And so! At last our story ends. I must admit, as hard as the previous chapter was to write, this one is harder still to post. It hurts to end the journey, and it hurts to close the door here. And yet, as we have shown, this journey doesn't really end, the road just twists to one side and finds a new direction and a new path. I hope you've enjoyed the walk with me to this point, and I hope the bend in the road treats you well if we part at this juncture.
But I'd like to dedicate this last chapter to everyone who has read since the beginning, laughed and cried and carried the story in their hearts, and hoped that I might prove all their hopes right. This is for you, for everyone who ever wept at the beginning and end of this movie, for everyone who dared to believe in the secrets and stories within the story, and dared to believe in my telling of them.
I do not own these characters or their circumstances. I am merely a voice to a wider tale waiting to be told. May it never end!
Unending: Walter's continuation of Hub and Garth and their story
"Do you like it up here?"
"Yeah. It's high and far away like a tree-house I read about in a book once. And I like looking out the window. It's way different from the city. And it looks like the clouds go on forever up there."
"They do. The sky only pretends to touch the ground out near the horizon, only pretends to connect to the fields and grasses. But really, the clouds are flying, and no amount of time or distance can ever bring them down."
"How come there's a big hole in the barn, though?"
"Well…some holes don't need to be patched up, you know. Some holes just stay for a while."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing. Never mind. Your dad said you like corn, right? Want some for dinner?"
"You'll have to help me get it out of the garden, then."
"What, like pick it off the tree?"
"Not a tree. A stalk. Haven't you ever seen a cornstalk before?"
"Nah. Food in the city comes from the store. Everybody knows that."
"Oh, right. Of course. Well, in your world, everybody flies anywhere they want in private planes, too. Here, we walk. Or ride in that."
"That beat up old truck down there? Does it even work?"
"It sure does."
"Wow. This place is weird. But neat."
"That's what I thought, too, when I came to live here for the summer."
"Was that when you met the two men from my grandfather's stories?"
"Sure was. And I'll make you a deal for the time you're here before you go back to your dad's. You tell me the stories your grandfather told you, and I'll tell you the ones my uncles told me."
"But they're the same stories."
"I'm not so sure about that."
"Because I think what your grandfather saw, maybe what everybody saw, was like the horizon out there. That eventually the clouds and sky melt into the world and become a part of it. But if you asked the clouds themselves, they'd tell you that they never touch ground, that they don't live by any definitions or limits, that they're really free, and just let us all think they can be nailed down."
"So…you're saying your uncles can't be nailed down?"
"Exactly. Like I told you when I first met you and your dad, they really lived. And they didn't live on the ground. They lived in the sky, free and wild."
"Wow. I want to live like that."
"Yeah. But I don't know how."
"Come on downstairs. Pick some corn with me. And I'll start to tell you the story about those honest and brave men, and the princess named Jasmine, and then a scrawny kid and an old lion and the weirdest family you ever heard of, and we'll see if you figure it out along the way. What I learned when I was a little older than you was that, if you listen to those stories long enough, you kind of find your way to their sky on your own."
"Okay. Thanks, Uncle Walter."
"You're welcome, kiddo."