back

Infinite Lifespan

"Look, you can't seriously believe you're going to live forever, can you?"

"I don't see why not." Mark stepped to the side to avoid a sandwich board as he hurried to keep pace with his longer-legged friend. Amos was six and a half feet tall to Mark's five and a half, and while he had become used to the height difference in most situations, walking down the street was one of those times where Amos' twelve extra inches made for a noticeable difference. The situation was further exacerbated by the fact that Amos tended to walk faster the more excited about a conversation he was. And the immortality thing always got him worked up.

The two friends had been over Mark's belief in an infinite lifespan more times than they could be bothered to count. "But," came Amos' reply, "everybody dies. There's like, a hundred billion examples of people dying, and not one of anyone living even two hundred years, forget about forever!"

"Yeah, well, there was always Adam -- but we'll skip the Biblical references and stick to Science and Statistics."

Amos snorted. "Yeah, let's do that, shall we?" The corner of his mouth turned up in a sarcastic leer, with the eyebrow above it following suit.

"Anyways, your proof is only that people die, not that people can't live forever. Just because something has never happened before doesn't mean that it can't happen some time in the future. There's never been anyone like Mozart, before or after him. And look at Gauss, or Newton, or... or the 4-minute mile, or space flight. Uh." Mark had to hop over a sagging grate in the sidewalk as he mentioned space flight -- the grate should probably hold, but he wasn't inclined to take chances like that. You don't live forever by walking blindly into accidents waiting to happen.

"Alright, good point. But that doesn't mean that you," Amos said emphatically, pointing his finger at Mark's chest when he pronounced the pronoun, "are going to live forever. Just because it may happen to someone, somewhere along the way, some time in the history of mankind, doesn't mean that you're gonna be the one to do it. Looking at your vaunted statistics, the odds are rather against you. Like I said before, a hundred-billion to one ain't all that grand." He rolled his eyes for effect, and nearly bumped into an old lady coming out of a flower shop. "Oops, sorry," he muttered, hoping that she'd hear, but no one else would.

Mark followed Amos as he squeezed between a parking metre and a group of people who had gathered in front of a coffee shop. It sounded like they were making their good-byes after having met for coffee. "That's true," replied Mark once they had passed the group and were once again walking side by side on the sidewalk. "But those odds don't take into account mitigating factors. The hundred billion examples so far haven't had access to the technology and advances in medicine, nutrition, pharmaceuticals that I, and you, have access to."

"Yeah, but you and I don't have another hundred thousand years for the technology to advance as far again." Amos waved his hand in half an expansive gesture, and then turned his palm up with his fingers splayed in a "what can I do" gesture. "Look, I mean, yes, average lifespans have doubled, maybe tripled since the dawn of man. But triple your, what, seventy-year life expectancy? That's not anywhere near even a thousand years, let alone a hundred times that."

"A-hah," Mark interjected, waving an admonishing index up into his friends face, "but you're assuming the progression is linear. It's not."

"How can you know that? You're saying the lifespan increase is exponential, or geometric over time. Handy little assumption, but where's your proof?"

"Check the pudding," Mark muttered.

"What?"

"I said, 'Check the pudding.' It's in the pudding."

"What is?"

"The proof, goof." Mark couldn't completely stop the sly grin that was trying to slip across his face.

Amos stopped walking. "Proof. In the pudding."

Mark stopped beside his friend, gave up trying to keep his reaction down, and turned to face Amos with a wide smile. They looked at each other for a moment, and then Amos broke an exasperated half-smile. "You're an idiot," he stated matter-of-factly. Then he started walking again, stepped off the curb at the street corner, and into the path of a Cadillac Escalade.

The SUV was white, and the red screamed horribly against it as the impact tossed Amos sideways into the middle of the road. The Cadillac's tires screamed against the pavement, too late to make a difference. A woman across the street screamed against the horror. She didn't know his best friend's name, but Mark did.

"AMOS!"

The body rolled a few times on the pavement, cars screeching to a halt around it. The face was a bloody mess staring up at the traffic lights. The right leg was disgusting, compound fracture shoving jagged bone through flesh, skin and denim, twice. The right arm was hard to look at, bending unnaturally backward, caught under the body. The person was... the person... Mark realized with a shock like lightning and a clap of thunder in his ears that the person was still inside.

He got down on his hands and knees, afraid to touch anything, afraid that his touch would be the one that pushed Amos over the edge into oblivion. So he looked into the brown eyes of his best friend. He said, "Don't be afraid Amos. Don't be afraid. Don't be afraid...", trying to sound soothing, not soothing either of them. He looked, he stared, he locked his gaze with Amos'. He didn't want his friend to die alone.

Mark looked, and stared, and watched, as Amos' brown eyes faded, stopped shining, seemed to be hazed with grey. Just as Amos died, Mark felt something cold inside him. Cold, but unstoppable, so he gave it voice, and then wept.

"I may not live forever, but I lived longer than you."

back