Checking Out

by Nick Spalding

. . people’s lives do go on, though, don’t they? Just because mine is likely to come to an end very soon, it doesn’t mean that anybody else’s is. What a horrible thing to realise.

And with that, The Foodies theme begins to play in the auditorium. The gathered ranks of phlegmy children all start to scream excitedly. This is my fault. This is something I have wrought upon the world, God help me.

I have, if I’m being completely honest about it, been a bit of a dick. It’s a crying shame that it took a terminal diagnosis for me to realise it. It’s also a crying shame that I’ll probably be robbed of the chance to be less of a dick in the future thanks to my vastly shortened lifespan.

Because it’s all just so damn inconsequential, isn’t it? When you don’t have much time to spare, what does it matter how much money you have? Material possessions become entirely irrelevant when your life hangs resolutely in the balance.

As I call for a taxi and pour myself a cup of tea, I feel a new-found sense of purpose – a feeling of personal fulfilment and drive that I’ve been missing for so bloody long. This is it. This is the thing I need. This is my new path in life. This is the thing that keeps Nathan James in the game, for as long as he has left!

I’m not sure how I’m ever going to recover from the humiliation of not being able to outrun a manic depressive, tiny orange donkey and Mary Berry’s less well-off sister.

I’m being molested by a hairy orange creature with a personality disorder. Now I know what it feels like to be a woman locked in a room with Donald Trump.

Winnifred looks at me in delighted shock. ‘Thank you, Nathan! Oh, thank you so much!’ I return the smile. ‘It’s my absolute pleasure.’ And it really, really is. I feel a warm glow in my heart and an absolute sense of rightness about what I’ve done here today. This was definitely a worthwhile thing to do. Even with the donkey sex.

Looking at the crowd, I’m a bit dismayed to see Callum sat slightly in front of, and apart from, all the other children. This is his party, but it seems like the other kids are giving him a bit of a wide berth. Being different may sound like a great thing when you’re a fully grown adult who wants to be interesting at dinner parties, but it’s an awful thing when you’re small. I look up to see that Eliza has noticed this as well. The sad look on her face makes me want to cry.

I’ve always had a problem with God – mainly because he probably doesn’t exist, and nothing that non-existent should cause so much trouble on such a regular basis.

If I can just make that leap and accept God into my heart, then all of this worry, all of this suffering will be far, far easier to deal with. I will not go into that dark night alone and scared!

I can feel the eyes of the congregation boring their way into my back as Mum and I hurry out of the auditorium. As we reach the exit doors, I turn and give them all a large and thrusting middle finger. It’s an extremely immature and childish thing to do, but it also feels entirely appropriate.

Who needs the love of a god when you have the love of a mother, eh?

‘Why are you here?’ I repeat, still not able to believe what I’m seeing – and also comprehensively worried that God does indeed exist and has been watching me masturbate all these years.

Because that’s all I have. That’s all any of us have. Moments. Moments captured between a void.