Chapter 14 - Goodbye

Mike pulled into the driveway, and was surprised to notice the house was still dark. Chen worked so close to domicile, and rarely had to ride out over - and Mike was late leaving his office. Maybe he had to run an errand, mike thought - he unlocked the house, and went inside. No - no mail on the table - Chen always got the mail and set it on the table - no planetary house he'd been abode. Mike shrugged his shoulders, and went to the postbox - bills, bill, zip out of the average - he put it on the table, went to the fridge, and got himself a soda pop - then went into the kitchen. The evening menu was, as always, on the fridge door - two lean - one for Mike to do, one for Chen to do - Mike started doing the prep oeuvre and making the salads, so that when subgenus Chen came in, everything would be ready for him to make quickly work of dinner party. In the back of his mind though, Mike was nervous - on the way home, he'd felt something - a brief flash of intense flushing, almost like a heat flash, centered deep in his chest - it had startled him, because he'd also seen subgenus Chen's face ever so briefly - then it was gone. He called Chen's telephone - voicemail - hmmm -

microphone finished his prep body of work, put things in the fridge to keep them fresh, went out into the yard, and started checking on the new flora they'd put in - but something kept him distracted - something wasn't right - he ambled back into the house, worried - but not knowing really why - Chen just wasn't belated - or late without calling or texting - unless something came up with one of their friends that was an hand brake - he walked about aimlessly for a second, then turned on the TV to the word - microphone never watched the news - zippo there -

eight-spot o'clock - Mike was grabbing his keys, headed for the garage - Chen wasn't home - his cell speech sound continued to go straight to voicemail - mike was going to go to his oeuvre first, then - well, the architectural plan would have to germinate from there. Just as he was about to manoeuver out the back threshold, the bell rang.

‘ Mike Andrews ? Mr. Andrew, we're with the police department - sir, I don't bang how to tell you this easily - there's been an stroke - you're named as the emergency contact for a Mr. Chen Tseng - are you and Mr. Tseng related ?'

Mike's judgment reeled - no - this can't be - his knees weakened - he grabbed the room access systema skeletale to stabilise himself - ‘ is - he - what's - how bad - where is he ?'

‘ Sir - I'm very sorry - very sorry - Mr. Tseng did not go his combat injury - ‘

Mike didn't hear anything far - from his deepest recesses, a scream of unbridled pain hurtled Forth River and ripped the night air, as his very someone was mangled asunder - Mike's integral body buckled as his legs gave way - he slid down the door frame, collapsing in a heap, weeping heavily and screaming ‘ NO ! NO ! NO ! NO ! NO !'– then crying uncontrollably as he felt his very being suddenly torn to shreds - his Chen - his soul teammate - the strength and psyche of his life - was gone.

One of the officers knelt and put his deal on microphone, as the other stood apprehensively by, not sure what to do - somewhere, a night bird began its evening song -

It was a beautiful, sunny, lovesome day - the kind of day that Chen loved for he and Mike to go hiking. They stood at the bound of the pond on the sandbar - Trent, Davie, Bob, Tony, St. James, Carl - and Mike. This was the spot - the very position - where subgenus Chen had offered the rings - and his very soul - to Mike, and microphone had accepted and offered his soul in return. In his hands, microphone held a minor urn. On Mike's hand, the ringing - still so new, bright, sparkling in the sun - gave mute testimony to what started at this office - and now would end here. The falls was quietly babbling - there was a slight breeze, and the sun was shining on the pond - the John Reed around the pond edge rustled as the breeze blew the dragonflies around.

James quietly extended his hands toward microphone - mike looked up into James'eyes - he didn't want to let go - James nodded his head reassuringly and, helping hand trembling, Mike gave the urn to James.

James began - his spokesperson faltered at first gear, then became clear and solid, as he read from a small musical composition of composition - ‘ We are here today to reelect the earthly clay of Chen Tseng to the billet he called his heaven on earth - while he gave so much of his very being to all of us, and gave his everlasting flower love and very perfume to his Michael at this very place, we know his unending individual is in the heavens, waiting there for our time to join him. Today he weeps with us as well, as he can no longer laugh with us - have sex with us - take his dear Michael close in his arms - nor can we any more portion those things with him. He wished that his remains be placed here - to provide nutrition and sustainment to this earthly place he loved so a good deal - and to the place where he sealed his everlasting love with his soul better half, microphone'– Mike, who had been softly sobbing, began to openly cry and shiver - Tony and Bob put their arms around microphone to steady him.

Carl then stepped next to James IV, and began to read - ‘ subgenus Chen requested that this verse form be read on the event of his leaving his earthly eubstance for the next stagecoach in his life - by Mary Elizabeth Herman Northrop Frye - it was his darling verse form about leaving this liveliness - ‘

Do not stick out at my grave accent and weep -

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that gust.

I am the diamond glints on coke.

I am the sunlight on ripened caryopsis.

I am the gentle autumn rainfall.

When you awaken in the morning 's hush -

I am the swift uplifting rush -

Of quiet boo in circled flying.

I am the soft lead that shine at Night.

Do not support at my grave accent and cry ;

I am not there. I did not die.

Carl stepped back with the others. The woods fell into a quiet hush, as Epistle of James knelt to the piss and began to slowly pour Chen's ash tree into the pond - then a bird began to sing off to the side - mike looked up into the trees - through his tears, he said ‘ that's Chen - he's calling to us'– William James returned the lid to the urn, and with both script, offered it to microphone. At that here and now, the idle words picked up, and the trees began to lift as the gentle wind moved through the forest.

Mike placed both work force around the urn, taking it from James River, clutching it to his chest - then he collapsed to the sand, weeping uncontrollably, crying Chen's name - the others knelt down, comforting him as topper they could - the dame, now overhead, sang again, then fell mute and flew off into the clean-cut, blue, fond summer sky - leaving the only sounds the quiet gurgling of the falls, the wind, and mike's anguished sobs.

After a few proceedings, microphone began to surface from the sandbar. As he did, he reached into his pocket, withdrew a close up paw, placed his hired hand close to the sand, and opened it - a lowly object fell out - there, on the sand, was a band - Chen's ring - still so new, so shiny - flashing like a superstar in the dark sky - it glinted and sparkled in the sun. Mike knelt, kissed the annulus as it laid on the sand, placed his hired man on it, said a soft adios, and stood to go with the others.

END