Here Forever

"I wish we could stay here forever," he said. She smiled. "Me too, old man, me too," she said. She settled down next to him on the ground, allowing him to sit on the rock. She sidled forward and let her legs dangle off the little ledge and into the cold stream below. The water idly brushed her feet by, with a few curious fish coming around to explore. She smiled at them. She wished she could stay there forever too.

"Sorry for bringing you all the way out here," the old man said, muffling a cough.

"Not at all, grandpa," she said, "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

He gave her a wheezy laugh, then rubbed his chest. "This is a nice place, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yeah, Grandpa. It's beautiful," she said.

Her grandpa laughed again, more life in his laugh this time. She thought that sound to be beautiful. After all, she had heard more sounds than anyone rightly should in so short a life. A punk-rock enthusiast, at only twenty years of age. Her recording sessions with her band had brought to her senses more varieties of sounds than just about anyone in her orthodox family had ever heard. Therein also lay her main problem. An orthodox family with a rebellious daughter. A match made in hell. But so was life for the 'little butterfly', as her grandpa affectionately called her.

"Say," she said, "how'd you even find such a place?"

He gave her a sad smile as if thinking about a past that hurt him. "Let me tell you a story," he said, "about my life."

She paid attention. It was the last time she would ever hear a story from him.

"So," he said, "it all started when I met your grandmother. We were both twenty-five and tired of our jobs. She was a nurse and I was a railway engineer. So every so often we would find time to sneak away. Every one of these little trips was to a different place. That was when I found this place."

"You found this while exploring the countryside?" she asked.

"Kind of. I wanted to make her happy, so I took a little unpaid time off to look for places like this. Nature-filled and unspoiled by man. The most you'll find here is the occasional shepherd who comes here from the nearby village."

"What did she think of it?"

"Oh, she loved it. She was in love with it the first moment I brought her here. I also proposed marriage to her here, by this very river bank."

"That's great. How'd it go?"

"She rejected me at first, citing troubles with her family, but I was able to convince her soon enough. We got married a month later right here. We held a tiny ceremony with only a priest and some supportive loved ones."

"Our family didn't approve?"

He laughed. "No, goodness no. I am Indian and she's..."

"Not."

"Exactly. I came to Australia looking for a career all the way from India. My parents were excited but quickly grew weary. They forbade my relationship with your grandmother until I eventually married her. They were forced to accept her then."

She supposed she could somewhat relate. Her parents had tried to be a bit supportive of her music earlier, buying her a guitar and lessons, but that soon wore out. Her forays into music were cut short by the evils of school and education, and her parents grew tired of her music. Conflicts in the household grew until a particularly heated argument took place, which in turn led her to the decision to leave the house. What good times those were. She scoffed, then turned her attention back to her grandfather.

"What next?" she asked.

"Not much else. We lived out our life, gave birth to and raised your father. Then when she passed, I buried her somewhere around here," he said, looking behind him.

She turned with him and saw a stone memorial out in the distance, covered by trees and greenery. "That's grandma?" she asked. He nodded, not saying anything. He kept his head turned, presumably so she wouldn't see the tears forming on his face. He brushed his hand by his eyes a moment later, then turned to face her. She could tell he was going to cry, but he stayed strong for her.

"It was hard enough losing her, and now-" She interrupted him, "life. It is hard to lose your life." She didn't want to hear him say it. She knew their time was drawing to a close. He nodded sadly. "It is hard," he said, drawing in a shaky breath, "My body has been desiccating away for a while. That process will end soon, and I ask you not to be sad."

"I won't, grandpa. I will meet you up there," she said.

"Don't be sad there either. Your parents will join the high heavens too, and we will all have a grand ol' time together."

She laughed at his attempt to cheer her up. "Yes, Grandpa," she said, "we will."

She could barely keep the tears out of her own eyes. Still, she imagined it. Her grandparents, parents, and her, all at a table together, enjoying dinner as they had so many years ago. One tear slipped past her eyes and down her cheek. She tried to brush it away without him noticing. She was unsuccessful. He saw her and put a hand on her head, slowly stroking her hair. "It's alright, child. We will be together again soon," he said. She couldn't say anything. Her voice was stuck in her throat. She would miss him. She would miss him dearly. That made it harder to say what she was going to.

"I think it's time to go, Grandpa," she said and looked up at him. He gave her a beleaguered look. He desperately wanted to stay more but saw no point in needlessly delaying the inevitable. He stayed silent, grappling with that in his head. Finally, he brought his cane before him and stood up stiffly. "Let us be off," he said. She nodded and brought her legs out of the stream. She opted to let the sun dry her feet and stood up. She left her shoes by the rock, letting it stay as a reminder of time with her grandpa.

She spied the far mountains, taking in their grandeur and a breath of fresh air. Her grandpa started walking towards their little cottage, and she followed. He crossed the rickety old bridge across the stream and she followed. He walked across the plains and she followed, never once taking the lead. They eventually reached their cottage, and he let her in first.

"Go in the room, Grandpa. I'll get everything ready," she said. He nodded and went into the bedroom. She went around busily readying everything. She cleaned the syringes, sterilised the needles and hung morphine bags on the IV stand. She wheeled the supplies into the bedroom. Her grandpa was sitting on his customary mahogany chair. "Ready?" she asked. "Yes, my child. Take a seat," he said.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, psyching herself up. She went to the feather-stuffed mattress and smoothed out the sheets. She fluffed the pillow and spread the blanket. Her grandpa gave her an encouraging pat on the back, and she took that as her final sign. She slipped under the blanket and laid her right arm over it.

Her grandpa went through the motions mechanically. He gave her a shot of lidocaine first, then slipped in the IV needle that was connected to the morphine. No turning back now, she thought. Her grandpa checked the IV one last time, then activated the flow of it into her veins.

Once he was done, he took a shaky breath and leaned his head down, holding her hand to his forehead. He cried then with no thought of hiding it. She cried too, both at the end of her life and the suffering of her grandpa. She wasn't strong enough to do it herself, and no one would help her other than her dearest grandfather. She cried without cessation, crying over opportunities lost and dreams unfulfilled. She cried over bad memories and unrepaired bridges. She cried over her life and her death. She cried for her grandfather. She cried for her parents. She cried for herself.

She had lost this war. She lost against her cancer. She lost against this world. She was going somewhere better now. She was going to be at peace. She was going to be without pain. She was going to be free.

The morphine started to kick in and her tears ceased. The pain from her cancer started to fade. Her heart started to slow. Her breaths seemed to slow. The light from her eyes started to fade. By the time her grandpa raised his head, she was no more.