Knowing Someone

-The St. Mary Cathedral of Florence sure was beautiful. It still is, of course, just as beautiful. I’ll never forget approaching the main entrance, feeling myself shrink as the growing tower devoured the open sky. And once inside, the grandiosity of the interior commanded not only I, but the vast flock of chairs gathered under the dim light of stain-glass murals as well. I was utterly dumbfounded. Even though many tourists and fellow travelers were surrounding me, isolation was difficult not to feel. I've really gained respect for Brunelleschi since that day. I believe it is no accident that the chapel is highly renowned and iconic.

      Even so, at this moment, with my life-long doctor holding my gaze as I read his lips tell me I have late stage, terminal cancer- I've become infinitely smaller; it wasn't a feeling this time. And I can hear just fine, but the words won't register. [register? click, damn]
      Again I see him tell me something I can't understand but I'm sure is along the lines of "You're married, so, there's your silver lining" followed by a forced chuckle. He reaches his hand out to give me emotional support through my shoulder blade. I can't help but stare at the indent on his finger. All these years and he's never changed. [bastard]
    I'm unable to remain focused on him. I'm lost in Florence, just as that day long ago.

      'Hello?'

      Maria? Is that you? Maria! I can see you standing with your mother. Just as she was...

      "Hello, Niko? Should I leave you be, buddy, are you going to be okay?" His eyes are glossy and remorseful. The doctor's bushy eye brows and bedraggled hair only emphasize his condolences. Ron is genuinely concerned for my emotional state right now, wow. And it only took me dying to get it, too.

      "Oh! I'm sorry. I'm, I'm going to be ok. I was, just thinking about something. That's all.”

      The office is small, and I always made sure to relate it to the doc's pride whenever chance allowed. Not to mention it's as imaginable as they come; with multiple motivational pictures strung along the wall to my right, and a degree, perched adjacent to a corner-fitted counter being over-watched by an equal length of cabinets. The faint odor of latex lingers with the constant smell of what I can only describe as newly acquired 'something' that has been freshly installed- something other than that clearly fake, potted plant in the remaining corner by the door.

      I stare past him and into his supply cabinets. They are a brilliant white compared to the tan walls. Ron is looking at me with the kind of eyes you give your son when he’s quiet and sole companion to the loud bang that just occurred in the other room.  [seriously?]  I can't ignore it.
      "So. I'm dying.. There. I'm dying. I'm going to die. Is this what's supposed to happen? I've got to say it to make it better? I'M DYING! HOW'S THAT, IS THIS RIGHT?! Tell me!"

      The quiet following is palpable. McCormick's looking through me. Or more looking away from me while staring right at me. As if I couldn't feel any smaller. Now I'm both quantum and theoretical. [nice]
      "Look, Ron, I really am sorry." His grey eyes soften. "I, you know, I've thought about death so much of my life. I've thought about it with an iron fist and with absolute abstraction."  [fucking Brunelleschi]  "I've joked about it with myself as much as with my friends- hundreds of times. But, I'm learning that it can't be solidified. No matter how much you try to build it up, death, death is just something that's always one step beyond your best comprehension. It is...” [haha]

    McCormick lets out a light laugh, leans in, and says, "Listen. I know this is serious Niko, and I'm going be here for you every step of the way fighting this. I promise."
     A small grin cracks his face as he leans back. His eyes seem glassy. I wonder if he's thinking about his son and wife. Oh, that night in Florence. If I had never seen you... What a beautiful chapel roof. You were the only person who's radiance was greater. I had always known it was you ever since. Ico...

      "I don't want to die. I'm... I'm not ready. I can't die yet."
[haha]

      Slowly, Ron shuffles out of his office chair and walks towards the edge of the medical table. He reaches into the charcoal cabinets and pulls out a white notebook nursing a Sharpie pen in the spiral binding. I watch him hunch over the paper, scribbling in doctoral graduate chicken scratch. He tears off the sheet, and hands it to me. I grab and attempt to read the page, surprised by it's legibility. McCormick begins praising, "This is a little, well, riddle, I suppose." He smirks at the slant rhyme. "I give it to all of my terminally diagnosed patients. Before I let them read it though, I tell them that there is so much going on around you in space, and in your mind, that operates outside your understanding. And the illusion of immortality, to those alive, is the dream of outer space. You aren't the first or last to be afraid of not knowing what they must confront..'

      At that I look at him with skepticism, yet intensely. Here's another person telling me they know what I should feel. Their interpretation of god.. Right now, I just miss my first home. That's how I feel. I miss my old... my old... airplane ticket? No. I miss my mother's homemade... church? Why can't I focus? And the doctor's gone quiet. I can feel he is standing behind me now. [what the hell]
      "Florence was certainly beautiful that summer's eve, Niko." The words sound like smooth jazz. As if he knew me. But I never told him, did I? He is barely my doctor. I only just met him to get tested, two weeks ago!

      [fucking Brunelleschi]
      “Fucking Brunelleschi, am I right?" jests McCormick, a glimmer in his eye.

      "What the fuck is going on?!" I'm  panicking. I can't catch my breath. The room is growing fuzzy and my vision is tunneling. My heart is racing. I can't breath. What the fuck. He said just what I was thinking. How could he have known that, there's no way! It's impossible! Did I say it.. Or wait.. Did I think it? What was the name? Brunell-who? What name did he say?..

      "Take a deep breath, Niko" the doctor's voice assures. His words are hypnotic and inviting, like distant, ocean waves lapping ashore. "Slowly now. There you go. Let it out. Good..."

      "Florence sure is beautiful tonight, isn't it?"


      I stare up. The black cabinets wedged in the far corner slowly shift and expand into the vast night sky,  alive with stars. The desk lamp, which I was suspecting to be that new 'something', is now a glistening full moon, as new as they come. The medical desk, topped by beakers and containers filled with gauze and tools, melds fluidly into the cloud-garnished, Florence skyline. Glancing down, I see the floor pull away from me and turn into a street side as I slide from sitting to perched upon a roof, the night-time stone cool to the touch as my feet rest near the edge of the building. A soft, salty breeze tenderly plays with my hair and pants as it replaces the hum and kiss of the central air conditioning. Just as cool though. Caught in the moment, I hear a faint whisper say, "Light shows what you are; sound tells you. Together, they helped you create something they will never see or hear. Read the note now. I think it will help you with being afraid."
       [where am I standing?] I peer down, and written in black ink on lined paper, the note reads:

       How many lines do you need?
       How many lines do you want?
       How many lines
       lie just outside?
       And how many, right between?
       The arm moves the marker,
       flexible fingers guide.
       But what pushes it farther,
       leaving clues to find?

      There’s something else scribbled out on the bottom, but I can't read it. Even so, I don't understand the message..

      I catapult my vision and my words to the stars and argue, "Clues can't be right. That scribble is clear, just beneath my light! That story was told with black on white- I mean, in black and white, of course.. There couldn't possibly be anymore."
      Silence.

      I'm absolutely lost. I've lost my mind. Is this really happening right now? Maybe I can look to the note for any more help- Wait. I see someone. Is that...
     [Maria. It's her.]
     "No, it can't be.." But it looks so much like her. That Sunkist brown hair. The way she moves her arms when talking to her.. son. That smile. I know it's not her. It can't be. But, she's so beautiful.. Just as Florence on a night like this. I knew this trip was going to be worth saving for. But, huh. I can't remember why I came up here. Regardless of how nice it is. I should go back to the guided area before I get in any trouble. Maybe if I'm quick enough, I can find her.
---
      As Niko rediscovers the roof access to return to ground safely, the small note lightly tucked in his coat pocket is carefully picked away by the wind. Swinging in the breeze the note soon lands just at the foot of a young mother walking outside the cathedral. She notices then picks it up. Examining the wandering page in her hand, the woman reads:
       How many lines do you need?
       How many lines do you want?
       How many lines
       lie just outside?
       And how many, right between?
       The arm moves the marker,
       flexible fingers guide.
       But what pushes it farther,
       leaving clues to find?

      'I WANT TO DIE' is written poorly below the two phrases. Dr. McCormick, N.  is printed in the top corner.
      She looks up from the paper for a moment, clearly confused. Seeing nothing around her immediately, she looks back and flips the page over. Noticing additional text, the woman reads:

      Clues can't be right.
      That scribble is clear,
      just beneath my light!
      That story was told
      with black on white-
      I mean,
      in black and white, of course.
      There couldn't possibly be anym-.

      At that moment, a young man accidentally bumps into her, knocking the message free from her hand as it soars away in the briny, Italian air.