The Last Few Minutes

By Samuel Martinez
Death is black and white. Anyone can tell whether something is dead or not. Death
is obvious, an idea considered elementary to the human brain. The idea of death
comes with a connotation of fear, bringing individuals to run from death. But no
matter where you go, death is inevitable and it will always find you.
When one runs from death, they are ultimately running from life. Running from life
brings a sensation of regret that induces a fear of death. The said individual
becomes fearful of death due to the fact that they have not yet lived, therefor they
are not yet prepared to die.

The water is clear and crisp, carrying the same inviting, blueish-green tint with it as
it had for years. I inhaled and embraced the cool, brisk, morning air in my lungs; a
sensation I had grown to enjoy. The landscape looks just as it did years ago, but the
glory of this corner of the forest never fades.
I found this place during high school and made it my own. When graduation came,
my peers were in quite the hurry to leave, but I always failed to comprehend why.
Perhaps it was my everlasting struggle with change, but I couldnt imagine leaving
my home without the intention of returning. Perhaps Id always felt more of an
interconnected dependency to this place than in comparison to those around me,
but Ive never had a problem with the lack of company. However, that was decades
ago and I never seem to put much energy into their leaving anyways. Ive always
been one to attempt to save my thoughts for myself, rather than for those around
me.
Everybody went off on their own adventures, however she stayed around. She was
the only person whom I never lost patience with, and she was the only person who
never got fed up with me. But as things go, eventually our time came to a close and
my struggle with change was no help. For a long time I was lonely; an empty can, as

if at one point in time I had a purpose, but by now I was completely consumed by
the world around me. Sooner or later I recovered from my episode of devastation,
but I never felt full again. I mean, I felt substance in my life, but the soda had gone
flat- my ambition for a companion had left with her. I managed, learned to move on
with my life but I never actually moved past her. The things she taught me about
myself, about life have been foundational in my becoming. But I was always better
at being alone. I think that had I gone my entire life without a significant other, I
would have struggled with death. But she inflicted a sensation of partnership that I
never lost sight of. I always pictured myself dying alone... Never did I envision
myself dying lonely- just alone and there is fine line between the two.
Early October is brisk in the mountains, but it makes the warmth of a cup of coffee
and a cigarette that much more enjoyable. Muscle memory kicks in and I light the
cigarette. As clich as it may be, coffee and cigarettes seem to have been good for
my health. Smoking has always been my primal technique of stress relief- its
peaceful, it still. When youre smoking you have time to think, time to analyze
every situation. Perhaps I have always been drawn to smoking because its simply
ten serene minutes to myself. My eyes fixate on the tip of my burning cigarette as
the deafening silence of my fortress of solitude drowned out anything that would
have caught my attention. As I take another drag my eye lids fall away from the
jagged, majestic, Rocky Mountain scenery and my thoughts take control of my
sanity.
Since my first time in these woods I have experienced a sort- of dependency on this
particular piece of the earth. Its secure to me, I feel safe; like a little boy and his
security blanket, I am attached to this place, carrying it with me wherever I go. My
first afternoon in this place there was a moment where I saw myself as a part of the
forest. The overwhelming idea that the world is not anthropocentric, that we as
humans are simply another piece to the puzzle, that we are a part of something
much bigger than us caught me off guard but I found excitement in the concept
nonetheless.
I scan the scenery around me, taking note of the oceanic forest and the mountains
towering over the land; just as I did my first time in this wilderness. But the beauty

is not what has always kept my attention. Its the energy. The energy here, in my
place, radiates from everything. I have found lessons in the radiance of mothernature. The stream has showed me how fluid life is, how things happen without any
act of force from me. Unlike the still nature of the natural world, the buzz of the civil
community, of which was made by man, cant provide the settling companionship
that is found in places without structures or roadways.
As my fathers father, and my father before me, my foolish habits caught up to me.
The doctor gave me six months and encouraged chemo. Everyone encouraged
chemo. I watched chemo-therapy tear my fathers body apart and youd have to be
a damn fool to think Id ever have anything to do with that shit. Despite my
everlasting struggle with change, this seemed out of my hands at this point; I have
always believed that if I cant control something then it would be foolish to waist
energy on that said something so I continued business as usual, like the cancer
didnt exist. I continued my consistent, morning trip up to this exact place every
day, rain or shine. I would still make plans with myself and set goals for things as if
there were no chance that I could die tomorrow. But only because it had been this
way all my life. Theres more of a chance of dying in a car accident every time you
leave the house than there ever is of being diagnosed with cancer, thats just how
my cookie crumbled.
A few months ago I walked to the corner store because I was almost out of
cigarettes. I bought my smokes and stepped to the left of the small convenience
store to light one up when a fellow not much older than me engaged me in a
conversation. While we spoke I revealed to him that my clock was just about done
ticking and the man proceeded to ask what my dying wishes were. I had never been
asked this question, at least not seriously. I obsessed over the question throughout
the following days but my only response that I saw to be truly authentic was that
my dying wishes were to die in the comfort and peace of my home. However, that
morning I answered with a quick draw reply with little genuine substance. He said
something back to me, I replied, the conversation carried on and it was never
discussed again. But I never forgot that question, or the answer that I had kept to
myself.

I dragged the cigarette as if it provided me with some form of life and the irony
brought me to a gentle smile. The incident with the man in the Diner fell towards
the back of my mind. I didnt know I knew it, but subconsciously I could sense my
time approaching. I woke up my last morning and, as tradition, ventured to my
place in the wilderness. I brought my coffee and my pack of Kamel Reds just like I
would any other day; only that morning, I left the keys in the car.
I exhaled the smoke from my chest for the last time and took another sip of my
coffee. This place has always been quiet and serene, but my final visit seemed more
so then usual. It was almost like the rest of the forest was taking a moment of
silence for me. Im not sure if its to honor my energy, as I am a part of this
interconnected ecosystem, or to simply allow me to enjoy my last moments in this
place that I always enjoyed so much. The breeze on my face complimented the
silence of the forest and the content sensation I had felt for years was more so than
usual.
As it all came to an end, I thought of how my father lived and died and I compared
our journeys. Although they appeared similar, our stories differed incredibly. When
my father lived he searched for happiness in the approval and acceptance of other
people. As a young man, my nature was similar. The sensation I had felt that
resembled that of an empty soda can comes to mind and I imagine thats how my
father lived the majority of his life; feeling as if his presence lacked any meaning or
purpose, like he was there but the smallest exertion of force could wipe him out in a
one, swift, singular, blow. I began to ponder my own life and how it would be played
out, had I remained bounded by that same idea. My fathers consistent mentality of
regret regarding the life that he lived oppressed him from experiencing genuine life.
I think this is why he chose to fight the cancer, because he wasnt ready to die. Had
my father embraced his own life, his own destination, I believe that he would have
faced death in a more honorable manner. But not only that, my fathers life would
have carried out in a more authentic fashion.
The images and sounds of my fathers death flooded my mind and I felt thankful
that I heard birds chirping in my final moments, as opposed to a heart monitor. I
imagined nurses, indifferent to his life as well as his death, surrounding him as he

passed away; I was accompanied only by the animals of the forest and my tattered,
old coffee mug. Ive always seen myself as a mimic of my father, and throughout
life everything seemed to play out as so. It took death to bring me to the realization
that we were very much different from each other.
I soaked in the warm sensation of the sunshine on my face as the sun breached the
mountain tops in the west and I caught myself staring into the wilderness the
moment before my eyes shut. The last thing I saw was the shore line of the lake, at
the base of the pine trees and the surface of the water, where everything
connected.

..
The key to life is being still. When one is still and calm in their nature, that individual
is able to live authentically, arriving at their own destination. By enabling ones self
to be still and accept this life as truly your own, the fear revolving around life and
death dissipates. When life is lived in a still manner, death is not as suffocating or
frightening, but almost satisfying in a sense- similar to the ending of a good book.