The Last Goodbye

The prompt: write a ghost story in 1000 words or less that investigates the mysteries of being human, the sorrow, and the joy of connecting to the diverse population around us.

THE LAST GOODBYE

I’ll admit that I was startled that first time I saw you again. I’d just made a cup of sleepy-time tea to lull me to sleep when I caught your reflection in the windowpane. I dropped the cup and it shattered, making a mess all over the linoleum floor, and for a moment I was too nervous to look up again. I turned to face you and you were gone and I thought I was finally starting to go crazy, senile like I’d always feared.

But when I went into my room that night, there you were, sitting on the edge of the bed looking sheepish, fiddling with your old cap in your restless hands. It felt like you’d been waiting for me and I remember feeling a little guilty to have kept you waiting. Then I realized I’d been waiting for you for years. I’d been holding my breath for decades and now I could finally let it out.

The most surprising thing was not that you were there, but how young you looked. You were exactly the same as the last time I saw you, all those years ago. Exactly the same as the day we met for the very last time at our usual spot, in the backwoods by the old road. You’d brought a couple of coca-colas and for a while we sat at the edge of the pond, leaning against each other and sipping them in that warm late-summer silence.

That was the day you broke my heart – told me it could never work between us and it was better to have a clean break once your family moved to the big city. I felt abandoned, though in my heart of hearts I knew it was silly to think that two young men could ever have a life together.

I remember crying and being embarrassed about it, turning so that you might not see, but you reached out and brought my head to your chest and told me it was okay. You told me it was for the best; that you wanted to marry a nice girl and have a family and be happy, and you wanted the same for me.

We sat there for hours, with you just rocking me back and forth, holding me close and wiping my tears with the back of your hand. I breathed you in as hard as I could, I turned to kiss you and tasted salt. When you finally left to finish packing, I sat there still, staring at the moon and wondering how my life was supposed to unfold without you.

Over the years, I kept tabs on you through the grapevine – little bits and pieces of hearsay that let me know you’d gotten what you wanted. You’d married a nice girl and had a couple of kids, while I flitted in and out of relationships before deciding I preferred to be alone. I was happy for you, and sometimes I wondered if you ever thought of me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked you now.

“I don’t know,” you said, dazed, “I just needed to see you.”

Now here you were, looking as young and handsome as ever and I turned away, embarrassed.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“I must look hideous to you,” I said.

I was an old man now, bigger than when you’d known me, but frail and slumped over. I didn’t want you to see me like this. I wanted you to keep the memory of my younger self alive.

But you reached out and tentatively grabbed my hand, looked up and gave it a soft kiss.

“You’re beautiful,” you said, and I smiled.

*

We spent that night locked in each other’s arms. I didn’t care for explanations or rationality; I didn’t care if it was all a dream or if I had finally snapped and you were a kind hallucination. I was just grateful to see you again, to be in your arms.

What a sight we must have been; an old man tenderly held by a boy who could’ve been his grandson. For the second time in my life, I found myself crying into your chest. A dam inside me had broken and for the first time since I’d moved in, my empty apartment finally felt like home.

We spent hours whispering in the dark. You told me stories about your family, about your wife and two kids, and about all of the places you’d been together. You punctuated your sentences with “I wish you could’ve been there,” and I thought about what it would’ve been like to see those things with you.

I told you about the heartbreaking loneliness of my life without you. I told you that I still thought about you all the time, but I had learned to live and continue on my own, nurturing the tender connections I’d made with the people who swam in and out of my life.

“I’d like to think I’m happy, but I miss you,” I said, and I fell asleep listening to the soft beat of your heart.

*

I woke up the next morning and you were gone. I went into kitchen thinking I might find you there, knowing that I wouldn’t. I felt a heaviness I hadn’t felt in a very long time, and I wondered if it had all been a dream after all.

A quick Google search brought up your obituary. The funeral had been the day before.

I looked out the window and saw snow falling lightly on the empty branches of dead trees and I thought about the sad finality of things.

*

Now I’m writing to thank you for seeing me before you left, and to let you know that though I’ve lived my life missing you, I’m finally ready to let you go. I’ll be waiting for the day we can be two young men together again, and on that day, I’ll take your hand and we’ll sit by the old pond, resting easy in the heat of an endless summer.

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