Visit

We all missed him but I missed him the most. His life is elsewhere and he rarely gives us much notice about his plans. 

‘Hey, where are you?’ His familiar voice comes over my phone. When his number flashed up I didn't know what to think but there was never any doubt that I wanted to talk to him. 

‘More importantly,’ I reply with quiet enthusiasm, 'where are you?'

‘Strange thing, I seem to be here, at the airport, just arrived in fact.’ He waits for my response, offering no further information.

‘Really! How terrific, is everything all right? Are you all right, how long are you back for?' I choose my words carefully, not too much excitement, asking only the predictable questions. The game begins. 

There is nothing sinister in it. It is all about giving him the chance to decide where he wants to take this, how he wants to play it. As soon as he thinks he is being led he will passively and diligently resist. He will hide. He will be a passenger from then on. I will then have to be patient and wait until he decides to make a move. Until he does, if he does, it will be all smoke and mirrors with him; no insight into him, no decision or commitment from him.

‘Yep, all good, no return plans yet.’ He replies, a hint of tiredness creeping into his voice. ‘Thought that it would be nice to surprise you.’

‘Well, you have done that.’ I say honestly and warmly. I wait. I resist the temptation to keep talking. I resist asking the thousand questions that I have. I hold back from telling him about all that has happened since he left.

‘Hate to ask but is there any chance you can pick me up from the airport?’ He knows that I know he can find his way home by other means.

'Yes, of course but you’ll have to wait a bit. Do you have any other options?’ I reply. My intent is to tease out the true meaning of his request. Is this a courtesy request or genuine, a calculated bit of diplomacy or a real need? No way to know unless I play along. Again I stifle my instinct to volunteer more and wait for him to reply.

‘How long would you be?’ He says almost in a sigh.

‘Good news and bad news, I’m not working so I can leave straightaway but, I am at home so that means I’m at least two hours away.’

I throw it out there. I am prepared to rescue him, have almost begged to rescue him. But I know to that my reply should have surprised him. 

‘Well, two hours isn’t too bad, I’ll get a coffee and wait for you.’ He replies. He asks no questions, shows no curiosity about why I am not at work. My patience with him, and myself, is starting to give way. I can hear my voice hardening and make an extra effort to keep it light. 

‘I will give you a call when I get closer, I am heading out the door now, love you.’ My grip on my car keys is tight. I unintentionally slam the front door on my way out.

I understand. I am shattered but I understand. He is just visiting; he will rest up, walk the dog, make small talk, share little that matters and then be off again. My disappointment is huge. Still, seeing him is better than nothing. Best that I keep my game face on.

A couple of hours later I pull up at the airport and spot him. He is where he promised to be, two coffees in hand. A quick hug and I get him and his gear into my car. 

‘Any things need doing on the way home?’ I say while trying not to look at him. I half expect him to have me running him to a mate's place. He passes me my coffee.

'No.’ He says carefully as he shifts a little in his seat to look at me. It is typical for him to breeze back in, confident that none of us have changed in his absence. He always returns sure that we are at our usual places, doing our usual things. But he is an observant and curious being. No comment about me not being at work is not right. Then it dawns on me.

‘Is this your idea, coming back I mean?’ I say without looking at him, concentrating on pulling out into the traffic. I fear that I have played it wrong, been too obvious.

‘Others may think not but it is.’ He responds resolutely.

‘So they told you, put the pressure on then.’ I say, more as statement than a question.

‘They did and they may well think that they have won, but you know me better than that,’ he offers, ‘so, no rush but lets start talk about what is going on with you.’ That catches me unprepared. I was already reconciling myself to how this was a fleeting call of duty, that we had played badly, we had forced him rather than let him come willingly.

‘You going to tell me what’s going on with you?’ I say out loud, not really meaning to. I mentally reprimand myself for taking the bait and wait for him to withdraw. I have given him permission to with my snappy outburst. His thoughtful, gentle reply confuses me. It is unexpected, hoped for but still unexpected.

He starts by telling me things I should know, not necessarily what I would like to hear, about him. By the time we arrive home we have an understanding.

It is his decision to come. He is here for much more than a visit. He is here for me.