"How did it happen?"
"I don't know, really. He was still in bed when I found him, so it looks like it happened in his sleep. I'm sorry, Kate. If it's any consolation, it looks like he went peacefully."
"Yeah, actually, it is. Thanks, Professor."
"Call me Walter, Kate. I wanted you to be the first to know."
Both ends fell silent for awhile, the girl on one end steeped in quiet contemplation; the man on the other careful to give her a moment.
"Walter?"
"Yes?"
"How did you know to find him?"
"It sounds a bit silly..."
"Try me."
"I had a dream about him. He'd been talking quite a lot about dreams lately. I know he was having trouble sleeping, but the things he said--they were pretty out there. But in the night I had a dream that he was calling out to me, trying to tell me something, and I woke up in a cold sweat. I had one of those feelings--one of those inexplicable moments of intense emotion, and I knew that I had to check on him, dream or no dream. I knocked for awhile--a long while, actually, but I had a key that he gave me a key a few years back, just in case I needed to get in the house. That's when I found him."
"What do you think it was? A heart attack, maybe? Or a stroke? God, I hope it wasn't a stroke."
"Kate, we don't have to talk about this right now."
"Actually, I'd kinda like to. I need to talk about something. Just... something, and I don't know what else to say."
"He was an old man, Kate. It could have been any number of things."
"I guess you're right."
"Listen, I need to make a few more calls. Are you going to be okay?"
Walter's words resonated deep within her, reminding her of the dream and what young Oscar had told her, and she began to wonder if the dream had been a dream at all.
"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I am going to be okay."
The funeral was held at dusk. Kate walked the entire way in uncomfortable low heel shoes she was sure would leave blisters all over her feet, but it felt fitting, as if any other method of travel was somehow inappropriate. She wore a black dress that had lived in depths of her closet for years. It was the only one she owned--the only one she ever wanted to own, and she hoped it was good enough.
The mourners had already gathered on the cemetery grounds, having held their memorial service earlier in the morning. Walter was the only person she had recognized, though he looked much different standing solemnly in a black suit, his mustache finely groomed, with his arm wrapped around that of a disproportionately beautiful blonde-haired woman, whom Kate took to be his wife. He'd waved sadly to her, surrounded in a sea of people she didn't know, would never know, yet Oscar had played a part, no matter how small and insignificant, in each and every one of their lives.
She had been asked to say a few words but politely declined the invitation. She had nothing worth saying, after all. Everyone there knew who Oscar was, the kind of man he was. He wasn't one to delve too deeply into emotional realms--not in the company of others, at least. If he had been there, Kate imagined, he would've had a sharp retort for every prayer and whisper and then complained about the state of the refreshments. That was the picture in Kate's mind--one that played like a short film from an old projector, and despite everything else, it managed to make her smile.
In the days since she first learned of Oscar's death, she had mourned his passing, but she had never lost control of her emotions. A few stray tears wound their way down the smooth skin of her cheeks, gathering in the corner of her mouth, but she never broke down, never wept the way she expected she would. They had both known this was coming, and they'd both made their own preparations. Kate was simply relieved that hers were holding up as well as they were.
After the memorial service, Walter invited her to Oscar's house to meet a few of his old friends. She arrived first and, finding the front door open, wandered inside to find that it felt emptier than usual. She could picture him working fervently in the kitchen, cracking open eggs and juggling slices of toast while wearing his plaid house robe and black cotton slippers.
She moved down the hallway like another shadow on the wall, stepping into the study the way one tours a museum exhibit. His blue Royal typewriter sat atop the antique writing desk, naked without a white sheet of paper rolled beneath the carriage, and beside it, she found two things that made her heart skip a beat. The first was a light stack of papers that she scanned without touching. It was an incomplete manuscript, but it was most definitely the first few chapters of Here Comes a Revolution. These were the pages Oscar had told her about--the ones he had written in his dreams, and beside it was a folded piece of paper addressed with one name: Kate. With a quick glance around the room, just to see if anyone else was watching, she picked up the paper, opened it up and read what had been written inside. It was short, simple, and to the point, like anything else Oscar would have said.
I want you to have the house, it said. That includes everything on the property. Please take care of it. Don't let it die alone.
He had signed his name at the bottom, and though she didn't know if it was enough to hold up in court, she figured that anyone who knew Oscar would make sure his last wishes were granted. As for the rest of the message, she knew exactly what he meant.
Then the door opened, and an oft-told anecdote entered the house on the lips of several old men, Walter included. Of the two that she hadn't met, one was quite short, and the other exceedingly tall. Their names were Ezra and Diggory, and they exchanged information with Kate, offering her their services once the novel was complete. It was a bittersweet moment, and she wished he had been there to witness it.
Now, the sun sank over the hills, and they all gathered around a small plot of land, where a large rectangular hold had been dug in the ground, and the casket floated above it, waiting to be lowered at any moment. The priest said one last prayer for the departed, and the mourners offered up their final goodbyes and last-minute remembrances before filing away, back to their vehicles, back to the town below.
Kate lingered a moment longer than most, staring at the two graves side-by-side--Oscar and Madeleine Bruges, together again. She stayed until the sun had completely vanished and the world descended into a heavy twilight. The park was in sight in the valley below, and she wondered what mysteries were hidden in the woods, there on the winding path Oscar had taken many times before.
Then, when she was sure that she was the last person left, she began the walk back home. She still had work to do, after all, and she knew exactly how Oscar wanted to be remembered. With her head cleared of grief and despair, Kate went home to start writing again.
"I don't know, really. He was still in bed when I found him, so it looks like it happened in his sleep. I'm sorry, Kate. If it's any consolation, it looks like he went peacefully."
"Yeah, actually, it is. Thanks, Professor."
"Call me Walter, Kate. I wanted you to be the first to know."
Both ends fell silent for awhile, the girl on one end steeped in quiet contemplation; the man on the other careful to give her a moment.
"Walter?"
"Yes?"
"How did you know to find him?"
"It sounds a bit silly..."
"Try me."
"I had a dream about him. He'd been talking quite a lot about dreams lately. I know he was having trouble sleeping, but the things he said--they were pretty out there. But in the night I had a dream that he was calling out to me, trying to tell me something, and I woke up in a cold sweat. I had one of those feelings--one of those inexplicable moments of intense emotion, and I knew that I had to check on him, dream or no dream. I knocked for awhile--a long while, actually, but I had a key that he gave me a key a few years back, just in case I needed to get in the house. That's when I found him."
"What do you think it was? A heart attack, maybe? Or a stroke? God, I hope it wasn't a stroke."
"Kate, we don't have to talk about this right now."
"Actually, I'd kinda like to. I need to talk about something. Just... something, and I don't know what else to say."
"He was an old man, Kate. It could have been any number of things."
"I guess you're right."
"Listen, I need to make a few more calls. Are you going to be okay?"
Walter's words resonated deep within her, reminding her of the dream and what young Oscar had told her, and she began to wonder if the dream had been a dream at all.
"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I am going to be okay."
***
The funeral was held at dusk. Kate walked the entire way in uncomfortable low heel shoes she was sure would leave blisters all over her feet, but it felt fitting, as if any other method of travel was somehow inappropriate. She wore a black dress that had lived in depths of her closet for years. It was the only one she owned--the only one she ever wanted to own, and she hoped it was good enough.
The mourners had already gathered on the cemetery grounds, having held their memorial service earlier in the morning. Walter was the only person she had recognized, though he looked much different standing solemnly in a black suit, his mustache finely groomed, with his arm wrapped around that of a disproportionately beautiful blonde-haired woman, whom Kate took to be his wife. He'd waved sadly to her, surrounded in a sea of people she didn't know, would never know, yet Oscar had played a part, no matter how small and insignificant, in each and every one of their lives.
She had been asked to say a few words but politely declined the invitation. She had nothing worth saying, after all. Everyone there knew who Oscar was, the kind of man he was. He wasn't one to delve too deeply into emotional realms--not in the company of others, at least. If he had been there, Kate imagined, he would've had a sharp retort for every prayer and whisper and then complained about the state of the refreshments. That was the picture in Kate's mind--one that played like a short film from an old projector, and despite everything else, it managed to make her smile.
In the days since she first learned of Oscar's death, she had mourned his passing, but she had never lost control of her emotions. A few stray tears wound their way down the smooth skin of her cheeks, gathering in the corner of her mouth, but she never broke down, never wept the way she expected she would. They had both known this was coming, and they'd both made their own preparations. Kate was simply relieved that hers were holding up as well as they were.
After the memorial service, Walter invited her to Oscar's house to meet a few of his old friends. She arrived first and, finding the front door open, wandered inside to find that it felt emptier than usual. She could picture him working fervently in the kitchen, cracking open eggs and juggling slices of toast while wearing his plaid house robe and black cotton slippers.
She moved down the hallway like another shadow on the wall, stepping into the study the way one tours a museum exhibit. His blue Royal typewriter sat atop the antique writing desk, naked without a white sheet of paper rolled beneath the carriage, and beside it, she found two things that made her heart skip a beat. The first was a light stack of papers that she scanned without touching. It was an incomplete manuscript, but it was most definitely the first few chapters of Here Comes a Revolution. These were the pages Oscar had told her about--the ones he had written in his dreams, and beside it was a folded piece of paper addressed with one name: Kate. With a quick glance around the room, just to see if anyone else was watching, she picked up the paper, opened it up and read what had been written inside. It was short, simple, and to the point, like anything else Oscar would have said.
I want you to have the house, it said. That includes everything on the property. Please take care of it. Don't let it die alone.
He had signed his name at the bottom, and though she didn't know if it was enough to hold up in court, she figured that anyone who knew Oscar would make sure his last wishes were granted. As for the rest of the message, she knew exactly what he meant.
Then the door opened, and an oft-told anecdote entered the house on the lips of several old men, Walter included. Of the two that she hadn't met, one was quite short, and the other exceedingly tall. Their names were Ezra and Diggory, and they exchanged information with Kate, offering her their services once the novel was complete. It was a bittersweet moment, and she wished he had been there to witness it.
Now, the sun sank over the hills, and they all gathered around a small plot of land, where a large rectangular hold had been dug in the ground, and the casket floated above it, waiting to be lowered at any moment. The priest said one last prayer for the departed, and the mourners offered up their final goodbyes and last-minute remembrances before filing away, back to their vehicles, back to the town below.
Kate lingered a moment longer than most, staring at the two graves side-by-side--Oscar and Madeleine Bruges, together again. She stayed until the sun had completely vanished and the world descended into a heavy twilight. The park was in sight in the valley below, and she wondered what mysteries were hidden in the woods, there on the winding path Oscar had taken many times before.
Then, when she was sure that she was the last person left, she began the walk back home. She still had work to do, after all, and she knew exactly how Oscar wanted to be remembered. With her head cleared of grief and despair, Kate went home to start writing again.
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