Hannah （And After） #3
Hannah almost hadn’t gone to see it. It was too painful.
But the advertisements appeared everywhere, on billboards and taxis, and there was Glenn: older, sadder, on the side of a bus.
His Eagles shirt digitally erased and replaced with a wizard’s cloak.
She remembered that shirt because the last time she saw it, it was covered in blood.
She lay in the helicopter, looking over at the person next to her.
Eyes looking back, Glenn’s eyes. Still and unmoving.
Lilly was curled up next to him, crying.
“I didn’t want anyone to get hurt,” Hannah said.
“I know.”
A police officer walked up to the busker and asked him to move along. “Aw, he’s not bothering anyone,” the boy said. But the officer ignored him and the busker packed up his guitar, tipped his hat, and walked away. The boy continued cleaning up frogs.
“I do not know what Gregorian, er, Glenn wanted,” Hannah said. “I have his memories and I do not know what to do with them, or with yours or anyone else’s. They’re not my memories. They feel more like stories somebody told me.”
“I always wondered what it felt like to be implemented.”
“Glenn wanted you to be safe, but what then? I don’t even know what you want.”
“I wish I knew what I want, too,” Lilly said. “I definitely could never figure out Glenn. He spent a long time pretending to be someone he wasn’t. Or maybe he wasn’t pretending, I don’t know.”
“It feels impossible, being a person.”
“It’s not impossible,” said Lilly. “You just have to remember to lie to yourself every day.”
Lilly paid Hannah’s bill, and they shook hands as Lilly stood up. “I’ll tell Roger you turned me down. I can’t guarantee he won’t try again.”
“I know. Thank you, Lilly. Take care of yourself.”
Hannah remained at the table a long time after Lilly left.
The young boy was softly singing the busker’s tune, circling the sidewalk in front of the café.
You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me …
Every few seconds his melody was interrupted by the sound of his spear impaling a frog and tossing it into his pail.
Hannah couldn’t see the Seine from her seat, but she tried to picture it.
Sparkling in the sunlight, lovers kissing over it.
Maybe the river was dirty, maybe the lovers were fighting, but Hannah wanted it to be clean.
There was so much in the world, she could barely manage to remember it all.
The Malicarn was changing, the old ways were over.
And what would come next, Hannah could only imagine.
Maybe she would stay in Paris, find all of Jean-Danton’s old haunts. Or she would travel, discover a nice quiet place where nobody knew who she was and then she could become herself, become whatever she wanted.
Maybe Roger was lying. He never released Glenn’s body because Glenn was still alive, held under questioning, the government learning all they could.
One day Glenn would go back to the Malicarn, become Gregorian again, and show everyone the best path forward.
Fix all of their problems this time, help them thrive.
He wouldn’t be acting anymore, he would just be.
And Lilly wouldn’t take that job from Roger.
She would tell the world what really happened in the Malicarn, change laws and regulations so it never happens again, and be the kind of person she always should have been, someone who cared for others and wanted to help make the world better.
And Jules would go to prison, he would be vilified.
He wouldn’t profit from the Malicarn anymore.
And they would let Buck go, too. Release him from the hospital.
Because even without his memories he was still himself, he was still a person.
He could relearn, but now he would learn on his own terms. His life could be genuine.
Buck would be the first truly free man who ever lived, uninhibited by the past or anyone’s expectations.
When he traveled, each place would be new.
Each person a delightful discovery. Nowhere would he be unwelcome, because everybody in his world is kind and generous and loving.
He’ll climb the Alps, swim in the Maldives, ride a motorcycle across the Mongolian Plateau.
He’ll eat in Buenos Aires and Lagos and San Francisco.
He’ll dance in Mumbai, sing in Barcelona, and write poetry in Boston.
When he drives, because he’ll learn to drive, he’ll take the lonely roads, the less traveled ones.
If he’s on a mesa in New Mexico, and his tire goes flat, a man will kindly tow him to his family’s home.
And they’ll let him stay the night, cook for him in the morning, and he’ll leave with new tires and new friends, riding with the windows down and feeling the dry desert air on his face, that morning breeze that makes all things new.
And as he drives away the family will wave until he is out of sight, and they’ll say, There he goes.
Another one saved from the blessings of civilization.
Hannah leaned back, closed her eyes, and listened. Sirens, car horns, bicycle bells. A waiter clearing a plate. A man lighting a cigarette. Two women chatting on the corner. A phone ringing. Thwomp. The boy speared another frog and dropped it into his bucket. Then he kept singing.