I hate being useless – like sitting in my body, watching myself do things, hearing myself speak, feeling myself move, but none of these actions are motivated by my own will. What I am feeling is something similar, but not quite it. I'm not away from my body. I'm away from my mind. I hear my idle, frivolous thoughts. I feel the heavy, sinking guilt drift over me and gently brush against me. I try to swat it away, like an insect. It still flutters in the bottom of my heart. I try to crush it. It is rock hard. It never ceases.
From the outside, I watch things unfold. These events seem to pass me by. I'm not a part of them, just a spectator. I watch and take it for granted. It grows quiet here. Every time I step into our apartment, a draft creeps across my skin. It doesn't feel like home anymore. There's an emptiness there never was before.
There's a fear deep inside me, a silent dread that whispers again and again that which, deep down, I know. What I'm watching is a downfall. A quiet demise. It looms over him, descending slowly, inexorably. And I feel clumsy in my skin. I don't know what to do.
oOo
I touch the door, reluctant to intrude. It slides open. The sun bleeds its last, slowly sinking beneath the horizon. Through the window, bittersweet rays enter and spill across his face. He is sprawled on the bed, fully clothed, wearier than ever, skin washed out, eyes clear but unfocused, staring up into nothing. Has he heard me come in? I hesitate.
"Obi-Wan…?" It still sounds strange, but all too fitting. He blinks but does not spare me a glance. Not a word. I stifle a sigh.
"Are you alright?" I only hear myself breathing. Then I realize the absurdity of the question.
"I know you're not alright. But this can't go on." I could be speaking to the wall, or the dried, withered remains of the plant, silhouetted against the bloodshot hues in the window. There is something dark and dreadful creeping into my eyes…because that's death I'm seeing. I swallow the hard, painful lump in my throat.
"Say something…Give me a sign. I know you're still alive, so act it!"
For no reason at all, I feel myself bleed inside. I feel the pain rising, rising in my chest, up my throat, choking me…He blinks and finally looks at me.
"I just want to be left alone. Please…Just let me be." So faintly that I want to give in.
"I'll be right back," I say.
I step back into the kitchen. My pulse is quickening; my mind is racing. I take a deep breath, but my lungs tremble. I wish I was strong.
I turn on the kettle and get out the tea, one of my favourite blends, white tea with a gentle floral aroma. Tea always calms me down when I am upset. I pour the scalding hot water onto the leaves and almost drop the pot.
I walk back into the room. The sun has sunken further. The light is colder. He seems oblivious, only seeing the space between him and the ceiling.
"I brought tea…It always warms me up when I'm cold inside."
He shakes his head and smiles ironically. A sign of life, no less.
"Tea can't help me now."
It alarms me – the beautiful, chilling frailty in his voice, the pallor of his skin…He turns his gaze on mine. His eyes shine like smooth glass pebbles, irises a luminous blue with tiny dark points at the center, ready to vanish at any given moment.
"I'm dying, Faith." He says this mildly, eloquently, with resigned acceptance, making my fear a reality. My eyes burn with moisture that will soon streak down my face. I can't make it go away. I am no longer ashamed of my weakness. I wear it on my sleeve.
I wish…I don't know what I wish. Whatever it is, it is selfish. Wishes do nothing. You close your eyes and will something to happen, but every time you do this, your plea to whatever higher power might exist goes unheard. Wishes cannot change the universe. Even actions cannot.
"Why? You're not supposed to die – your body's fine…isn't it?"
He shakes his head.
"The explosives they used…They weren't mere explosives. Chemical weapon, I suppose…"
I can't figure out how he manages to stay so calm. Perhaps he has seen this coming. Perhaps it changes nothing for him.
"But you can fight it, right..?"
"I can't. I'm sorry."
Why can't he? You're supposed to be powerful…You're supposed to be next to immortal!
For once, I wish he was not human. I wish he was unfeeling. I wish I was unfeeling. I wish I didn't love him. I bend down to kiss him, but he wordlessly warns me not to.
"I don't want you to die. If you do, I'll die," I sob, the words blending together in a mass of anguish.
He touches my hand, and I see. I see within his body; I see the disease in him. I see everything breaking down, dying; I see the toxicity, the decrepitude, the decay. I feel the frigid black void, teeming with blight. I shiver as I almost feel it burrow into my flesh. And I bleed for him.
Then my vision shifts, and I'm warm again. There is something smooth, light and flowing ; it fills every dark corner of my soul; it ignites everything; it is rich and colourful with life; it is a vast expanse that penetrates everything, revealing all yet hiding so many things. The strands are always shifting, like waves...He is drowning in it. He smiles sadly and goes under, never to reemerge.
I break contact. I touch his face, stiff and lifeless, still warm but cold with death. Obi-Wan…Why did you leave me here, all alone? Only now do I know true emptiness.
oOo
I burned his body, as they do with his kind, in the field where the bloody flowers bloom, where I first found out who he was. It was the least I could do for him.
Looking back, I now see how much he's taught me in the short time I knew him – about life, about myself…He showed me how to love. Truly love, not just to attempt to kindle the flame and live in delusion. He showed me what it was like - he showed me what I had envied for so long. It was his final gift to me...It was liberation.
He sneaked into my heart and with his departure tore a raw, bloody, tattered hole in it. I miss him greatly. So much that each breath I take flares with pain. He will never be forgotten. Even after I am gone, he will live on. Because death is not the end. It is an eternity. It is a beginning.
