Side-By-Side

They both resided on the twenty-seventh floor of the Delta Nine Hospital, which itself resided just south of the equator on Mars. Romeo, the bald, petulant fellow who incessantly yelled at the nurses, was the one who resided closest to the window. Juliet had the spot closest to the hallway. She endured the non-stop barrage of beeps, clicks, scuttling footsteps, and doctor-to-nurse orders by dreaming about the waters beneath the red sand, the secrets contained in the cinnabar-tinged flowers, and even the reveries of the planet itself. Conversely, Romeo didn’t dream of anything. He could only see the direness of his wretched situation. He took for granted the beautiful view he had of the red storms, the prodigious massifs, the spaceships, the futurity of the present. He even despised Juliet because she refused to see the negative side of their respective situations. But somehow, in some secretive way, in some baffling way as well, he deeply loved her.

“Juliet!” Romeo screamed one morning. “The television set doesn’t seem to be working. How do I turn this damn thing on?” Juliet, startled by the sound of Romeo’s sibilant and obnoxious voice, turned in her cushy bed and responded, “There is a remote control attached to the side of your bed, but just be careful not to—” But it was too late. Instead of pressing the right button, the button which turned on the TV and mitigated the mounting frustration that assailed his psyche, Romeo pressed a button that caused the bed to vibrate, madly, much like a mechanical horse. “Stoppppppp!” he yelled out. “Stopppp thisssss madnessss!” After a couple minutes, a couple minutes that seemed like ten long years for Romeo, a nurse finally entered the room and shut off the vibrating bed and turned on the TV. The TV was on channel 15, a channel dedicated to the news. A field reporter talked about oil companies scouring into the red planet in desperate search of fossil fuels, and said something about history repeating itself, and said something about history never straying from the corrupted path, and said something about stupidity, and said something about interstellar capitalism. In fact, in a very tranquil and monotonous fashion, the reporter kept on talking. Moments later it was revealed to the bed-ridden Juliet and the bed-ridden Romeo that the garrulous reporter was actually a robot, and that there was some kind of glitch in its circuitry. The news anchor apologized for the diatribe and the newscast went to a commercial break. The first commercial promoted the radical televangelist, C3-Preacheo, and his gift of gab, his titanium exterior, and his countless books on faith healing. Disgusted by the commercial, Romeo turned off the TV and turned his attention towards Juliet.

“Juliet?”
“Yes, Romeo, what is it?”
“Where do you think we go when we die?”
“Where is this coming from?”
“I don’t know. I just feel like shooting the shit.”
“Well, that depends on what you believe.”
“I believe in Libertarian Agnosticism: I choose the fate, the course, the way, and the universe just apathetically smiles on.”
“Well…”
“Well what?”
“Well then you choose where you go when you die.”
“No.”
“No what?”
“That is the only thing I have no control over.”
“The tunnel that leads to the Blazing White Light then.”
“What?”
“That’s my answer to your question.”
“Oh…”

Romeo turned to the sullen window and ruminated over Juliet’s prosaic explanation, the one espoused by countless people throughout the ages. He didn’t believe it. He wondered about the possibility of there being more than one tunnel. He thought about the metaphysical plumbing system that could very well greet the languishing mind at the onset of death. He thought about traveling in the plumbing system, about avoiding the dead end of oblivion, about avoiding the rusted pipes that led to rebirth, and he most certainly thought about finding the winding pipe—the great slide in the water park of eternity. He even thought about turning death into a type of betting game, where people would wager over the course of each person’s wild ride after death. He, Romeo, the bald and ill-tempered schmuck, would have been the bookie of course. And hell, why not: what did he have to lose by amassing a small fortune over such unsolvable conjectures? He was bed-ridden. He was dying himself. Why shit, he had everything to gain from such a business venture.

But then reality came back into play. Then he only thought about the direness of his wretched situation: the walls, the TV, the mechanical horse bed, the silent dreams of Juliet, the dreaming silence of Juliet, the untouchable Juliet, his ingratitude, his shitty attitude, and all the other bric-a-brac that floated around in this weary head. His psyche assaulted him from multiple angles, and tried to get him to change his stubborn ways. He refused. He was repulsed by its implorations. He started to twiddle his thumbs, manically, like a man hypnotized by his own wretched sense of vulnerability. After the twiddling he threw the covers over his face. He grunted. “What?” Juliet said. “What is it now?”

Before Romeo answered the question, a large, gangling automaton entered the room and mechanically mentioned that lunch was being served. The automaton listed off the options and then waited for a reply. “Oh,” Juliet said enthusiastically. “I will have the ersatz beef with some mashed potatoes on the side. I would also like some of that self-replenishing juice. I am thirsty.” As for Romeo, he said he wasn’t hungry. He looked at the automaton disdainfully through the tiny holes in his afghan, and then turned over to face the wall. “Oh, don’t mind that grumpy old boy,” said Juliet. “He likes being difficult.” The automaton punched in her order and then made a comment that sent temblors of hate down Romeo’s spine: “If he is being grumpy, tell him to sit up straight and look at your pretty face.” The tone of the automaton’s voice was monotonous, but underneath its impassive exterior a flirtatious spirit was trying to break free. It was trying to pick her up.

The automaton left while trying to smile at the beauty he saw in front of him: Juliet, the bed-ridden and opulent form the cinnabar-tinged flowers spoke about to the terse winds.

He turned towards Juliet, petulant and fuming, like a mangy dog with fiery breath, a Cerberus of sorts. He felt Juliet’s electrified being. He felt his own being cringe.

“Why aren’t you blushing?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t be so naïve. That robot just hit on you.”
“That automaton is always flirtatious with me. He is nice. Nice butt too.” She giggled.
“Sometimes…”
“Sometimes what?”
“Sometimes…sometimes I don’t know what…”
“Get it out.”
“Sometimes I feel like you’re playing with my heart.”
“I don’t have your heart.”
“What do you mean?”
“We aren’t together.”
“We aren’t?”
“No.”
“I thought we were together. We have been together for three years.”
“But we haven’t ‘been together’. We just share the same room.”
“But don’t you love me?”
“As a friend I love you. But nothing more.”
“Well, who do you love?”
“Maybe you don’t have the right to know.”
“It’s nobody, isn’t it? I am right. You don’t love anyone.”
“No, Romeo…you’re the one who doesn’t love.”

The word was a dagger that stabbed Romeo’s vulnerability. Juliet frowned and turned back to her reveries and waited for the cute butt of the automaton to return. She drifted back into the dreaming silence. In spite of her presence, Romeo mentally wandered back to the metaphysical plumbing system. He thought about throwing her down the rusty pipes headfirst. He maliciously considered it. He took the bets. In fact, he had rigged the betting system. He knew she was going to be coming back to the red planet with the same physical ailment she left with. He thought about getting rich on her death.

Then he had a change of heart. He followed her down the pipe, yelling her name like a penitent in heat. “Juliet! Juliet! Juliet!” Then he murmured words to himself when he realized he was never going to catch up with her. He wept as he said:

“O! She doth teach the torches to burn bright. It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth (Mars) too dear.”