Wishing for a Thing
Author's Note: This was written under another pseudonym and originally published in 1991 in the fanzine Idylls 5.
Disclaimer: The crew of the Enterprise doesn't belong to me.
From where the man sat, in the soft, warm sand at the foot of the dune, he could easily see the little boy, a hundred meters up the beach, skirting the waves, playing tag with the ocean. His copper-colored hair shone bright, set aglow by the last burning rays of the sunset, curling wisps of fire that danced in the evening's gentle breeze. The boy tossed his head, and the man knew that he was laughing; he could not hear it, but heard it just the same. Knew the sound of it as surely as he knew the sound of his own breathing.
The man smiled, wondering if he'd ever been that young; surely he must have been at one time. What a pity he couldn't remember. Because at five, life went on forever, like the sky and the sea, and the simplest joys could make you laugh.
The boy looked in his direction, motioned toward him, beckoned him. And the man pushed himself to his feet, brushing the sand off his blue jeans. The man walked toward him, enjoying the feel and sound of his bare feet as they sank, then squeaked, in the sand.
When he reached him, the boy was standing still, at the edge of the water. He'd lost his game of tag, for the waves were washing up over his feet, then back out to sea again. The boy was also wearing blue jeans, but his were rolled up around his knees to keep from getting wet. The man bent and turned his own jeans up as well. Then, balancing himself carefully, he squatted next to the boy, followed his blue-eyed gaze out to the horizon where the orange ball of sun was slowly disappearing, inch by inch, into the dark grey water. The boy leaned against his knees, and the man wrapped his arms around him. For long minutes, they were silent, and then the boy whispered. "It's melting."
"Do you think so?" the man asked.
"Um-hum," the boy nodded. "Listen... it sizzles when it touches the water."
The man smiled. "I hear it."
The boy turned his head and looked at him, little blue eyes into big green ones. "Where does it go?"
"To the other side of the world."
"To shine down there for a while?"
"That's right."
"And then it comes back to us?"
"Right again."
They'd had this conversation a million times before. It was one the boy never grew tired of, the kind of talk a five-year-old thrived on.
The man rose to his feet, picking the boy up in his arms, settling him on his hip. "It's getting late," he said reluctantly.
"No, it's not," the boy pleaded. "Can't we just walk for a while?"
"For a while."
And they headed off up the beach, the man carrying the boy. "Why do you feel heavier?" He shifted the weight of the child on his hip.
"I'm growing, Papa," the boy explained.
The man grinned. "I know that, but..." He ran his hands over the pockets in the boy's blue jeans. "Have you got sea shells in there?"
"Oh, yeah," the boy remembered.
"How many?"
"About thirty. They're really pretty."
"You'll have to show me later on."
"All right." The boy rested his head against the man's shoulder, stared behind them as they walked along, watching as the waves rolled onto the sand and washed away the man's footprints.
"I see a place for us to sit."
"The rocks!" The boy turned his head around excitedly. Big grey rocks stretched out into the water. They'd been there before, played king of the ocean, and the rocks had been their castle. And the boy was the king and the man his faithful knight.
The boy slid out of the man's arms and ran to them.
"Careful," the man warned, as the boy began to climb out on them.
The boy looked back, an exasperated look on his face. "Papa, I'm not a baby. I'm five-and-a-half."
The man apologized. "I keep forgetting. I'm sorry, Etienne."
"Papa!" The boy called to him from where he was perched on top of a rock.
"I'm coming," the man replied. He went over, climbed up, and sat down beside him.
The boy wriggled onto his lap. He pointed toward the sunset. "It's still melting."
And it was melting fast now. Behind them, the sky was turning a deep grey-blue.
"I'm cold," the boy murmured.
The man felt of the boy's cable-knit sweater. It was damp from the sea's salty spray. And he wrapped his own sweater-clad arms around him, moss green covering the dove white. He held him to his chest, their bodies warming each other.
"Is that better?" He nuzzled his cheek against the boy's, kissed him lightly on the ear.
"Um-hum," the boy sighed, then looked up at the sky. "Look, Papa, a star."
The man looked. "I see it. Did you make a wish?"
"Um-hum."
"What did you wish for?"
"I wished that when I grow up, I could work where you work, so we could be together every day." He turned his head, stared up into the man's face. "Do you think it'll come true?"
The man swallowed. "Maybe. But wishing for a thing does not always make it so."
"I know," the boy said quietly. "I wished last time that you didn't have to go away, but you did."
He held the boy's chin in his hand. "I explained to you about my job."
The boy nodded. "But I miss you." Tears were gathering in his eyes.
"I miss you, too." He kissed his forehead, then he stood up carefully on the rocks, still holding him against his chest. The boy wrapped his arms around the man's neck, his legs around his waist, holding on to him for all he was worth. The man felt the small body shaking with sobs.
"Shh, it's all right," he comforted, even as his own eyes filled with tears. "I'll come back."
He slowly climbed down from the rocks, started back toward the place by the dune.
The boy's sobs began to subside, and he lifted his head from the man's shoulder. His eyes were bright, his nose red from crying. "I'll wait for you," he promised.
"I know you will," the man said, blinking back his own tears. When he reached the spot where he'd been sitting earlier, he put the boy down. The sun had totally disappeared beyond the horizon, and the western sky was orange and pink and violet. He ruffled the boy's hair lovingly. "Au revoir, Etienne."
The boy smiled up at him, sadly. "Au revoir, Papa." He dug his hand deep into one of his pockets. "Here." He held out a shiny pink sea shell. "This is for you."
"Thank you." The man took it, closed his fingers over it." I shall keep it always." And he turned around.
"I love you" were the last words the man heard before he said, "Computer, halt program and save." The beach disappeared, and Jean-Luc Picard stood alone in the black, cavernous holodeck. Slowly, he opened his fingers. His hand held nothing, but his heart held everything.
"I love you, Etienne," he murmured, then called for the exit.
~The End~