We Are the Light(73)
Then he said there were people waiting for me in the lobby so he was going to let me go, but he had just one more question for me.
“Theoretically, if someone had already purchased a plane ticket for you,” he said, “and all of your friends were booked on the same flight, including the lovely Ms. Jill, would you please come to my graduation ceremony?”
I nodded and wondered who had purchased a plane ticket for me, but then, before I could even make a guess, everyone was seated around me in the Grand Viewing Room and we were all munching popcorn even though it was only ten thirty in the morning. Our monster movie was lighting up our imagination and each Survivor let out a triumphant cheer every time they saw their gigantic self up there on the silver screen. Our film was campy and kind of even more ridiculous than I had remembered it being, but, as I listened to my friends and neighbors clapping and laughing and even whistling, I knew with deep certainty that what we were watching was our favorite motion picture of all time and that the moment I was currently having was maybe the best movie-house experience I would be given in this lifetime.
Toward the end, when the monster and my character were receiving our medals from the mayor played by Jill, I tilted my head back and tried to see the angels above, but they were hidden by the great beam of light that bridged the projector and the screen.
And I thought, That’s us up there in that beam of light—all of the people in this room and many other Majestic citizens.
Us.
We are the light.
* * *
Right now—as I type the last of this letter into my laptop—I’m sitting mid-flight on an airplane. Like I said before, I won’t be writing you anymore. And after Phineas reads this last document, these words will most likely never be read by anyone ever again.
Jill’s passed out next to me. Her head is resting against my right upper arm. She’s a pretty sound sleeper, but I’m doing my best to type without moving too much. All of The Survivors are on board, except you and Sandra Coyle, who was kept away by “gubernatorial duties.” Mark and Tony are in first class, living the high life. Bess and Isaiah are across the aisle from us and are also sound asleep. We’re all headed to Los Angeles to see Eli accept his college diploma.
On a whim, in the airport men’s room, while we were drying our hands, I asked Isaiah if I could maybe meet with the school board members and interview for my old job. He asked if I was serious and when I said I was, he yelled, “You’re hired!” so loudly everyone in the men’s room turned and looked at us.
Just this past week, I stole one of Jill’s rings so that the jeweler could size it and then quickly make an engagement band, which is in my pocket right now. I called Mr. Dunn yesterday and asked for his blessing, to which he said people really didn’t do that anymore because women were not the possessions of their fathers, especially women in their fifties and their seventy-something stepfathers, but he was pleased all the same. Both he and Mrs. Dunn had wondered what had taken me so long. Then he said, “I don’t need to officially welcome you to the family, son. You’ve been with us for some time now.”
I have been asking for Darcy’s permission too, visiting her gravestone almost daily, but I haven’t seen any sort of sign indicating that my deceased wife has given me her blessing, which—for obvious reasons—feels much more important than Mr. and Mrs. Dunn’s.
Whenever Darce and I would hear about a tragedy on the news or in conversations with others—back when she was still alive—she would grab my hand and say, “Don’t die before me, Lucas, because I don’t want to live without you, okay?” It was meant to be half-joke and half-declaration-of-undying-love. So I’ve been asking her winged grave marker why we never discussed what would happen if she died first. I’m pretty sure that Darce would want Jill and me to continue taking care of each other, but I obviously can’t know for certain.
Phineas says that while the unconscious often speaks to us through our dreams, sometimes our awake selves need to make our own dreams.
And so, just as soon as I end this letter, I’m going to open the window shade. Then I’ll stare at the clouds until my eyesight softens and my pupils adjust to the light, at which point I’m going to allow myself to imagine winged Darcy just one last time. I’m going to make her powerful wings flap so that she can keep pace with our plane. And—with my eyes—I’m going to ask for her permission to marry Jill. In my mind now, I see winged Darcy looking equal parts sad that her time with me is finally and officially ending and happy for Jill and me, who have been able to comfort each other in her absence. I’m pretty sure Darcy will be able to bear the tension of those two opposites—that she’ll be able to make meaning out of that pain.
I’m not sure how long she’ll be able to fly alongside the plane while holding eye contact with me, but I’m going to do my best to burn her face and her glorious wings into my memory. I imagine at some point she’ll wave goodbye and then she’ll shoot up fast as light toward the great unknown above.
I’m looking forward to throwing my arms around Eli and telling him I’m proud of him. It will be good to thank him in person for all he did for me. And I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to convince my fellow Survivors and friends to help me throw an engagement party for Jill. It will be nice to see Aliza and young Majestic too, in their home state. I’m even set to meet Aliza’s husband, Robert, for the first time, whom I’m sure will be worth meeting.