O George, Where Art Thou?

An elderly man, with a slight hunch to his upper back, clutching a worn book and dressed in a turtle green pull-over cardigan with denim slacks, strolled into Hollands one evening in need of a friend. As he walked in, the younger, and mildly attractive, greeter nodded their head from the waist high podium and pointed towards the back of the restaurant, giving off the “all-too-familiar” air that the elderly man was more than just a casual diner or coincidental tourist.

He walked gingerly past the many aisles, only peeking around the restaurant occasionally, and found several one-on-one pairs deep in conversation, sometimes three or more; deep in thought; deep in long and thoughtful, intense stares of meaning. He’d be the first to tell you how much he hated the notion of feeling “spied on” and wanted to subtly just look about with the hopes the others would pay him that same respect.

The elderly man turned a small corner and found his booth in the back, where there wasn’t a single customer. He had the row to himself. On many black and grey nights, he found himself in this very booth sometimes with a friend, and sometimes alone in his head- a place he made himself a common visitor.

On his right, there was the long rectangular window that brimmed with droplets of rain and clear streaks, to look out of and watch… watch people, watch people walk, watch people walk and talk.. just watch.

The elderly man sat in his booth and not far away was a young waiter who had carefully observed his new customer. He had only started working at Hollands fairly recently, but had been told that every so often, that a elderly man will come into the restaurant, sometimes looking for a friend and sometimes just wanting to sit and think- but that he was to be treated like every other customer of the evening. He waited for the elderly man to get comfortable, or at least appear to be, and proceeded in his direction. He was careful to walk a nice… slow… and steady… pace. Not to come off in a rush, but like a friend greeting another-

“Welcome to Hollands, sir. My name is Darell. What is your name?”

“Hello Darell. My name is Tim.”

“Tim, I’ll be your friend this evening. Before we start, did you have a preference- were you seeking an older friend? Particular gender? Color?-“

“No, Darell. You’ll do just fine. Thank you.”

“Tim, may I get you anything to drink? We have alcohol, assortment of juices, coffee or tea, water?”

“I’ll just have a glass of water. Thank you.”

“Of course. I’ll be back with your glass of water.”

Darell offered a curt smile, nodded, turned and walked away. Tim watched after him and then looked back out the window. He starred at something far off into the distance of the evening and broke his trance upon the soft sound of steps coming toward his way.

Darell set the glass of water in front of Tim and sat on the side opposite. “Tim, I brought a menu for the evening. I’ve been briefed that you are a regular of Hollands, but I wanted to bring one for you anyway. Do you have an idea of what sort of friend you were seeking this evening? Were you looking for someone to carry the conversation or someone to listen to you? Do you have an idea for how long you think you’ll be a visitor? I will say our most popular package is the unlimited. I consider it a buffet, or as much as you believe you are in need of a friend. The price is quite reasonable, where after sometime you and I will enjoy a nice dinner and continue our conversation, for as long as you are in need.”

Tim, be-speckled with small brown spots across his face and thinning, white spiked hair just on top, looked at Darell and then the water, then back a Darell. His right hand glided lightly across the menu.

“Darell, I think.. I think I would like to go all the way this evening and speak with my brother I want to see him. I haven’t seen him.”

Darell leaned backward. “Marvelous. I have to say you have made quite the impression upon my co-workers. Many times I’ve heard, you come into Hollands and it’s always just been a conversation- a pleasant conversation- but a conversation nonetheless. If you don’t mind Tim, I’d like to know why tonight it changes?”

Tim looked on and around the room and then back to Darell, who for all purposes, came off quite sincere. Tim tucked his chin and met Darell’s easy gaze.

“My older brother died 50 years ago you see. In that time the world has changed, mostly for the good and some for the worse. But, people like you have been discovered to have an absolutely extraordinary gift to tap into that other side and be a vessel, if you will for those like me to communicate with them, like my brother. Frankly, it scares the living shit out of me.” Both men erupt in laughter.

“But, I’ve come here for many, many years and I always would say, ‘young chap- tonight we go into Hollands, and tonight we see our brother… again’. Well, as you know, I come to Hollands frequently, but I’ve just never been able to see him. Perhaps it’s been fear, guilt, but why now? Now I’m old and I’m dying, Darell. To cut to it. I’m losing my mind too, so I’m told and I- and I just want to finally see him one time. To be with my brother again.”

Darell remained quiet. Very quiet.

“Tim, do you have a photo of…?”

“His name is George. Was George. Here’s the photo. This was just over fifty years ago in Ankara, Turkey. It’s where- um…. That’s me there,” Tim pointed to the left side of the picture, showing a much younger Tim, with recognizable brown spiked hair and sporting a childish grin.

“And this is George? You didn’t tell me you were twins!” exclaimed Darell. Tim lightly brushed the photo again. George looked taller, fuller in the chest. He wore hair that grew neck length and parted at top. Otherwise, he and Tim nearly resembled.

“Yes, that would be him,” Tim said moments later. Sadness burrowed as quickly onto his face as happiness had just before. Tim looked back out that rectangular window.

” I’m very sorry for your loss. I sense this pain is something you never recovered from. I couldn’t imagine not having anyone of my family for less than a day, let alone fifty years or more. Let’s bring out George. But, I need you to be completely quiet and allow me to concentrate. I will make the attempt to connect with the other side. Upon doing so, if George is willing to come out, he will assume my body- flesh and all- for a limited time. The connection can vary, depending, so please do not touch me- rather George- as that will break the frequency of our connection. Stability is what we seek. Are you ready?” Darell asked as he reached his hands out and gently placed them upon Tim’s. Tim nodded and that childish grin broke through.

Darell cleared his throat. He closed his eyes and took long breaths in, long exhales out. He opened his eyes and fixated on the photo. The intensity of his stare, his face stone-still, never changed. Tim began to notice the space around them shift from the comfortable glow of light to a gradual muted blackness. In the middle of the table a bright light, orb-like, elevated upwards through the table and hovered over the middle. Tim was frightened slightly as he leapt backwards. Whenever he’d visit Hollands, he realized he never paid much attention to the other visitors to see if this was a normal part of the ritual. The more he suddenly thought about it, he doesn’t ever remember the room ever growing darker or feeling muted, as if even if he breathed loudly he’d be considered a disruptor. This moment confirmed 100% for Tim: I really hate the supernatural.

Once Tim peeled his eyes away from the bright orb, he looked up and saw that Darell was no longer in the seat. Tim became frantic and thought he couldn’t have looked away anymore than a second or two. Tim could quickly tell that that the space of which Darell just occupied looked darker, if that was possible. Just as confused as he was by the whole process and Darell’s sudden disappearance, the blackness around Tim suddenly shifted back to normal, and Tim *gasped*, almost forgetting how to breathe.

“G-G-G-George! Georgie! Brother!” Tim forced. In front of Tim, sat his older brother by just a few minutes, George. He looked just as young as he ever was- at least since Tim last saw him alive. George sported that shoulder length brown hair that seemed golden in its presence. In his seat, he looked taller, more fuller in the chest, wrinkle free. Tim almost forgot that George should be a man in his mid-40’s.

George gave Tim a soft smile and only stared at him. They sat for several minutes only looking into each other’s eyes. Tim’s hands trembled as he struggled to contain his excitement, and then his embarrassment.

“I got old, Georgie. I got old. They say-” Tim paused. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a photo and placed it onto the table, and slid it to George. “That’s little Danny. You remember little Danny, right?” George picked the photo up from the table and could only gaze at his bright-eyed nephew, with a big, big smile as he stared warmly into his daddy’s eyes.. George slid the photo back to Tim.

“I’m.. Do you remember when we were kids and we played with the binoculars? Remember Georgie? You chased me around the yard s- so you could take them from me and then father came,” Tim reminisced. As he pictured that moment, two little children ran by the table in blue overalls giggling- one chasing the other holding binoculars. “See Georgie! Just like I remembered!” Tim stated with boosted excitement. George could only stare at his little brother and smiled only more.

“I miss you,” Tim spoke as his voice faded. The two little boys came running by the table once more. “I miss you so much Georgie. They say I’m crazy, but they don’t-they don’t know this place, don’t know you,” Tim said as his voice could barely rise above a whisper and trembled at each word spoken. Tim reached out to hold George’s hand. “I lo-“

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“Dad! Dad! Please! Dad!” shouted a concerned man as he desperately averted a group away to give Tim space. Tim’s head swam left and right, front to back, scared to hell not understanding how he was here and now. “Dad! Can you hear me? It’s me Danny. Dad!” said the man who called himself Danny and Tim, dad. Tim looked all around him and he found that he was in a small square box of a room: with egg shell white walls, a twin bed, minimal pictures on his wall, a television set and a dinner tray next to a mini dresser and lamp.

“Where’s George? George! George! Georgie!” Tim shouted over and over and over. He attempted to stand, but he quickly found that he could barely move his legs and realized in that moment he was confined to a wheelchair. “I was at Hollands! I want to go back to Hollands! I was talking to George. Find Darell and he can explain. Take me back please-“

“Dad, you’re at the nursing facility. Dad..” Danny trailed off and dropped his head to sigh. “Honey, take the kids to find the nurse and maybe bring something for my dad to drink, please. Water or a sprite, just something,” asked Danny exasperated. Danny’s wife and children quietly slink out of the room, but not before indulging their curiosities and stealing a prolonged quaffed view of the upsetting moment that was carrying out in front of them.

“I was at Hollands … Darell made George … Georgie, I don’t understand…” Tim pushed out with fear trembling on the roof of his tongue. He looked past Danny, who was now sitting against the wall with silent tears sliding down his cheek as he listened to his father, and on his right, there was the long rectangular window that brimmed with droplets of rain and clear streaks, to look out of and watch…

“I was at Hollands and Georgie…” Tim trailed off.