Dinner with Death

A satirical story of an old man teasing the person Death. By Gabe Bentz

This story I wrote for a class but the original concept was to create a screenplay that could be easily filmed. Much like Sunset Limited this story is an "at the table," reflective kind of story.

Dinner with Death

My, but Death is annoying. I swear that he comes calling in my neighborhood at least twice a week. He knocked on the door of the Robinson’s the other day when their young son Bobby was trying to learn to fly with a parachute made of bed sheets. He peeked in at Helen Norm’s house also recently, when a grandchild attempted to play a cruel prank. Why Death even had the audacity one day to visit me. Let me tell you how that fellow happened to be in my vicinity.

I’ll admit that I had been expecting a visit or two from the Ole’ Fellow with the sickle for some time. I have lived a good portion of my life here on this earth, with very few brushes with the old boy. It is only fitting that he make up for those missed visits now in my old age.

I’ll admit that I had been somewhat infirm lately. My doctor has been telling me about my blood pressure and saying that I should take it easy. I promptly ignore the young quack. After all I know my body better than he ever could learn from any medical schooling he may have had.

This caught the attention of that pesky Death after a while. I was in the kitchen starting to prepare my favorite supper, a fine collection of spaghetti and meatballs. And, the dear young Emily Sanders dropped by earlier and had been cooking again. I was far too polite to decline the gift and intended to enjoy it after my Italian dinner.

I was just about to sit down to my meal when I heard a knock at the door. I left my warm meal to see who could be calling. When I opened the door who should be standing there but Death himself. He greeted me cordially and asked if he might come inside.

Now, I am one who certainly respects Death. After all he must have one of the most difficult jobs of all. He gets to tell people it’s time for them to learn the answer of what comes after him. I wonder if he ever plays jokes on people to liven his job up? Maybe head for the pearly gates and just when Saint Peter comes into view he drops the person to the warmer place. But though I respect his job I feel perfectly justified in politely avoiding him.

Therefore, when Death asked to come into my home I simply said that I couldn’t accommodate him. After all I was in the middle of dinner and I didn’t have enough to offer him, though I don’t know if he would have taken it anyway.

And so I left him on the stoop. I returned to my meal and was again about to slurp up the warm pasta when my doorbell went off. I was now annoyed with the pesky fellow but felt as if I might some fun with him.

I opened the door again and this time Death was a bit more polite saying, “I’m sorry, Mr. Smith, but could I wait inside. I am supposed to pick you up a little later.”

Oh really! This fellow had the audacity to tell me when he’s going to pick me up. Who does he think he is?  Although it would be interesting to actually speak to the gentleman. I’ve never looked death straight in the eye before. I thought it might be fun.

I decided to give him what he asked for and allowed him into my home with a pat on the shoulder. I quickly glanced up and down the street to see if anyone had noticed that I was admitting the fellow into my house. Thank goodness. No one had noticed. I’d hate to have the neighbors worrying about me or worse thinking that I might be considering “harrie-carrie.” I personally have seen some people admit in death and I just can’t abide it. So many of these young folks today just aren’t brought up to keep such strangers at a distance. Why sometimes I see children playing with the fellow and the fool parents don’t have the sense to chase him away.

I found Death made himself quite at home in my dining room as he waited. I found it rather rude. I mean I had not been notified that he would be calling. And being one of those people that don’t clean the house unless company was coming I had left the kitchen and the living room adjacent to the dining room in a complete state of disarray. But Death didn’t seem to mind. I doubt he visits many places that are prepared for his arrival. I plan to have my life in order when I leave with him. But when that day comes I’ll let him know.

Death sat in the chair across from where my plate now sat on the table. He was reading a book completely calm. He was serene. I couldn’t have that. He spends too much time rattling people’s cages to not have it done to him once in a while.

“Here, Deathy, I won’t have my guests go hungry.” I placed the plate of food in front of him.

He hesitated at first. “Oh no, Mr. Smith, I would not deprive you of your… supper.”

“Oh nonsense there’s plenty more. Dig in.”

He hesitated again but then placed his manuscript to the side and began to eat. I went into the kitchen. I had lied of course. Being a bachelor you only ever make as much as you need. If you don’t you have ordered a pizza. Pizza! There was an idea that would make Death get excited. I’d give him hope where there wasn’t any. I called the pizza place and had them deliver a couple of boxes. As I waited I grabbed an apple and some carrots and returned to the dining room. When Death saw me his face tightened and he sharply slurped the bit of spaghetti that was hanging from his mouth. I smiled to myself at having ruined a part of his day.

I sat down and started munching on the carrot. Horrible things really. I just keep them around to let folks think I’m being healthy. I never had quite as good a reaction as from the dark figure at my table that night. He seemed close to death for a moment. Tight and rigid. He pulled up his sleeve revealing an arm covered in wristwatches. He checked one and then let out a sigh.

Death asked me with a disgruntled look on his face, “Mr Smith, are you going to do this all night? You’re resisting more than necessary.”

I smiled. “Why, Death, I don’t resist you. I simply decide to ignore you. Why should I simply accept your presence as I do gravity. You are not some force of nature.”

“But Mr Smith, you seem to draw me so often.”

“Ha I don’t want to draw you. You come sniffing whenever I cross a street or have a piece of cake. I just decided I don’t care what your schedule is. If I did, that would mean that I was waiting for you. What a dismal thought. Whenever I’ve seen someone wait for you life seems to leave them and you seem to be a bit slower on the approach. While I’m out in the world having a good ole time, you stalk me. But if I went home and said, “I’m too old. Death take me,” I would find you nowhere.”

“Because it isn’t your time.”

Death looked at his wristwatches again.

“Answer me this Death, old boy. What are all of those watches for?”

He smiled shyly. “They give me the time.”

“The time of what?”

“Then time when I need to arrive. Your time”

“Now how can that be, my boy? You and I both know you can be in the area anytime and yet you have a schedule?”

“That first part is not always true, Mr. Smith. When each new life is created it is given a specific amount of time until it must relinquish its time to someone else. Look at this child here,” He motioned to a watch that I was sure was not there a moment ago.” She was born earlier today. You will notice that the alarm is set for December of 2075. But at this moment she is having difficulty breathing and may not last the night.”

He continued to point out timepieces as he spoke.

“This young man here has several decades left and yet he is holding a gun in his hand considering calling me. And this woman here could live to see her grandchildren, but instead, is donating a lung to her sister who only has a few months left without it. So you see, Mr. Smith, your choices define how much of your allotted time you retain. You can waste it, give it up, share it, or hoard it and use it all. But eventually your time will run out and then I’ll take you, kicking and screaming if necessary”

“So tell me, ole’ boy, which of those watches is mine?”

              “Here.”                

He pointed to a worn leather-handled watch with the face scratched. It was simple but apparently sturdy. I could see that the alarm was set for just an hour away.

“Why this can’t be right. It says that my final time is an hour away.”

“And now you see why I’m here.”

“But I feel fine.”

“As do many when I arrive for the appointment.”

I was stunned. I was just given an hour to live. My, Death is just about as a bad as a doctor. Only I couldn’t argue with him. I just got the word straight from hood and sickle himself. I’d seen him linger many times but I realized then that he only stepped in if the person required him to. As he said, this time it was an appointment.

I sat quietly for several minutes thinking about this interesting circumstance. Death simply sat across from me and ate. All I could think was that I wasn’t done. How could my life end now? How could I leave my friends and family without even a few months of chemo to prepare them? I watched the dark figure at the end of the table, simply waiting. Not hovering, not anticipating, just waiting. He wasn’t hunting me as I had long believed. He was just the catcher waiting for the ball.

“Hey Death, I’m curious. Do you like your job?”

He dabbed his mouth with the paper napkin on the table before answering.

“I take you from this life to the next. Many of those that I collect are in the deepest of misery. They scream with terror at my arrival and writhe at my touch. And then there are those miserable souls who chase me and grab at my heels. But all of that sorrow and depravity is erased when I come for a soul when it is their time and they simply take my hand, stand up, and walk with me. Yes, I enjoy my job.”

The doorbell rang. I was jolted a bit but stood to answer it. When I opened the door I was greeted by a pimple-faced teenager holding two boxes giving off the aroma of greasy happiness. I paid the delivery boy, giving him an extra-large tip, and took the boxes into the house.

I was like a kid opening a Christmas gift. I looked at the warm slices, the cheese glistening with grease and steam under the yellow light of the dining room. I pulled a large piece away. Olives and cheese clinging to the rest of the pizza, unwilling to give up their connection. Then I paused just before the bite.

“Tell me something D. Would it take much off that hour if I indulged?”

I didn’t think it was possible, but I saw that shallow face curl into a smile. Not sarcastic, not even satisfied, just simple clean amusement mixed with a touch of pride.

“Go ahead, Jerry.”

I took the bite and the last strand of cheese broke.