45. Alistair
I see my life. All the moments I’ve lost. And the ones I fight to cling to. It’s all there.
This happens at the end, I think.
Is it the end?
It feels like it.
My body hurts . Everywhere. A hurt worse than the one I felt when I became what I am. When I changed from man to beast.
Pippi touches my face. On the side where I see nothing but dark and feel nothing but hurt. She speaks. Not to me—to the others. Speaks with rage . With…
Passion.
Defending me. While also defending herself.
And I think she has never been more lovely.
I feel joy for her, even as it becomes hard to hold on to the words she says. Most slip, meaninglessly, as my life returns to me.
I am a child again, and the adults in my life are scolding me. For my energy. For how lost I become in one thing, while being oblivious to others. For my outspokenness—it makes me happy when others laugh. It always has. So I try to make them laugh, to the…
Madden…nation?
No.
Frustration.
To the frustration of the adults.
“He’s a brilliant young man. But he takes nothing seriously, and we can’t get him to stay in the classroom.”
A woman’s face fills the darkness of my ruined eye. A…
There’s a word.
Teacher.
A teacher.
My teacher.
“It’s Pippi. Not Pippa. At least get my name right if you’re gonna act like a condescending sack of shit.” I try to hold on to Pippi’s voice.
But she keeps slipping.
And my life returning.
I am older, trapped between being a boy and man, and I am lost. Not knowing where I belong. Being told my dreams are too big, and my heart too soft.
“You’re too emotional, Alistair. And too…all over the place. It’s admirable, what you want to do, but something like that takes resolve. Grit. You don’t have either. You’re aiming too high, son.”
That face…That voice .
My father.
A man as cold and strict as I am emotional and energetic.
I don’t listen to him.
Actually, I decide he’s an old stiff who needs to get his nose out of my life.
And I keep my dream.
It grows, as I grow. And, at times, it seems too big for me. But I continue to chase it.
“My ears work, Jackson,” Pippi says . “And if anyone is blabbering nonsense, it’s you.”
I am an adult.
I am in love. With Indigo.
And the dream has a name.
SorcerSoft. Putting magic at everyone’s fingertips.
It is real now. A dream no longer, but a company I own. A company that is changing lives, as I hoped it would.
But it is destroying me.
I am lost in it. In the work. The projects. The passion of my team. In my customers. I am lost. My heart is slipping.
Pippi pauses. And I miss her words. Her voice.
I lean into her touch and say, “You’re so lovely when you’re m-m-mad. Has anyone told you that? It’s s-s-s-sexy.”
Her laugh chases some of the hurt away.
I am a beast—broken and empty.
I don’t dream anymore. Only nightmares come to me.
Until Pippi finds me. Until I dream, again. And love. And live.
She gives . Pippi gives. Too much.
And people take from her. Too much.
I’ve taken too. Her kindness. Her laughter. Her smiles. Her dreams. I’ve taken them and used them to make myself feel alive.
I don’t want to take anymore.
I don’t want to be so lost, so distracted , that I hurt the ones I love.
Never again.
“Pippi, I do love you. And I’m…I’m sorry.”
I am a beast.
And I’ve sent my heart away, where it will be safe.
And then I am in pain—unlike any I’ve been in. Pain that consumes. And… ravages .
I am screaming.
Crying.
The pain burns throughout my entire body.
I am begging for an end.
Begging for death.
But it does not come for me.
Instead, life does. It wraps me in a soft embrace—a hold that feels so very much like Pippi’s—and tells me I am not done.
And then the pain is gone.
I am surrounded by the sea. Struggling to swim with limbs that feel small and insignificant against the watery titan.
I am confused. Disoriented. I don’t understand why I am in the sea, in my skivvies, as it were, or why ships surround me.
I don’t understand why my arms and legs feel strange, or why my neck seems frustratingly short—how am I to see my surroundings when I can only twist or tilt my head a few measly inches?
I don’t understand who I am.
Her name is the first word that returns to me.
I call it.
And there she is.
The sea has stained her hair a darker crimson, and blood decorates her face and neck— my blood, I think, although I’m not certain.
She is so lovely. A goddess—one who radiates so much beauty and light, it hurts to cast your eyes upon her.
I want to hold her, and I weep as I realize I have arms that can hold her, but I’m too far away.
“Alistair?”
My name tumbles out of her mouth.
Alistair.
Me!
I am a man again.
Somehow my life has returned to me.