Final Segment: The Visitor

He observed, unconsciously, the face of his colleague before him. It smirked some, then became furrowed in a deeper thought. At first, I thought the youth was just copying my face in jest, but then I realized.
He was imaging my thoughts. Reading them, if youwill.
My heart returned it a heavy rhythm fueled by anger and intrigue. The monster in front of me was readying my mind.
I mimmediately tried to remember the feelings I had when I was in yoga class, or in meditation. Empty, empty, empty. But my heart, retched into a position upon my aunt's passing, was taking power over the rational mind. I held an image in my head of a jet black playing card--hoping that this would be a ticket to freedom.
"It won't work, Gary, it won't work. It's okay. Look, I know you have a schedule to keep, as do I. But I need to speak to you, I really do. Do you mind stepping downstairs?" The young man stretched as if his yard work had taken it's toll on his spine. I made a pop and I heard it and my eyes were lift from his smooth face to the edge of his shorts--where a small patch of fur and stomach were suddenly revealed.
I swallowed hard, shook my head and looked back to my aunt lying behind me.
A chill ran down my spine.
It was joined by tears.
I guess there is no better way to go, I mean, lying in your own bed, most likely asleep, with comfort and smells of all that makes you happy. Uncle Jack's photo sat beyond her, a big smile blessing his face of a time, I have no idea when, long ago when she cracked a joke and he laughed--and she snapped the picture.
I looked to her eyelids and wondered what she saw now beyond the stressors that had revaged her for so long.
But reality bit into me like a mosquito--was he making me think these things?
I turned to found that he had left to the top of the stairs.

"I cannot ease your pain, Gary, that is something mortals fight alone and for different reasons."
"Whatever. Please don't try to console me, you murderer," the statement was ill-suited to the company and was made on impulse. The youth nodded his head down, as if ashamed.
He had stopped sweating, but his t-shirt was damp and clung to his chest. He did not breathe.
"Please, come with me."
"Willingly? Not on your life!" I stood and approached the door, pulling me close enough to see the freckles on his upper arms. I held a hand up to the door frame.
He laughed.
"I hate to have to say this, but do you think you can beat something like me?" He raised his eyebrow.
I laughed to myself and my momentary vanity. "No, actually, I guess not, but I'd rather perish in a fighting."
He laughed to himself as well. "Oh you will, trust me," and with a smile he walked down the stairs. His humor must have been borne, for he yelled up, "don't worry, you can visit with her moreso later--she's not going anywhere."
On the drive home after this event, I would think this statement terribly rude. But I had forgotten he was imaged to me as a child, a teen rather, perhaps a young adult. I laughed only becaused I needed it more than anything else.

I entered the living room unsure what to expect and, at this point, too sad to really care.
He sat on the couch, almost feline in appearance.
"Before I left, when encounters like this tend to happen, I'd like to ask a simple question."
I nodded, afraid if I opened my mouth again I'd begin to weep over my loss
"What do I look like to you?"
I furrowed my brow and thought about it. I provided a description of a young man, thin and brisk, covered in sweat.
"Why?"
"I appear differently to different people. I was just wondering. You know Gary, I never forgot you."
"Huh?"
"You remember a few months back? When you discovered your partner was leaving for a coworker? When you sat there, alone, that Saturday night? You had given up on weeping and you thought about, well, you thought about, you didn't want this world any more?"
My jaw went slack. Again, I felt violated, removed from my comfort zone with the reealization that I had been watched during a horible crisis. But it was not as huge of an issue now for some reason--most likely due to his interventiion.
The feeling escaped quickly and then I began to weep when I realized what he was saying.
"You were very lonely. You went beyond the human emotion to stay around. You thought about..."
"...my partner's gun lying upstairs beside the bed."
"I asked permission..."
"...permission?"
"Permission to comfort you."
I realized, just as my emotions seemed beyond me now, that night, they also escaped any rational thought.
"You made me look this way."

I turned to leave the stranger behind, finding that this rush of information was not what I came here for. I had just wanted to visit with my Aunt during this lonely time--knowing what she was going through in part.
I did not want this.
The visitor stood and walked over to me. Normally I refused to be touched, I had not been raised to be so touchy and feely. But I did not wince. I did not hold back, deciding that fate was, by far, stronger than anything right now. He leaned forward and hugged me. He stepped back, letting his hands rise to my neck and the back of my head.
His eyes were a blue I had never seen before or since.
He smiled and leaned forward again and kissed me.
I closed my eyes.
When they opened, he smiled and stepped backwards towards the back of the house. He reached down to the coffee table and picked up my aunt’s cordless phone and held it out to me as if it were a gift.
“This should work now. They won’t bother you and will totally understand.”
“They?” My throat shook and the word came out differently then expected.
He smiled again and stretched and yawned, as if ready for a nap. The t-shirt pulled up at his waistline and exposed his white skin underneath.
He turned to leave, I suspected, out the back door. He stopped as if I had said something; thought something.
He looked over at me one final time and smiled.
“It will be some time before I see you. Please, know, you have a purpose you have yet to fulfill.”
I did not hear the backdoor close, let alone open. I called the nearest hospital and wept.