Come Sail Away

style='font-size:10.0pt;line-height:150%;mso-ansi-language:EN-US'> 

style='font-size:10.0pt;line-height:150%;mso-ansi-language:EN-US'>-- Michael class=SpellE>Bublé

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class=GramE>I’m standing there staring into a wide open area, and there’s
a big giant gaping hole staring back at me. It’s a
massive crater, looking like it belongs on the moon or on Tatooine.
Scenery straight out of Star Wars or Star Gate SG-1. class=GramE>And yes, Andrew is rubbing off on me. I’ll
be the first one to admit it.

class=GramE>So I’m standing there, freezing to death, hands in my
pockets, toque on my head and scarf around my neck. I had forgotten how cold style='font-size:10.0pt;line-height:150%;mso-ansi-language:EN-US'>Californiastyle='font-size:10.0pt;line-height:150%;mso-ansi-language:EN-US'> could be
during the wintertime. class=GramE>There’s a mighty wind blowing around making distant howling
noises, giving the whole scene a very eerie effect.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> It’s a cool breeze
that seeps through my coat, all the way into my bones. It’s
not a cloudless night, but there’s a full moon out, and it occasionally casts a
shadow behind me. I had to come alone, right?

The
military has closed off this small section of style='font-size:10.0pt;line-height:150%;mso-ansi-language:EN-US'>Californiastyle='font-size:10.0pt;line-height:150%;mso-ansi-language:EN-US'> now. class=GramE>Deemed it “Hazardous and Unsafe.” Hmm. Guess it keeps the
crowds of tourists away. There isn’t much to see
anyway. Not even the prestigious “Welcome to Sunnydale”
sign remains to be seen. Nope. That old thing is
hanging on a wall in my office back in style='font-size:10.0pt;line-height:150%;mso-ansi-language:EN-US'>Londonstyle='font-size:10.0pt;line-height:150%;mso-ansi-language:EN-US'>. Daily
reminder of how it got me here. Of who
got me here. Although, I guess, I don’t
really need a reminder about that. It seems I’m cursed
to think about him every minute of
every day. Let me tell you: It’s fucking painful. I
guess Faith was right when she said I’m a masochist.

I
don’t really know why I keep doing things to torture
my spirit. Stupid little things. Like the little class=GramE>thing I’m doing now. Coming back to Sunnydale
was the last thing I had wanted to do during this trip, but it seems my feet
have a mind of their own.

Talking
about my feet, they now have my legs as accomplices, because they’ve
just jumped the barbed wire fence that runs around the whole of the crater. class=GramE>And where my legs go, I go. Unwritten
rule.

There
are a few weeds growing on the edge, tumbleweed lying dormant in thickets of
wild grass…

“What are you doing here?” I ask him.

class=GramE>Isn’t that just like him? To just pop in
out of nowhere, interrupting the rhythm of my thoughts… class=GramE>He’s probably just standing a few feet behind me, big black
coat billowing in the wind, hands stuffed in its pockets. I’m class=SpellE>gonna guess black leather pants, black leather boots, black
shirt, unbuttoned, with his hair standing up right with gel. The thought alone
makes me quiver and wish I were sixteen again.

style='font-size:10.0pt;line-height:150%;mso-ansi-language:EN-US'>“Could ask
the same thing about you.” He mumbles softly.

“But I asked you first.” God, class=GramE>we’re so childish.

I
can hear him play with some sand with his shoes, and I just know class=GramE>he’s looking down at it, contemplating his next move.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> And just to prove it
to myself, I turn around to face him. I was right: The pants, the shoes, the
coat, the shirt, right down to the hair and the hands. Some things just never
change.

“ style='font-size:10.0pt;line-height:150%;mso-ansi-language:EN-US'>Willowstyle='font-size:10.0pt;line-height:150%;mso-ansi-language:EN-US'> told me
you’d be here.” He starts. As if it makes it alright.

Is
that right? Well. Did she also tell you I
wanted to be alone?

style='font-size:10.0pt;line-height:150%;mso-ansi-language:EN-US'>“And?”style='font-size:10.0pt;line-height:150%;mso-ansi-language:EN-US'>

“And… well… class=GramE>Buffy… Look. We class=SpellE>gotta talk.”

“Like what we’re doing now?” Sarcasm
was never a good tool to use with him. Somehow it never
seems to work.

“Buffy.” I
think it’s a warning.

He
takes his time to survey The Big Hole, looking on, maybe admiring the fact that
only a couple of years ago, a town stood here. A town in
which he fell in love. A town from where he was class=GramE>gonna destroy the world. A town from where he died.

He
takes a deep breath, and sits himself down on a rock the size of a basketball. class=GramE>He’s urging me to do the same with his head, but I prefer to
stand. For once, it makes me look tall.

Clouds
blow over the moon for a second, making everything pitch black, and heightening
my senses for a moment. Somehow, I pick up the desperation and love Angel is
expelling. Damn. And I thought this was going to be
easy. The clouds blow by and the moon shines through again, making me see his
face. The face of an
angel. It’s no fuckin’
lie.

“So…”

“So…”

He
turns his head back to The Big Hole (as I like to call it nowadays) and returns
his gaze onto my face.

“So, Spike did that?” He says. “How
long has it been now? Two years?”

I
nod softly. Just hearing style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>his name makes my knees sway a little.

He
looks at me with a kind sadness. I can’t be sure if
it’s pity, but if it is, I don’t want it.

“It’s kind of impressive. class=GramE>Hadn’t seen it before.” He nods while he’s
saying this, like he’s approving or something. “I mean, I saw it on the news
and all, and well, it didn’t look so big, and I’m babbling, aren’t I?”

class=GramE>And I’m still standing, looking down at him, struggling not
to transform into a seventeen year old girl. Thankfully, the next thing he says
makes me conquer my struggle, but unthankfully, it’s
the last thing I had ever thought to hear from him.

“Did he know you loved him? I mean,
before he died?”

Shit.

“I… uh… I don’t see why you should know.”
Shit Buff, grow a pair already.

“You should have told him.” He
whispers, looking down to the ground.

Suddenly,
I realize where he’s coming from.

“I did.” Truth.

His
eyebrows shoot up, and he cocks his head a bit to the left.

“I don’t think he believed me.”

Angel
starts to laugh. Hold the phones. Angel? Laugh?style='mso-spacerun:yes'> I know. But it’s
true. It’s even a deep laugh, coming from where, only
God knows.

“That explains everything!” He
manages between chuckles.

Huh?
It does? Care to explain, Mister
Perceptive?

Then,
he’s on his feet again, and he’s right in front of me.
His moves are lightning quick, and I don’t have time
to respond when he dives in and kisses me hard and long on the mouth. class=GramE>Remember that struggle over being seventeen? I lost that class=GramE>right then and there. What can I say? I have no will power.
So sue me. His tongue is darting back and forth, tasting the whole of me,
making me moan just the tiniest bit. Then, he just stops. He pulls back a
little to look at me. But that’s it. He clucks his
finger under my chin, turns around, and walks back into the darkness.

“What does it explain?” I shout back
at him.

He
doesn’t answer, but I can see him sway his head a
little.

“Angel!?”

class=GramE>It’s useless. He’s totally
disappeared. Well, that was informative and cryptic. What were you expecting, Buff? A clear and sound
message from Angel? Pfftclass=GramE>. Never.

I
sigh and sit on the newly vacated rock. Home. This is
where it is. This is where I lost my mother, this is where I graduated high
school, this is where I fell in love, twice. This is
where I died. This… is my home. Or what’s left of it
anyway. Yet, somehow, it doesn’t feel like it.