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"Best Friends"
(An excerpt from "Prayer for the Dying")
By: C.M. Tovar

The two men sat in a quiet room. One lay in an institutional bed, with handrails on each side of it and slightly faded pale blue sheets covering him up to his chest. There was an IV running from his wrist to a small plastic bag that hung by itself on a metal rack. The man in the bed was awake, though he was only staring at the ceiling. From time to time he would glance over at the other man, who sat in the worn, burnt-orange chair by the bed.
Just then, the man in the chair lifted his head from where it had been resting in his own hands. His eyes were puffy and reddened and the glistening of tears still rested in his eyes. Quietly, he sat back in his chair and this move elicited a creak from the weary chair. He was a big man, well over 6 feet tall and almost 300 pounds and it was all muscle. His eyes met those of the man in the bed and he quickly averted his eyes to his own hands.
"So you've finally quit praying, huh, Dell?" asked the man in the bed.
"Shut up, Alex…" whispered the big man. His eyes were still on his own hands.
"What did He say?" asked Alex.
At this, the big man shifted in his seat and moved his eyes to the floor. He still did not give so much as a glance to the man in the bed.
"What did He say?" repeated Alex. This time, his voice was a bit louder.
"You know damn well…" mumbled the big man, as he slumped back into the chair.
"Watch your mouth…" murmered Alex as he winced, quietly.
"What happened?" asked Dell, sitting up quickly.
"Nothing," came the quick response.
"That wudn't nuthin'" was Dell's response, "now, what was it."
"It's getting a little harder to breath is all."
The big man did not reply to this. Instead, he rested his head once again on his hand.
"You'll remember to give her the journal, won't you," said Alex. This time, he looked straight at Dell and waited for a response.
"I'll remember," was all the big man replied. His massive shoulders shuddered momentarily and he turned his head to the side, so Alex couldn't see him as well. Alex could still make out the barely audible sniffle, though.
"She needs to see the journal… to know…." His voice drifted off.
"It's her fault you're here… that you contracted -"
"Don't. The journal has to come from someone who will love her… who will be there for her when… when I can't be."
"All the stuff we been through… all the times when we shoulda' been dead…" his voice trailed off and the big man eased back into his chair.
"Remember the time when we had to get that crate full of Bibles into Yakutsk? And that college student, the goofy kid with the really thick glasses, what was his name?"
"Conti. Timmy Conti. But he used to make everybody call him 'Cokebottle' 'cause a his glasses." Looking at the far wall, Dell breaks into a smile.
"Yeah, that was him," said Alex, a smile spreading across his face as well.
"And when we got to that checkpoint and that one guard came to check our truck an' Cokebottle peed his pants he was so scared an' the guard just looked at us real disgusted-like and waved us on through," said Dell. He began laughing a loud, echoing laugh that was far louder than Alex's.
Alex began coughing and choking as he laughed and the laugh faded into a cough and he began reaching for a handkerchief of some sort. Dell moved onto the bed, sitting beside him, and pulled his own handkerchief from his pocket to place over Alex's mouth as he coughed.
Alex pulled the handkerchief away and started to hand it back over to Dell when he noticed a thick wad of blood in the middle.
"Sorry about the handkerchief," said Alex, no longer smiling.
"Don't worry 'bout it," said Dell. His own smile was gone as well.
"Do me a favor, would you?" asked Alex. His eyes met Dell's and the two men were silent for a moment.
"Anything, brother."
"Leave… now."
"I… I can't do that" replied Dell. His voice was raspy and tears began to form in his eyes.
"You have to. There's too much work to be done for you to stay here anymore… and besides… this is it."
Dell reached out his hand and Alex grabbed hold of it. They sat for a second without saying anything, and then Dell rose from the bed. He slowly picked up a worn, leather-bound volume on the small bed-stand and the small piece of stiff, white material lying next to it. Without a word, he turned his back, the journal in one hand and the priest's Roman collar in the other, and walked out of the room.
Alex sat back in the bed and stared, once again at the ceiling. His chest rose and fell evenly, and then, with a slight shudder, he was still.