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Goodnight, My Love by Jennifer Campbell performed by Benny Goodman/Ella Fitzgerald
Good night, my love, the tired old moon is descending. =============================== The first bitter taste washed down Virgil's throat, followed by another. And another. Thank the gods for ale, he thought, the mother he could turn to when life got rough, when he could think of no solution other than to lose himself. He didn't want to face reality. Not now. Not ever. With enough money in his pouch, he could hide at the bottom of this mug forever. The ale, though, offered no real answer. And as tempting as it sounded, his money pouch did have a bottom. When he reached it, what then? He'd have no dinars for living, and nothing would have changed. Nothing would ever be the same again, anyway, so what did it matter? She had killed Father. He could still see her insane smile as the sword had slid into Father's stomach. Never would he forget those enraged eyes. He'd stare straight into them as he killed her. Oh, yes, the bitch Livia would die. But not tonight. He slid another coin across the counter, and the bartender refilled his mug. How could Xena have let her walk away? No, stumble away. She'd looked like a zombie. It would have been so simple to ram his sword through her back, but he wanted to see her eyes when she died. He wanted her to know who had killed her and why. Father deserved that, at the very least. His mug had emptied itself again. He waved to the bartender, who somehow had managed to clone himself, and both men walked over in synchronicity. Virgil fumbled for another coin and slid it across the counter. "Don't you think you've had enough?" the bartenders asked. Virgil stared hard at the two men, trying to focus on their words, but they looked fuzzy around the edges and merged into each other. He cocked his head to one side in confusion and fell off his stool. The floor rose up to meet his nose with a resounding thump. Now how had that happened? Virgil struggled to his feet as he rubbed his sore nose, braced himself against the counter and settled back onto his offending stool. "Are you all right?" the bartender asked. "I'm just fine," Virgil muttered. He hardly recognized the dull, slurred voice. "Gimme some more ale." The bartender shook his head sympathetically. "I think you've had enough." He leaned over the counter. "You know, whatever it is that's bothering you, it will pass." "Not this." The man shrugged and took the mug from Virgil's limp hands. "Suit yourself." "You should listen to him," said another voice, this one at his left shoulder. "He's right that the pain will pass." The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but Virgil didn't look up. "How would you know what I've seen." "Because I was there." This time, he did look. Virgil lifted his heavy head and blinked at the figure sitting beside him. The man was tall and skinny with unruly brown hair, and he smiled with so much love and warmth that Virgil felt his heart might break. He looked so familiar. If only Virgil could get his brain to focus ... "Do I know you?" he slurred. The man laughed. "I certainly hope so. I changed your diapers enough times, taught you how to fight and how to read." Virgil blinked and looked again. A memory surfaced of sitting at the feet of a man, struggling to write his alphabet on a piece of bark. His dad didn't look the same as he did at his death, but younger, with more vigor and less wrinkles. "Father?" he asked hesitantly. "You got it," Joxer answered with a grin. "But you're ..." "Dead," Joxer finished. "Yeah, I know. But I couldn't watch you hurt yourself like this and do nothing about it." "You look good for being dead." "Thanks. I bet I'm looking a lot better than you." Joxer frowned. "You're better than this, son." "Oh, don't worry," Virgil said. "I'm gonna kill 'er for you." The range of emotion that crossed his father's face fascinated Virgil. First, he looked suprised, then shocked and finally disappointed. Joxer firmly took one of Virgil's hands in his own. The touch felt warm and real. "You can't kill Eve," Joxer said earnestly. "What happened isn't her fault, and Xena is taking care of it. Trust me on this one, son. If you kill her, you'll be ruining your own future." Virgil shook his head. "I don't understand, Dad. She killed you and she deserves to die." "No, she doesn't." Joxer squeezed his hand. "Listen to me on this one, boy. I don't blame her, and you need to get over it. Your mother, sister and brother need you. You have to move on." "But--" "No 'buts.' Got it?" Virgil nodded reluctantly. "Yes, sir." "Good," Joxer said approvingly. "So you'll do as your old man tells you?" "Yes, sir." "Good." Joxer's hand left his and settled on the nape of his son's neck. "I remember when you were a baby. You pooped and cried a lot, but it was so heavenly, holding you close to me. I was so proud of you then, and I'm proud of the man you've become." "Thank you, Father." Virgil struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. He choked out, "I miss you." "I miss you too, son." Joxer smiled weakly. "We'll meet again someday. Until then, remember who you are and where you come from." "I won't forget. I promise." With one final smile, the solid hand against Virgil's neck lifted, and Joxer vanished. Virgil stared at the empty seat for a moment, then closed his eyes against the tears, sighed and looked up. Suddenly, his vantage changed. He was lying flat on the floor with a concerned bartender leaning over him. Virgil blinked. His head felt completely clear, as though he hadn't drunk a drop. "What happened?" "You took a nasty fall off your stool, that's what happened." The bartender offered his hand and pulled Virgil to his feet. "Sorry, but no more ale for you tonight." Virgil waved off the apology. "I need to be getting home anyway." He paused. "Did you, um, see someone else sitting next to me? A tall, thin guy with a goofy grin." The bartender snorted. "You really did have too much to drink." "Yeah," Virgil said with a lopsided smile, "I guess I have had enough. Thanks, anyway." As he walked outside, the night's chill wrapped around him. He looked up at the stars, burning their tiny holes into the night sky, and let his imagination take hold. Father was up there somewhere, among those heavenly bodies, watching over him now and forever. For the first time in his life, Virgil knew he'd never be alone. They'd meet again someday. Dad had promised, so it must be truth. Until then, they'd have to continue seeing each other in his dreams, although hopefully no more of the drunken variety. Perhaps, for now, it was enough ... because he had work to do and a family to protect. "Goodnight, Father," he whispered. "I'll see you again tomorrow, in the stars." the end |