We Lucky Few

Epilogue

2071- The present

"Dad?"

I feel the pressure of a hand on my arm, softly pulling me out of my flitting memories. I look up to meet the hazel eyes of my son, and my lips lift into a smile. With an effort, I put my weight on my cane and turn towards him.

"Kai's here," he says with a subdued voice.

I feel my eyes light up. "He's here?"

My voice quavers and rasps as my hot breath fogs in the chill air. I bring up a liver-spotted, wrinkled hand to cover my son's.

"Thank you, Bennie. Could you just give me another moment?"

Ben's eyes study mine with an indecipherable look. His curly black hair ripples in the chill winter wind, and he buries himself deeper into his thick jacket.

"Are you okay?"

"Better than okay. I'm just reminiscing. Don't mind my old self." I grin at Ben and feel his hand clasp my shoulder. When he returns my smile, his whole face lights up.

"Alright, dad. Take as long as you need."

I step away and watch him retreat to the house. The clatter of plates and the hushed murmur of distant conversations reach my ears. My eyes roam the rolling fields that, come spring, will be covered in poppies. Now they are buried under a thick canopy of snow that the sun in the spotless pastel sky sets ablaze.

My smile widens. After another moment, I turn back towards the red maple tree. I groan as my joints creak and a dull pain erupts in my back. My hand rakes through my hair in an old gesture of habit. It turned silver a long time ago, but it's still full.

I reach my hand out and let my fingers graze over the metal plate attached to the tree's trunk, following the crevices of the words etched into it.

Calliope Carlton

1989-2071

Rocking in a rustling green tree, with a west wind blowing, awake, and wild with joy.

She would have approved of that quote. I chuckle to myself before my eyes drift to the plate above hers.

Ben Smith

1989-2021

"Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning."

A sigh escapes me at the memory of how devastated Calliope was when Ben never made it home from the war. After two more deployments to Iraq and Syria, Ben hung himself in a bathroom stall in Al-Tanf.  I guess going back to the army didn't make him feel any less like a lost boy, in the end. I hope Callie found him in his Neverland. I hope they are both soaring through the night sky with the other lost boys now. I press my fingers to my lips and place a soft kiss on them, before touching them to Calliope's plate once again.

My gaze sweeps over the snowy scenery. I close my eyes to enjoy the muffled silence that only the snow can create, that peculiar absence of sound that presses against your eardrums and fills your heart with peace. Calliope would have rejoiced on a splendid day such as this. I feel my lips lift into a smile, as the ghost of her laughter echoes in my ears.

" 'Do not stand at my grave and cry,' " a voice speaks up from behind me. I turn to see Ben standing a few feet away, his hands in his pockets and a pained frown on his face.

" 'I am not there. I did not die.' " Ben smiles at me sadly as I finish the quote. "She loved that poem."

"Yes, she did," Ben agrees with tear-filled eyes. "She'd scold me now, if she could see me."

I laugh quietly. "Your mom was a headstrong, passionate woman."

"Don't I know," Ben groans. "I remember her practically killing me with her look alone when that car almost ran me over because I crossed the steet without looking." He shudders at the memory. "Nobody's eyes could turn as cold or glow as hot as Mom's." A wistfulness darkens his expression as his gaze sweeps over the landscape. "I'll miss those eyes."

"So will I, son."

After a moment of meaningful silence, Ben gives a sharp nod and turns back towards the house.

"She loved you very much, your mother."

Ben's back stiffens as his steps falter. I watch it rise and strain against his jacket with the deep breath he takes.

"So did I."

He walks away without turning around. I know how much it pains him, how much he misses her, how much he loves her, know it as surely as if I was looking into a mirror. Ben's eyes are as open as his mother's were, as honest and unveiled as those of my wildcat.

The love for her fills me up whenever I think of her. Whenever I think of our life together. Whenever I think of all the things that made her her. Memories dance through my mind again as if I'd opened up a flip book. Fleeting impressions, vivid images, and strong colours, a caleidoscope of what my life with Calliope had been, every bit as fierce and vibrant as herself.

My Calliope.

My wildcat.

Soon, my plate will hang underneath hers, as it was always meant to be. Whether that will be in a day, a month, or a year, I know that I am one of the lucky ones.

One of those lucky few who had the privilege of finding that one person we could and would not be without, that one person that completed us.

We lucky few, who have loved and been loved so entirely, that it must have left an imprint on the very fabric of this world.

We lucky few, who gazed at the stars and caught a glimpse of heaven.