"Aw, Chris - why not?"
Their faces did a lot of changes. This was the first time in history I hadn't wanted to go. "You're kidding, Chris."
"Sure he is."
"No, he's not. He means it," said Priory. "And I don't want to go either. We go every Saturday. It gets tiresome. We can go next week instead."
"Aw . . ."
They didn't like it, but they didn't go off by themselves. It was no fun, they said, without us.
"What the heck- we'll go next week."
"Sure we will. What do you want to do, Chris?"
I told them.
We spent the morning playing Kick the Can and some games we'd given up a long time ago, and we hiked out along some old rusty and abandoned railroad tracks and walked in a small woods outside town and photographed some birds and went swimming raw, and all the time I kept thinking - this is the last day.
We did everything we had ever done before on Saturday. All the silly crazy things, and nobody knew I was going away except Ralph, and five o'clock kept getting nearer and nearer.
At four, I said good-bye to the kids.
"Leaving so soon, Chris? What about tonight?"
"Call for me at eight," I said. "We'll go see the new Sally Gibberts picturel"
"Swell."
"Cut gravity!"
And Ralph and I went home.
Mother wasn't there, but she had left part of herself, her smile and her voice and her words on a spool of audio-film on my bed. I inserted it in the viewer and threw the picture on the wall. Soft yellow hair, her white face and her quiet words:
"I hate good-byes, Chris. I've gone to the laboratory to do some extra work. Good luck. All of my love. When I see you again - you'll be a man."
That was all.
Priory waited outside while I saw it over four times. "I hate good-byes, Chris. I've gone . . . work. . . . luck. All . . . my love. . . ."
I had made a film-spool myself the night before. I spotted it in the viewer and left it there. It only said good-bye.
Priory walked halfway with me. I wouldn't let him get on the Rocket Port monorail with me. I just shook his hand, tight, and said, "It was fun today, Ralph."
"Yeah. Well, see you next Saturday, huh, Chris?"
"I wish I could say yes."
"Say yes anyway. Next Saturday - the woods, the gang, the rockets, and Old Man Wickard and his trusty para-gun."
We laughed. "Sure. Next Saturday, early. Take - Take care of our mother, will you, Priory?"
"That's a silly question, you nut," he said.
"It is, isn't it?"
He swallowed. "Chris."