"Every man's life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another."

      Ernest Hemingway.

It’s easy to see the red, yellow and black buoy marking the southernmost point of the United States. The view from his bay window can inspire, delight and frighten depending solely on the wind and sky.

“It’s easy to live here,” he never thought he would say that.

Lighting another cigarette he studies the rhythmic pattern of the tide. The mouse pad, keyboard and monitor below are usually dusted with ash but today everything was clean. Looking down he hesitates before flicking his cigarette into the sparkling ash tray, when a sound from beyond the French doors broke his hypnotic trance and caused the ash to break off and splash onto the floor.

“It’s Ms. Jacobs returning the vacuum to the hall closet,” he mumbled to himself as he kicked the ash under his desk. 

On Tuesday’s Ms. Jacobs thoroughly cleans the little townhouse on Tranquility bay that Jack called home. It’s also the day she’s allowed to clean his study which she aptly refers to as ground zero.  Her chores included cooking, shopping and laundry and after working for Mr. Lighthous for over six years she knew what was expected.  Although on Tuesdays she would occasionally bend the rules and empty all four ash trays surrounding his work area. On any other day she wasn’t even allowed to enter the third bedroom which was converted into an office the day he moved in.

On rare occasions Jack allowed Ms. Jacobs to clean the windows and blinds surrounding ground zero. At times the glass and blinds were so thick with a yellow film it was difficult to see the vivid cyans and indigos just outside the pane.

Regaining his composure Jack leaned forward over his monitor and glanced out the window again but this time he wanted to see if he could guess the exact time the sun would set. He tried to measure the position of the sun in relation to the buoy quickly calculating the Suns path to the sea. Afterward he reached beneath his desk and pinched the ash placing it in the waste basket next to his chair.

A clean work area was never important to Jack but he knew the desk area really bothered Ms. Jacobs so he tolerated the weekly cleaning. He snubbed out another cigarette and leaned forward over his monitor to re-measure the sun’s distance one last time. “Twenty five minutes,” he softly said. 

Feeling good about his calculations he sat back and lit another cigarette while he waited for his computer to shut down. Coming from a tech background Jack understood the importance of shutting down his system and unplugging all of his electronic devices. It doesn’t have to be raining or be under a hurricane warning for the Florida Power and Light Company to throw an extra 1000 amps down the line and blow your system to hell.

Another important lesson he learned down here is where to be at sunset time. If you’re a resident on the last island in a string of Islands off the coast of Florida you know how to end each and every day.

The sun now making its final farewell--it was time to take the short trek down to Mallory Square and join his fellow conch’s in a toast to the end of another perfect day. 

Ms. Jacobs is a woman in her seventies and has been a Conch most of her life. However, she no longer attends the evening ritual since her husband passed during Hurricane Charley over a year ago. But, that didn’t stop Jack from inviting her to walk down to the waterfront each evening hoping she would say yes. Many times he stood alone near the bulkhead watching the oranges, reds and yellows melt into the sea.

“Come on Ms Jacobs, just walk with me to the Hogs Breath; it’s on your way home. People are always asking about you.” As always, she politely declined stating she had her own house work to do and those sunsets brought back too many memories.

“Besides, I’m sure you won’t be lonely, you’ll meet up with some bare footer’s to share the walk with you.” She said smiling, as she made her way to the back door.

She’s right no self righteous islander would be caught dead driving down to watch the sunset. Only snowbirds and spring breakers clog the streets with cabs, SUV’s and rented Vespas. A true Conch bare foots it down to the square.

“All right then, I want you to know that everyone thinks I’m holding you hostage up here.” Ms. Jacobs knew Jack was just trying to be kind but this old woman’s heart still ached when she thought about enjoying a sunset without her husband.  Knowing that he pushed the issue too much Jack said, “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to keep on about it.” She paused while gathering her things and said, “Mr. Lighthous,”

“Please call me Jack,”

“Jack, I have been working for you---for long time now and I think of you as one of my own. I have to say, I think it’s time you started thinking about your health and your family and not whether this old lady goes down to the square.” Jack was stunned by her remarks; she never spoke to him so frankly and she never brought up his estranged family. Before he could answer she walked over to him, placed her hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek.

“Now you go down there and behave yourself tonight, I don’t want to come in tomorrow and find you face down in puke lying next to a grouper boat gal.” Again, he looked at her with candor as she smiled and headed out the door.

Shocked that she knew about grouper boat girls he replied, “Don’t worry I have this manuscript to finish I’ll be home early and I’ll be careful.”

“Good, God bless you Mr. Lighthous.”

“Call me Jack”

“Good night, Jack.”

As she turned to leave again, she dropped a large manila envelope on his desk. It was an interoffice envelope, the kind that closes with a string. Printed on top, in bold was The University of Miami Medical Center. It was already opened and he was well aware of its contents. It was obvious Ms. Jacobs’ curiosity got the best of her as well. She paused a moment and stepped back into the study. She looked at Jack directly in his eyes and said, “I’ll pray for you”. Jack listened as she step over the thresh hold and started to cry. He got up and headed towards the door to see if she was alright but she was gone.

Jack received the grim news about a month ago, and he was supposed to send the results up to his publisher in New York. It was their idea for Jack to have a full physical exam. It was their way of saying we have too much invested in you and we need a little insurance.  Jack figured, ‘fuck them,’ they made enough money from him already so why should he give them a reason to cut his contract.

The MRI showed a mass under Jack’s left ribcage near his lung. The doctors wanted to schedule exploratory surgery as soon as possible. Attached to the report was an appointment card for Doctor Ray Ramijin the Head of Oncology at The University of Miami medical center. The note emphasized the urgency for the procedure. Written in red ink was the cell phone number to call Doctor Peter Gains of Key West. Jack did not respond to either requests and decided to tackle this problem the only way he knew how, ignore it, forget it, pretend it didn’t happen.

The computer blasted that annoying utopian theme music as it shut down, and before turning off his desk lamp he looked at the only family picture he brought from his home in Bradenton. It was a shot of the whole family on top of Fanny Hill in Snowmass Colorado. He smiled waited a moment and turned off the lamp.