See You Soon
I wished I could drop dead. It would be much better than staring at this empty Word document with the cursor flashing continuously. Judging me. It pissed me off.
I should have chosen another career. I thought, sipping my overly priced iced coffee inside this hipster coffee shop using their slow Wi-Fi. I’d gone to this coffee shop many times, yet, I still couldn’t write anything. And this, after going through all the trouble of studying creative writing in college, getting my MFA, and writing too many short stories to count, but I still couldn’t start my novel.
Some people make bad decisions in life; I think being a writer may be one of mine. Maybe this wasn’t meant to be. Maybe all the hard work and the twenty-five years that I spent trying to make this work was for nothing. Perhaps this dream was just that — a silly little dream.
Don’t plumbers make a lot of money? My thoughts echoed about, as I got ready to leave the cafe. But, just as I began to close my laptop, a person walked over to my table. He looked to be about my age. He wore a black hoodie and sweatpants and was sporting a crew cut. When he got to my table he looked incredibly nervous, like a child about to tell his parents that he got a bad grade on a test. He was like that for a few seconds until I decided to speak.
“Do you need anything?,” I asked, contemplating the reasons why he was at my table.
“Are you Michael Wells?,” he nervously asked as if he were meeting someone famous.
I looked at him, confused. “Yeah, I’m Michael Wells. Do I know you?”
“No — Well, yes. I mean… it’s complicated,” he said, stammering through his words. He took a deep breath,
“My name is Christopher Wells, and I’m your grandson.”
Grandson? I don’t have a grandson; what is he talking about!? It took me a few seconds to process what he said entirely, and when I did, I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Is this a prank or something? Are there cameras somewhere?” I asked, looking around the cafe.
“I know this sounds insane, but I am your grandson,” he sat in the chair right in front of me. “You were born in Worcester, but your parents moved to Concord before you started kindergarten. You went to Boston College, and got a BA in English, and then got your master's in Creative Writing. You dream of becoming a writer. Now, you are working on your first novel about the end of the world.”
I looked at him, baffled and terrified; he knew nearly everything about me. The idea that he was a stalker who, for some reason, followed me came to mind.
“Who are you? How the fuck do you know this about me?,” I asked, as I got my phone out of my pocket.
“I know it’s hard to believe, but I am your grandson!,” he exclaimed.
“Really? Cause it seems to me that you’re some stalker or something, and if you don’t leave me the fuck alone, I’m calling the cops,” I threatened him.
“I’m telling the truth, I promise you. In about two weeks, you’ll bump into a woman who will be your wife, and you will have a son named Charlie, who you named after the character from your favorite book, The Perks of Being a Wallflower.”
I was in shock. How could he have known I wanted to name my first son Charlie? I tried to think of all the reasonable and logical explanations for why he would know that. But none came to mind.
“Who are you?” I asked again.
“I am your grandson. Please — believe me,” he pleaded.
I entertained the thought of leaving and calling the police, but the more I looked at him, the more I felt this strange connection with him, like I knew him in some peculiar way. I sighed, and decided to play along.
“Fine. So you’re my grandson,” I said, still trying to get the feeling that I knew him out of my mind. “So tell me, why are you here? And if you really are from the future, wouldn’t you interact with me and blow up the universe or something?”
“No, I mean — I don’t think so…. the program that did this said that everything should reset once I travel back to my time. I’m not entirely sure how it works, in all honesty,” he explained.
“So, if you leave and go back to the future… I won’t remember this interaction?” I asked, confused.
“Yes, I think that’s right.” He seemed unsure of himself.
“So what’s the point of coming here if I’m not going to remember any of this?”
“Well… I came here because you died in a car crash when I was 12.”
I didn’t say anything as I let the revelation sit with me. It was weird knowing the way I was going to die. That is, if he was telling the truth and wasn’t just some crazy person who escaped an insane asylum.
“I just really miss you, and I never got to say goodbye, and I don’t want to forget who you are…” he continued as his face turned red and some tears leaked. “Guess it also doesn’t help that I have dementia. Weird how we have time travel, but we can’t cure that,” he chuckled.
“Wait, how do you have dementia? You look like you’re 25?,” I asked.
He wiped the tears from his eyes with a napkin. “Well, the company who sent me here said that I would be the age of the person I came to see. I’m 65 actually.”
“So… you have dementia, and you just came here to see me again?,” I asked.
“Yeah, your death affected me a lot. You were such a good grandpa to me. Especially when my dad wasn’t, well, the best dad. But that’s neither here or there right now.” He chuckled again. “I remembered when you always took me to Canobie Lake in the summer. You always snuck me in even when my mom was against it.”
A beep suddenly went off, and he reached for his pocket and pulled out a strange-looking pocket watch device.
“Fuck. I only have a minute left, ” he said as he put the device back in his pocket. “Look, I know you probably still don’t believe me and think I’m crazy. But… Could I have a hug? Please.”
I thought about it for a couple of seconds, still trying to process everything he said to me and failing to make sense of it. “Sure. I guess.”
He smiled, and we both got up and hugged. He hugged me tight, and I could hear him crying heavily on my shoulder. I patted him on the back to calm him down, and when I did, I got a weird feeling that this was the right thing to do. He let go and wiped his face.
“Thank you, Grandpa. This means a lot to me.” He said, sniffing.
“Yeah, well, I just hope you get better… I guess. I still don’t know how to process this and I’m not sure I believe it.”
“I get it. I probably wouldn’t believe it either. Well, I guess this is goodbye. I miss you a lot.” He started to walk away.
“Wait.”
He stopped and looked back.
“If what you’re saying is true. How successful of a writer am I?”
He looked at me with a smile. “You have an audience. But it’s not as big as you would like. But I read a chapter from your books every night before bed. It always seems like you’re with me when I read it,” he said.
I was disappointed by the revelation, but also not in a strange way. “Well. Bye, Christopher.”
“Bye. I’ll see you soon.”
“See you soon.”
He walked out of the cafe. I didn’t know if I believed him. But something inside me felt right. It was strange.
I sat back down and opened my laptop again. But this time, I felt inspiration come.
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