The Settlers (17 page)

What did you think of me?
When you first saw me.

Well, I thought you were beautiful.
 

Really?
 

I thought, She has beautiful hair.

My hair.
What about my eyes?
 

At first I couldn't see them.
Not through your hair.

But then you did.

But then I did.
 

What did you think?

I thought, She has lovely eyes.
 

You did not.

I did.
I really did.

Do you still think so?

I do.
I always will.

Always is a very long time.
It's the longest time.

It could never be long enough for me.
 

You're sweet.
Do you think that will ever happen?

Do I think what will happen?
Us?
Always?

Yes.
Us, for always.
 

It could.
I think it could happen.

Don't you think you'd get tired of me?
Everyone gets bored with everyone else.

I would be grateful for every moment, forever.
 

Grateful to who?
 

I don't know.
To the universe.
 

That's easy to say now.
 

It's easy to say things that are true.
 

But you think you mean it.
 

I know I mean it.
 

Do you think that in one hundred years we'll remember this?
 

This conversation?

This.
The conversation.
You, there.
Me, here.
Us, together.
 

I think we'll still be having this conversation.
 

I'm going to pretend you meant that in a nice way.

I did.
I meant it in the most wonderful way.

The young man stares quietly through the window.
He stands with his hands in his pockets.
His shoulders are tired and slump a little.
The satchel over his left shoulder scoots down a little.
Without thinking about it, he pushes the strap back up.
His knees are bent, as if he's being pressed down by some unseen thumb.
 

He sighs.

In the glass he can see the reflection of people milling around him.
Most of them are doing just what he's doing: staring out into the dark.
 

Beside him, an old man in a sweater stands next to a little girl.
He holds the girl's hand.
The girl holds a rich orange gerbera daisy in her other hand.
The vibrant color reminds the young man of autumn on the island.
 

There you are.

Good morning.

I don't know why I thought you would be anywhere else.
It's so pretty here.

I like to watch the fog peel away from the water in the morning.
 

You're even literary when you talk.
I like that.
 

Is that for me?
 

I made two cups.
They're both for me.

Funny girl.
 

Silly man.
I'm glad you brought me here.
It's gorgeous.
The leaves are starting to fall.

My grandparents used to bring me here when I was small.
It was always cooler here than on the mainland.
I used to run around on the lawn and kick through the leaves.
There was almost always a steep wind off the water, so the leaves would sort of tornado around me, like they were trying to get away.

Did they live here?
 

My grandparents?
 

Yes.
 

No.
They lived in northern California, just where the rolling hills turned to scrub.
But Grandpa had a friend -- from the war, I think -- who owned this place, and let them use it once a year.
Almost always in the fall.
 

How many times did you come?
 

Oh, I don't remember.
The first time they brought me here, I think I was seven.
Maybe eight.
The last time was the year I was a junior in high school.
The year Grandma died.
 

Do you miss her?
 

I do.
I miss them both.
 

You brought me here.
That's pretty special.

I tried to think of the most wonderful place.
 

There's no place more wonderful?

Not on Earth.

Ah, so there are possibilities.

Even if there are, I wouldn't care.
You can't argue with this place.
 

It does have a special pull.

That's exactly what it has.
 

Like a gravitational force.

Sure.
I guess.

The old man elbows him.

At first the younger man ignores this.
There are enough people around the windows that he has been jostled several times already.

But then the old man elbows him again, and the younger man turns.
 

The old man smiles broadly, all teeth.
He raises the little girl's hand and nods at it, then leans in and says, Do you think she appreciates this?
Do you think she can even understand how precious this moment is?
 

The younger man rocks forward on his toes and looks at the girl more closely.
She stares through the glass with a blank expression.
Her hands are content to be still.
Her fingers don't so much as twirl the stem of the daisy that rests against her collarbone.
She's precious herself, small and delicate in a knee-length polka-dotted dress and dark shoes with tiny buckles.
Her strawberry-blonde hair frames her freckled face in ringlets.

She's seven, the old man says.
 

When I was seven, I'm not sure I would have, the younger man says.
 

The old man frowns at this, then reconsiders, and smiles once more.
But you're not seven now.
You and I, I think we recognize this moment for what it is.
You're a young buck, but I think you know.

I'm old enough, the younger man says.

So am I, the old man agrees.
I've waited a very long time to see this.
Now that it's here, I'm too interested in what other people think I think about it to feel the way I think I feel about it.
 

What other people?

The old man waves dismissively at the crowd that mills around them.
Eh, he grunts.
They're just people.
Strangers, the whole lot of them.
I take your point.
I shouldn't let it bother me.
 

The younger man turns back to the window.
Outside it is a starless night.
The Earth is somewhere below, the moon somewhere behind.
One of them casts a pale pool of light on the approaching wall, but he cannot tell which.
Mae would have known.
 

Looming large in the window is the enormous crystalline flower of the space station, its petals cast open to reveal an interior of glittering spires and complex geometric structures.
These are visible only for a moment, and then the shuttle passes below the station's horizon line.
The beautiful surface modules disappear, and all the younger man can see are shuttle bays, dozens of them marked with reflective panels and pulsing caution lights.

This is so exciting, the old man says.
I've waited so long for this moment.
 

The younger man grunts.

The old man looks at him with surprise.
Not you?
 

The younger man says, Not particularly.
No.
 

The old man opens his mouth to reply, but is interrupted before he can begin.
The little girl tugs at his hand.

Grandpa, she says.
I'm sleepy.

Okay, sweetheart, the old man says.
 

He crouches next to her and opens his arms.
Up?
 

She nods, and steps into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder.
The old man closes his arms around her, tucks her knees in, and struggles to stand up.
 

The younger man offers a hand.

The old man grips it fiercely and pulls.
The younger man did not expect such force, and locks his elbow and draws the old man to his feet.