A LAST GOODBYE

by Katrina Relf

Bob knew that he was dying. He knew that he didn’t have too much time left, and he so wanted to visit again with his relatively new – but very dear – friends, Vincent and Catherine. He was determined to visit the Tunnels one last time, perhaps to prove to himself that they really did exist – that other world where love and caring were as much a part of daily life as breath itself.

He had just finished filming what would be his final TV series. The last few episodes had been hard as he tired so easily. He knew that if he wanted to visit the Tunnels again it would have to be now. He booked a flight and phoned Catherine to ask her if she would meet him at the airport. She was only too pleased to be seeing him again and couldn’t wait to see Vincent that night to pass on the good news. But Vincent’s reaction stunned her.

“I fear this will be the last time we shall see him.”

“Vincent, why do you say that?”

“Because I believe it to be the truth.”

Catherine knew better than to dismiss Vincent’s concerns, and so she waited for Bob’s arrival with more than a little apprehension. They greeted each other warmly, and yet Catherine felt a difference in him. The twinkle in those brown eyes had gone.

“Catherine,” he said, “I have some news for you both, but I’m not sure how to approach Vincent.”

“It may be easier than you think, Bob. I think Vincent already has an inkling.”

“How could he? I’ve told nobody apart from my immediate family.”

“Vincent has this remarkable gift. He can sense so much more than you or I.”

“Shoot!! Well, that should make it easier then, and you know me – anything for an easy life!”

For a moment the old Bob resurfaced and Catherine felt a little easier. Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as she thought. She parked the car and they walked the short distance to the Tunnel entrance. Vincent was waiting.

“Hello, my friend,” he said, wrapping his arms around Bob. “It is so good to see you again.”

“You too,” replied Bob.

Vincent led them to his Chamber. Once there he said, “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“I’d love one,” replied Bob. “Flying is thirsty work!”

“I’ll get it,” said Catherine, sensing that Bob would rather break his news – whatever that might be – to Vincent alone.

“Catherine tells me that you have an idea why I’ve come to see you.”

“An idea – yes – but I’m hoping against hope that I am mistaken.”

“I doubt it. It’s Agony City, Vincent. I have Lymphoma, and it’s pretty far advanced the doctor tells me.”

Vincent took his friend into his arms – silent tears threatening to fall.

“Please, Vincent, don’t be upset. I’ve had a good life and I’m leaving behind – I hope – a legacy … of sorts.”

“You certainly are – at least in our world. Elizabeth has taken all your advice to heart and her walls are even more crowded now. There are trees and clouds and mountains all over her chamber.”

“And the children?”

“Oh, we have a lot of budding artists amongst us.”

“I’m so glad. At least I’ve accomplished something. And, Vincent, please don’t say anything to Catherine yet. I’d rather you tell her after she has driven me to the airport tomorrow. I want today to be happy.”

Before Vincent had a chance to reply, Catherine returned, carrying teapot and cups on a tray. She’d hardly had time to start pouring the tea before one … two… three children appeared.

“Will you paint us a picture, Bob?” they called out in unison.

Vincent raised his hand. “Now, where are your manners? Bob is tired after his flight and…”

Before he could finish Bob said, “No, it’s OK, Vincent, there’s nothing I’d rather do.”

As if by magic, several more of the children arrived, carrying the palette, paints, and canvas.

Vincent said, “Well, it seems there is only one thing that I am required to do.”

Catherine asked, “What’s that?”

“Fetch the easel!!”

That night, as he lay on his bed in the guest chamber, Bob reflected on the peace and happiness he had found that day with Vincent, Catherine, and the children. He wondered if Heaven would be like this. He would have given anything to have been able to spend the rest of his life – however long or short – there, with the kindest and most caring people he had ever known. But he knew that was impossible, and the next morning he said his goodbyes to Vincent, Father, and the others. As Catherine dropped him off at the airport, he said, “Catherine, I don’t expect I’ll be seeing you again. Look after yourself and take good care of Vincent, won’t you?”

Before she could speak, he placed his finger over her lips and said, “Vincent will explain it to you much better than I can. Just know that I love you both and I wish with all my heart that I had met you all and discovered your world a long, long time ago.”

He kissed her cheek, gave her a hug – and was gone.

Three months later it was announced on TV that Bob Ross, the artist, had died.

Tears were shed by many, but perhaps no more so than in that hole in the ground beneath Central Park.

A week later a large package arrived at Catherine’s apartment. Inside were two paintings. One hangs in pride of place over Catherine’s fireplace and the other is in a chamber, in a tunnel, far below the streets of New York, watched over by all those Happy Little Clouds.