To Live a Life (Jeremiah)

"It's going to be okay," my mother said as she hugged me, before she stood back up. "I'll be back so soon."

My grandfather and his car waited behind us; the slick, black and wheelless machine made very little noise as its advanced engines idled.

"Take care of him," she told my grandfather.

Richard, who I had spent a lot of time with over the past week, put a gloved hand on my shoulder.

"I will, honey," he promised.

His grip was firm and strong. He was a rough, yet caring, man. Funnily enough, he was a veteran turned entrepreneur. It was something I felt a strange connection to, even though the reason for that was becoming all the more foggy.

My mother smiled back at us. She was cleaned up now, though the bags of withdrawal were showing heavy on her eyes.

I knew from experience that, in the coming days, she wouldn't be able to walk as easily as she did now.

"I love you both," she said and her eyes lingered on me. "So much. I'm coming back to you as soon as I can."

"Dad?" she hesitated.

"I've got him," the man promised. "Just take care of yourself, Cassandra. We're both so proud of you and we love you too."

She shook her head, but still glanced at me again at the mention.

"I know. It's not that," she said and met Richard's gaze. "Can you please talk to mom?"

My grandfather looked solemn again, just as he did every time his wife was mentioned in the context of his daughter.

My grandfather had introduced me to his wife; she was kind to me, loving, and everything you could hope a grandmother to be. However, she hardly talked to my mom.

She was barely conversational with her, though still mostly polite. It wasn't like she was a mother speaking to her daughter at all.

Still, I think it was mostly out of pain. A pain that I knew my grandfather wasn't entirely immune to either; he'd just been able to come back from his breaking point one time more than his wife, I guess.

"When you get better," I noticed that he didn't phrase the statement as if it was anything but a fact, "then you two will talk. I know she will. She misses her little girl."

My mother's beautiful and green eyes grew damp, but she didn't weep this time.

"I'm going to get better, dad," she said; her voice didn't crack, but there was the lacing of a hope that she perhaps didn't fully believe within her tone. "I am."

My grandfather's own eyes closed up somewhat, displaying the same sort of emotion, and he gave his old, kind smile. "You are."

She nodded and her hand dug deep into the handle of her travel suitcase. "Okay."

"I love you, baby," she told me, before slowly turning away.

"And you, dad," she added.

Her red hair sparkled in the sunlight as she walked down the clean, stone-cut path.

The grounds of the rehabilitation facility were beautiful. They were manicured and well taken care of in every way.

It was the best my grandfather's money could buy; he'd seemingly do anything for his daughter, even give her another in a series of countless chances. I could see in his eyes a reserved hope that might never truly die, no matter how many times it might be doused.

It resonated strongly with me. I'd always wanted her to change. Could this be it? Would she finally do it?

Would she do it for us?

When she'd gotten half way to the open glass doors, her head turned.

And I ran after and into her arms.

Maybe this wasn't just a better dream, but a better world altogether.

[Possession counter increased to 70%.]

I was starting to not remember the one before, but I wasn't sure I wanted to anymore.

My grandfather led me into the car after my final farewell with my mom. The driver was there let us in.

Once settled, I watched through the tinted glass, as my mother entered the building that promised a long awaited progress. At the same time, I felt the expensive vehicle lift off of the ground and enter the air in a smooth, comfortable motion.

"Son, she's going to be okay, you know that right?" he asked me.

I looked over to him and then looked to my feet. "Yeah."

There was a pause as my grandfather no doubt thought on how to approach the situation.

"You know," he finally said in a rising, and playful, tone. "I just realized: I haven't asked you this entire time when the last time you'd been taken out to ice cream was?"

My eyes looked up and got wide. "Never."

His own gaze lit up in kindness and he couldn't seem to help but smile. "Let's go then."

Richard depressed a button to his side and the clear clicking of a speaker snapped. "John, can you take us to that ice cream parlor you told me about?"

Another clicking could be heard as the driver reached out from the separated cab. "The one I took Jenny too, yeah?"

My grandfather glanced at me, as if asking a question. "That sound like the one?"

I could only shake my head in the affirmative. "Yeah."

"That's the one, John. Thank you," he pressed the intercom down again.

"No problem, sir," the driver replied back through the speakers before the car began to detour in mid-air.

The city stretched out in endless directions and along every axis of space. Grand and flourishing, this section of it was filled with greenery and crisp air.

Still, I felt a strange dazing out of my consciousness as I observed the almost too perfect view.

Images momentarily flashed in my thoughts of a dark underbelly. In my mind's eye, it became night and I watched an adult, strong hand connect with the face of a young man--one who was obviously only a little more than High School age.

The flash of mental sight shifted as the hand that had done the punching, which appeared to be my own, pulled a young teenager from a car. A part of me thought it was odd that I clearly favored one arm over the other, but I didn't think too much on it.

"Dad, stop!" she said and pulled against me.

I turned in a rush back to the girl who I was dragging behind me. "Don't you ever do this again!"

"You hurt him!" she screamed and pulled her hand away from mine; I felt that I could've stopped her, but didn't.

"Don't pretend you care!" I snapped; the words just crashed like thunder from my hammering chest.

"He's trash. You're not, unless you keep choosing to be. This is about your own personal, fucking rebellion," I instantly felt myself regretting my temper and choice of words; I somehow knew I'd never really spoken to the girl in this way.

"I just--" she started to crack up.

"Your mother has been crying all night," I felt myself wanting to comfort her, but I just couldn't right now; my voice did lower, however, "let's go."

"Okay," her own words had become meek and had lost their fight in the face of my capacity for both violence and aggression--something she had never seen from me before and that a part of me regretted showing. "I'm sorry, dad."

I reached out my hand and took hers, even though she hesitated to be treated like a child in this way. This part of the city was far too dangerous to let her get out of my sight again.

"Son?" I was shaken back into reality by my grandfather's voice.

My eyes were still looking outside the window to the clean streets that were in such stark contrast to the ones I had practically felt and smelled just a moment ago, in whatever that vision of the girl had been.

That girl was important to me. She'd called me dad.

My head hurt.

"Are you okay?" Richard asked.

I turned towards him and suddenly the pressure in my skull eased. I realized that we weren't in the car anymore.

The parlor was colder than the spring day outside, though I knew Calypso wasn't a warm planet to begin with.

I felt that strange feeling again, of my mind missing something. It was like I was developing situational gaps here and there, but just couldn't figure out why.

[Possession counter decreased to 65%.]

"Don't let it melt, son," my grandfather encouraged me.

My hand was already on the spoon; I could feel the cold metal. The first bite was creamy and coated my far from spoiled taste buds like nirvana.

"It's so good!" I raised a childlike cheer.

"I know!" my grandfather matched my happiness.

I dropped my spoon slowly and then took another bite.

I grew a bit more quiet as a few more somber thoughts entered my mind.

"What's wrong?" Richard deflated a bit as worry covered his face.

"I wish mom were here too," I said.

Richard nodded. "I know, but we'll take her as soon as she gets back."

He sighed a little. "I know you're a smart kid, son."

He smiled a bit mischievously. "You get that from your mother and she gets it from her pops."

"But," he cleared his throat. "You know your mom needs some help right now. It's our job to be there for her."

"I know," I said, not wanting to seem too much like a selfish kid; I already really wanted him to keep thinking highly of me.

Richard looked knowing at that, like the practiced father he was.

"I know, you know!" he said encouragingly.

It made me laugh. My grandfather, much like my grandmother, was everything I ever wanted him to be. He clearly loved kids.

Suddenly, thinking back on his encouragement, it felt like my mom was going to be just fine, after all.

He chuckled to himself too. "So, let me ask you a different question?"

"Yeah?" I asked, curious as to what this man with all the answers might want to know from a kid like me.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

Well, that was easy. I didn't even have to think twice. How could he not tell?

"I wanna be a soldier!"