Solipsism
Ten: The Hardest Thing
My mouth is dry; my voice catches in my throat. "Susan?"
Her eyes sparkle, she says nothing.
"SUSAN?!"
She nods. "Hello Grandfather."
"Oh, Susan." My eyes well up with tears. I squeeze them shut and open them again; half-expecting she'll be gone, because of course this can't be happening.
But she's not gone.
Instead, she appears to be waiting.
She's just as I remember her: light as a feather, bright as the Sun, warm as a summer breeze, but with a wicked and all-too-knowing smile, and courage and brains to spare.
She's still waiting.
"I've missed you. I miss you." I murmur, the words seemingly coming of their own volition.
She smiles. THAT smile. My granddaughter's smile.
And then the floodgates open. "There've been so many things that have happened to me," I pour forth, "so many things I wanted to tell you about, show you, teach you, share with you. I've never stopped thinking of you. I've seen amazing things. And oh but I've seen dreadful things. I've encountered terrible enemies and discovered amazing friends. I've found such happiness and such sorrow…" I'm like an old man, reminiscing, gushing, and unable to stop. I'm suddenly and oh-so-vulnerably sobbing about the past, and I can't help myself.
Her smile grows as she walks over to me and looks up into my face. I lean down low enough to allow her to wrap her arms around my neck, and then I encircle her waist in my own arms and raise her high up off the floor. I laugh merrily as I swing her through the air, just as I did when she was small – only a child.
She buries her face in the crook between my neck and shoulder, just above my collarbone, and I feel her warm breath as she laughs. I squeeze her even more tightly as she holds me nearer. I can tell she's crying, too – my bare neck is getting damp from her tears.
I carefully put her back on the floor, move my hands to her shoulders and push her back gently so that I can look into her eyes. "Susan… How? What are you doing here?"
She slides her hands from around my neck and uses her finger tips to wipe away the tears running down my face.
"I got tired of waiting," she says, not at all unhappily, and then she shrugs. "You know, you promised you'd come back. I waited and waited but eventually decided that I would have to come to you."
My tears renew their onslaught. "Oh Susan, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I couldn't… I wanted you to have your own life, your own roots, your own future. I wanted you to be in love and have a family and a destination and a history all your own.
"It was the hardest thing I've ever done, Susan, leaving you. And I've had to do so very many terribly hard things."
She nods her head at me. "Grandfather, I did… I do have all those things. But I've never forgotten you, never stopped missing you. Never stopped loving you." We're both smiling and we're both crying.
"I stopped running, Grandfather. I learned to embrace instead of…" I can see her reaching for the word, stretching for it, struggling for it, "refuse."
I can hardly believe what I'm hearing. It makes me so happy.
"David and I have children!" she jubilantly announces. "You're a great-grandfather! Three times over!"
My smile broadens; it feels like it's going to crack my face. I can't stop looking at her, wanting to touch her.
"What about you?" she asks, looking more deeply into my eyes. "Are you still running away? Do you have someone?"
"Susan, I've had many someones." I feel the smile leave my face for a moment, but then it's back, bigger and brighter than ever. "I have someone now, his name…"
"His?" she interrupts me with another wicked smile.
"His name is Jack. And yes, I'm still running, I'm always running. I'll never stop."
She frowns slightly and steps back to scrutinize me further. She's looking a bit maternal all of a sudden. I find it amusing and incredibly bittersweet. Great-grandchildren?
"I suspect that's true, you'll never stop running, will you?" she says. She sounds a bit maternal, too. Maybe even a little disapproving. It makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
She goes on, the words suddenly spilling out of her, "This Jack, are you taking good care of him, like you did me? Keeping him protected and out of trouble? Are you watching out for him? Should you be on this ship with him right now? Is he safe, Grandfather?"
I notice she's focusing on something behind me. It's a bit puzzling. I turn and look over my shoulder. I half-expect to see Jack; part of me is thinking I'll need to introduce him to Susan. But there's no one there. Just a bridge console…
When I turn back to answer her questions, and ask her a few of my own, she's gone.