The Big Guy

Dear Planet Earth,

“Hey, little guy.”

I awoke this morning to see a strange man sitting on the edge of my bed. He had ragged clothing and dark, greasy hair. He was hunched over and smiling at me.

“But I guess you’re not so little anymore.”

I sat up and pushed myself against the wall.

“They say that you’re starting to talk again. That you’re not so sick.”

The glare of the morning sun and dirty patches of facial hair obscured much of his face, but I could still make out that lupine smile.

“I guess we kept on missing each other, huh? When Martha told me you were with the army, it was too late. My friends tried to keep you at that motel before that, but you ran off before I could get there.”

He seemed to be waiting for me to say something. When I didn’t, he motioned to my laptop sitting on a table and continued.

“I’ve been reading your blog. I’m sorry they shot at you. They weren’t supposed to. And you lost a friend.”

“Diana,” I said. “Her name was Diana.”

“Well, I’m sorry about Diana.” He nodded and it looked like he might have had some tears in his eyes. “It looks like you’ve been through a lot of adventures. I’m just happy you’re safe.”

He stood up and walked to the door.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said. “You don’t look like you want to say anything today.”

I said, “Wait.” And he waited. “Are you really. . . are you. . .”

The words wouldn’t come out of me. My head was pounding, refusing to believe what I saw in front of me.

“Yeah, it’s really me, son.”

And he left.

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