Jean was still asleep when I left. 

She always curled up in the same way. Hand under cheek, blanket twisted around her knees, a little crease between her brows. I watched her for a moment. THe older I got, the longer these moments stretched. I kissed her forehead gently. 

She didn’t stir.

I shrugged on my brown jacket - the one with the elbow patches she hated - and stepped outside. THe porch groaned beneath my feet. It always did. I used to say I'd fix it. I guess I still could. But lately, I’d been wondering if I should just let things stay broken. 

After that thought, I looked at the window that shows through our bedroom. I had a chill down my spine, a sense of guilt flowed through my body. Maybe I should bring her something back this time. Get her that chocolate bear claw she liked. Just maybe.

The morning aircut through my clothes, sharp, fresh, a little cruel. My left knee popped - titanium. A gift from the war, along with the hearing loss in one ear. Every stop now felt like a compromise. One more thing I used to do easily. But I walked anyway. Not for the exercise. For the reminder that I could. 

I walked the same route everyday - past the diner, the church with the peeling steeple, the old park where I taught my daughter how to ride a bike. She lives two states away now. Busy in college, working hard for her PHD. I wish I went through with mine, though life had another path for me. The path that left me physically limited for the rest of my life. 

At Elm & 6th, I paused. Same crosswalk, same streetlight with the constant  buzz. My knees ached, but I waited. I leaned onto the pole for some extra support. It’s getting harder to balance with my ragged old knees. The pain reminded me of when I signed that form 10 years ago; the will to donate my body to science. I was always fascinated with the museums of historical fossils and wanted to become one. 

That was our biggest argument yet between us. We non-stop argued about it for weeks. My ears are still ringing from the high pitched tone of her voice bouncing off our thin walls from our shaggy house.  

“It’s undignified,” she stated. “Let them bury you as a person!” 

“I just want to be useful, even after.” 

Let someone learn from me - my hardened arteries, my gallbladder which is not turning olive green, my semi-strong arms, my bad knees, my life marked in muscle & fat. I thought maybe that’d be enough. 

The light turned green, but everything went white. 

I heard the loud sudden screech of the tires. Then impact.

I hit the ground so hard I couldn’t tell which way was up. My breath was gone. Something hot pooled beneath my back, my ears ringing from the shock of the loud sound. 

A voice. 

“Oh my god! Sir? Are you okay? Can you hear me?” 

I blinked, everything shook. Her face was pale. She was crying. 

“Name,” I gasped. 

She learned in “Emily, Emily Carter. Please stay awake.” 

SHe kept apologizing. 

I wanted to tell her that it’s okay. That i’d already given myself - years ago - 

But I was lying, even now. It did scare me.

Because what if they didn’t see me as a man? What if they just saw parts? What is the stubble on my chin or the grime under my nails that made me seem less human - less real - than they were? That would disregard my wish of being examined under the cold lab room in full gear of the lab examiners. 

And what about Jean? What would she think when they called her, told her I was gone, I told her my body wouldn’t be returned? 

I wanted to tell her I loved her. That I remembered her laugh. That I kept her notes tucked in the drawer by the bed. That I still remembered the day we met. How she was the clingy one, and I was the shy one trying to keep proving to her that I should be the only one. As time went by after our daughter, now I feel like I lost that spark, and it’s not her fault. It’s mine. I want to apologize for all those times I wasted time. Time that I should’ve used to mend our relationship. 

I opened my mouth. Tried to speak. 

“Tell her-” 

But the words didn’t come. 

Just quiet. 

And then, nothing