A Spaceman

Chapter 16--Mostly silent night

There is pounding on the stairs. Poor Ruslan Solokov, running himself to death. He's still jogging up and down, undoing most of the good of the feeding tube. I always did hate those things. I hated treating psychiatric patients in general. It was so hard, treating the mind. The body was simple. I could make them comfortable, joke with them, get the little creatures smiling, and slowly get them better. Or make their deaths comfortable. Those trapped in the mind? Only so much you can do.

I wash up and get ready for bed. It's not a bad room, if monastic. Just a little cot in one corner, a dresser for the plain grey work clothes they give me. But there is a tablet with some open source books and free chess, that type of thing. It's not connected to the internet but I can handle that. I appreciate it and it's a bit of entertainment.

I am just sitting down on the bed when there is a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" I ask, not standing up. I have a knife under the bed but I can't see anyone coming to kill me.

"Sophie---can I come in?" she asks.

"Sure," I say, leaning back on the bed.

"Hi," she says, coming in and closing the door.

"Couldn't sleep?" I ask, standing up, wondering what she's after. Would she decide to kill me? Words to live by: never underestimate a woman.

"No could you?" she asks, walking forward and putting a hand on my chest. Oh, Jacob, you suspicious bastard. Oldest motivation in the world.

"Ah---no," I say, removing her hand.

"Why not?" she asks, trying to touch my face but I move her other hand. I let go of the hands once they are removed and she keeps them off. "I'm not saying I love you and I'm not asking for anything just---"

"Just sex. Well for one thing I'm more than old enough to be your father---we do the math right I'm probably old enough to be your grandfather," I say, dryly.

"I don't care," she says, shrugging. She's wearing a thin white shirt and pants. She looks cold.

"I do. You're a child, I'm a grown man," I say, flatly.

"I'm not a child," she says.

"Yes, you are, and in ten years you'll see someone who's seventeen and realize what a child you were, but for today----," I sigh, because she's about to cry.

"I'm not asking for anything," she mutters.

"I know. You're lonely aren't you?" I ask.

She nods.

"Come here," I sigh, picking up a blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders. She takes it and wipes her face on her hand. "Sex doesn't make you feel less alone. it makes you feel more alone. because after that you know that somehow, that person won't be there forever, be it because it was a one night stand or because you know they'll never love you forever, or be there forever, and you'll be left alone in the dark once more."

"That's depressing as fuck," she laughs a little.

"Yes, well, it's life," I say, leaning against the wall, "I'm sorry that that's the way it is. And I hope you have some young man---or woman----that makes you forget many a lonely night."

"But you just said someday they'll leave," she says.

"They will, but if it's the right one, you'll have their arms to imagine on those nights you are alone and cold in the dark," I say.

"Did you ever have someone like that?" she asks.

I nod, "They are impossible to describe, just like all good secrets, the souls and memories of love, that keep you warm from the cold. when you get to be my age, they're all you have."