I waver for a second. It would be nice if I could go home to him and look at my mother’s pictures when I wanted to. Because with him there’s her. That’s one thing he has that I don’t have here. But I’m not reassured of anything.
After a minute, I say, “I’ll think about it.”
It isn’t the answer he wants, but he accepts it with pursed lips and a terse nod.
Aunt Amy stands. “Well, I think we’re all tired, Hal. Paul’s had a long day and so have I. It’s awfully late.”
Pops closes his eyes for a moment, opens them, and nods again.
In an instant, I’m desperate for escape so I announce I’m going to bed now, and so I turn to go upstairs.
Aunt Amy sees him out. I don’t tell him goodbye.
Goodbye is for people you love and hope to see again.
I tug the string on the bedside lamp to see it’s half-past one.
I still lay in bed a few minutes longer, believing sleep will come, but it doesn’t, so I get up. I go down to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of milk and drink half of it in one gulp. I sit at the kitchen table and my head turns, of its own accord, toward the yard, the fence, and the apartments.
His apartment.
The wooden chair is still on the balcony. I don’t know if he’s been back or not. I don’t know if he’s just going to leave it or sublet. It could very well be he was a figure in my death dream all this time. But it’s all right. I know what it’s like to kiss someone. I know what it’s like to make love. I can go in peace like Valjean, and the Bishop that Valjean stole from, who showed him mercy, beckoning him from the great beyond. I’d be okay with it if it was my time to go. Tonight. Tomorrow. I know all I needed to know. Seen all I needed to see. It’s been just enough time.
I tried to write to him a couple weeks ago, but everything I said seemed so trite. The familiarity we have with one another runs deeper than paper and ink. I felt as if I were attempting to play a part that I never wanted to begin with. And so I left my letter incomplete, two paragraphs of nonsense and niceties that belong in letters between old school buddies and distant cousins.
The light above the sink flickers on and Aunt Amy’s there in her curlers and Pepto-pink nightgown. She sits at the table beside me. I offer my glass of milk, but she shakes her head. We sit in silence for a while. The refrigerator hums. A clock ticks from the sitting room.
“I didn’t know he was coming,” she says.
“I figured that.”
“I told him you weren’t here, but he wanted to see you. And I can’t very well keep a father from seeing his son.”
“I know. I understand. I’m not mad at you.”
I feel something in her breathe a sigh of relief. “But it’s something isn’t it? For him to come here.”
“I guess.”
I steal another glance at his apartment. It’s as dark and quiet as a tomb. He very well could have been just an illusion. I don’t know if that would make it any easier.
Aunt Amy’s voice startles me. “Has your friend come back?”
I glance at her. “Um. No. No, he’s not there.”
“Mmm. I suppose he has a lot on his plate now. It’s hard to lose your father.”
“Yes, it is.”
A few minutes passes before she says, “And you miss him?”
I shrug, but I say, “Yea-yes. I mean…yes.”
She waits a beat and then, her voice softer, she says, “It seems he was fond of you.” She pauses. “And you were fond of him.”
I look over at her.
There’s a small smile on her face. “It’s all right to miss the ones you care the most about, Paul.”
