoke softly, almost nicely. “Sorry for the pounding, we just wanted to make sure you were awake. We are actually a bit surprised at your willingness to come to the door. We have to break down most of them.” The man let himself smile and a little laugh escaped. Otis just stared.

            “Why are you here so early?” Otis asked. “Shouldn’t you have come later today? I have to get some affairs in order.” Otis attempted to shut the door but the man on the left caught it and held it fast; his young muscles easily prevailing over Otis’s. He looked familiar, but Otis couldn’t place why.  

             “Whoa there trigger,” he said quickly. “How about we come inside and just talk to you for a bit. Since you came to the door so fast we have a few minutes to spare, see? We can explain everything all right as rain for ya, alright?”

              Otis let go of the door and turned his back on the man in the green shirt with the plastic smile. He walked slowly back into his living room.

             “Mary? Mary!” He looked around but he couldn’t see or hear her. She promised. He thought to himself.

             “Excuse me, Otis? Who is Mary?”

             “Mary is my wife. I would have liked a chance to say goodbye to her, but you all came so god damned early, and I can’t find her anywhere now.” Frustration mounted in Otis, his mind went out of focus, fuzzy. He couldn’t concentrate on anything.

             “Mary Muldoon? Is that your wife Otis?”

             “Well who else would she be? God, where is she?”

             “Otis, we have it on record here that she Passed a year and a half ago. That’s why we came so early, we thought you would be alone, you would just want to get it over with.”

Waves of adrenaline and chill swept over Otis’s body. Suddenly Otis understood everything as if he had been watching a movie. Why he so willingly let them into his house, why she wanted him to obey the law so badly, why she wouldn’t answer his cries just now.

             “Otis darling, I will be with you so soon.”

              He was going to her. Otis locked eyes with the black tea kettle sitting off kilter on the stove. He didn’t even feel his knees hit the floor as he fell, or hear the thwack of his head hitting the hard wood…

Bang, bang BANG.

            “Mary, this can’t happen, I can’t lose you yet, I’m not ready.” Otis looked into her eyes, the tears making tracks in her perfectly wrinkled skin. He felt his breath catch. This wasn’t happening.

            “Mary Muldoon, please open the door. You are being summoned for your Passing courtesy of the Elderly Restriction Act.”

            “This is bullshit Mary. Please, I will kill myself. There. That’s how we’ll do it.” Her soft hands touched his lips.

            “You will do no such thing. I want you to live Otis, don’t you see? I want you to live to be as happy as I was until my time came. I will not be the one to take that away from you.” She leaned forward and kissed his lips for what may have been the last time. Otis didn’t know, he didn’t want to think about that. She broke the embrace and stood up grabbing the walker next to her chair. Pushing it slowly she made her way to the door and opened it.

            “Good afternoon gentleman.” Otis couldn’t understand why she was so ok with this. When the ERA had formed, Otis almost killed himself in attempt to join the rebel forces. It had taken Mary a long time to forgive him for that. She didn’t want him wasting their last eight years together. With pleading eyes, Otis begged Mary to explain in the last moment in their home together.

             “I only have to wait a year and a half without you. Who knows how many years we would have to be apart if we both lived our full natural lives? Now we know. We will be together so soon.” Otis couldn’t help the tears from falling rapidly down his face. He wanted her to see how much he was hurting.

             “If you are ready to go Mary, we would be happy to get started.” A man in a green polo shirt walked cautiously into the room and attempted to grab Mary gently by the shoulder.

            “Get your hands off my wife.” Otis snapped. Mary gave him a pained look and nodded at the man to help her. Otis jumped to his feet.

             “I will be right behind you the whole way.” Otis whispered, as they led Mary to the back of the apartment and entered the small bedroom. They helped lay her onto the bed. Mary’s head moved forwards and backwards searching for Otis, she reached out to him.

             “I want you to be the last thing I see before I go.” Mary whispered clutching Otis’s face with her hand.

            “That’s not fair, I won’t get to see you when my time comes.”

             “I’ll be there. You just have to look, I’ll be with you so soon. I love you, Otis. More than anything. Don’t be afraid.” Otis kept his eyes locked tight with hers, waiting for the life to fade from them, but yearning it not to. He didn’t want any moment to be the last time. Otis scarcely heard the man in green rummaging through his bag for his equipment.

            The man in the green shirt moved beside Otis to put the gas mask over Mary’s porcelain face. Her features were weathered, but still perfect in Otis’s eyes.

            “No, no, no.” Otis repeated over and over as Mary’s eyes succumbed to sleep and closed one final time. He watched as the man in green carefully uncovered a small syringe. He could see the poison, amber in hue, taking up most of the tube. Otis squeezed Mary’s hand tighter as he watched the man gently poke the needle through her soft skin. In less than a second the syringe was empty. The man removed the mask and the needle and discarded it.

            “I will wait in the other room for you to say your goodbyes, but then I must take the body with me. My team is downstairs, I will call them up.” Otis watched, not hearing the man, as Mary’s breathing slowed. His grip on her hand was vice-like, getting tighter every second. Maybe if he could squeeze hard enough, some of the life that was in her wouldn’t escape. Otis watched her chest rise and fall and then it ceased.

            A moan, a sob, caught in Otis’s throat and came out before he could stop it. His sobs, coming faster now, kept him from breathing properly, and his breaths sounded like gulps, his lungs trying desperately for the air that his brain did not want. He wanted to die. Why had she told him not to? He would never understand why she wanted him to live. He knew he would keep her promise, but every second of everyday would be a living Hell for him without her. Otis looked hard at the still figure of his wife on the bed. He finally let go of her hand. He was angry. Angry at the idea that his wife was dead, angry at the fact that he wasn’t too, angry at how selfish she was for leaving him alone in this way, angry that the world should come to this. He hadn’t realized he’d left the room until he stood in the kitchen, facing the stove. The black tea kettle sat on one of the burners. Overwhelming sadness erupted through Otis again and he sank to the floor to the darkest part of the kitchen where he didn’t move until his wife’s body had been removed from their bedroom…

            “Mr. Muldoon, are you ok? Otis? Jeez, Ted, he may have already died from the fall. Just our luck. Why’d you have to go and tell him his wife was already dead anyway, he probably would have never even known.”

            “Sorry, ok? I thought he had a right to know. Oh wait, I think he moved, here, help me lift him up.” Otis felt strong hands on his back as he slowly came to. He sat up and slowly felt his face with his free hand. His cheeks were moist and the droplets clung to his fingers as he pushed himself off of the floor.

            “I’m ready to see my wife.” Otis said, more confidently than he felt. He was done. Done with living in this world of endless letdowns, done with being lonely, done with being old, done with hurting.

            “After you, Otis.” The man who had helped him followed close behind as he approached the bedroom of his apartment. Otis had not stepped foot into the room since the day Mary Passed. He had made his way on the couch or in his rocking chair for the remainder of his short life. As he lay down on the bed, it felt surprisingly comfortable, warm even. He had forgotten what it felt like to sleep in a real bed.

            “You’re sure your ready Otis?” Out of the corner of his eye, a figure moved behind the man in green. He watched him rummage through his bag, but if he looked past his shoulder, the outline of a young woman could be seen. As her face came into view, Otis smiled to himself. She really was there to be the last thing he would see. He imagined her lips on his one last time before he felt the hard plastic of the mask on his face. Taking slow deep breaths, he concentrated on the image of her smile until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.

            I will see you so soon.