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| You're Who? |
You're Who?
You're leaning forward, your elbows balanced on the hologame board, your
head resting in your palms; watching with rapt interest as the Corellian cleans his blaster.
You're listening hard, a frown gently creasing your forehead as you concentrate on the pilot's story. You're
taking it all so seriously, drinking in every word he utters with innocent embrace, and I have
to turn away to hide the smile which forces itself upon me.
Then he hits you with the punchline, and guffaws loudly when your scowl
deepens with puzzlement. Understanding soon dawns across your features and you burst into sudden
laughter. We glance to one another, and you grin and roll your eyes ,as though you can't believe
your own gullibility.
The laughter is good, cleansing, refreshing; but it cannot last. Ultimately, our brief snatch at mirth ebbs as we return to our tasks, or to our thoughts.
My attention should be focused forward- I should be considering options, contemplating
the possible uses of the data stored within the Artoo unit; praying that the information he carries will
give us the weakness we seek within the Empire's space station. But, I'm finding it difficult to anchor
my concentration to my duties, finding it a strain to keep my thoughts from drifting. And I cannot
stop the flood of guilt which descends, the pain which follows in it's wake; for I believe I should be
thinking of Alderaan, of my home, of my lost people. But I'm not.
I'm thinking of you.
I look your way once more, and again I catch your eye. You smile, quite shyly, and quickly glance away as though embarassed by our contact. I am aware of your attraction to me, and I am flattered by your attentions. However, although I consider you handsome, it is not your looks which I find alluring. It is what you have triggered within myself which draws me.
"You're who?"
By the time you burst into my cell upon the Death Star, I had become
so tired, so weary of that door sliding aside and admitting my captors to prod and question me, that
I was surprised when I found myself stirring to find-not the detention guards or their masters-but a
simple stormtrooper. One whose armor did not quite fit his frame, and who was a good few inches
lacking in height.
I will admit that it was upon this poor wretch that I chose to air my tounge; and so
I spoke with forced derogatory humor, although I knew from past experience he would not answer.
" I'm Luke Skywalker. I'm here to rescue you.""
Again, I have to hide a smile as your eager, sincere introduction returns to me. A rescue was the last thing I had expected. I remember sliding forward on the bunk, trying to grasp what you were telling me; trying to believe what was happening and, curiously, I was struck with a feeling of familiarity, of naturalness. For an instant, I thought I knew you.
" You're who?"
If there were others who heard- and indeed there is a fair possibility that the
cell was being monitored at all times- then they may have believed I was either requestioning that you
repeat your declaration out of puzzlement, or was being glibly sarcastic about your identity. It was
neither.
Your person,your presence was...is...like a fond echo; like the trailing
pleasure of some favored dream. However, I had no time to ponder. You threw more information at me, but all
I heard was 'Artoo unit' and 'Ben Kenobi', and all my hope returned. The spark you had ignited within was
forgotten as we were carried along by events. Now, however, with a few hours before we reach Yavin, I find
my question returning to pester me. Taunt me. The answer seems to dance just beyond my vision, my grasp.
Who are you, Luke Skywalker?
Are you what you claim to be: the son of a Jedi Knight, the nephew
of a murdered farmer? Or are you something more?
When I look at you now, you seem so unaware, so...unknowing. It is evident
that this is all new to you. The sparkle of excitement in your eyes, the enthusiastic questions you
put to Captain Solo, the way you hang on his every word instantly speaks of your inexperience. You
appear to be a puerile youth, a simple lad; and yet you have such depth concealed behind that callow
front. I cannot help but wonder if that is by accident or by design. Why have you been hidden so deeply?
Or am I reading too much into you? Has your claim to be the son of a Jedi Knight activated my imagination, called forth the heroic Jedi tales I was told in childhood? Does the fact that you carry their sword raise my expectations of you?
I turn to watch you again, and find you scratching the tip of your nose. You
lower your hand and it strays to the hilt of the saber which hangs from your belt. For a moment you
appear saddened, as though the feel of the metal grip reminds you of a friend lost, and I know you
are thinking of Kenobi.
Then a tiny smile curls the corners of your lips. It is a pleased smile, as smile
of satisfaction, a smile charged with dreams and aspirations and I am reminded of your words when
I questioned you about the lightsaber earlier.
It was my father's. Now it's mine.
You sounded proud. Bold and angry. Your jaw fixed with keen determination. Your eyes burning with an intensity, a passion, which briefly frightened me. And again, that echo rippled through me that somehow I knew you!"
" You're who?"
I recognize you, and yet I don't. You seem so familiar, yet strange.
I cannot understand these frustrating feelings. I cannot understand why I feel at ease with you, why I
Imimplicitly trusted you on board the Death Star when I cannot say the same for your Corellian friend.
What is it that draws me to you? And if I were to ask you, would you know
yourself? Who is it that you remind me so strongly of?
You're laughing again, and I find myself smiling at the sound. We are at a turning point in this war; a dark and terrible juncture which will quite possibly end in our deaths. And the Galaxy's enslavement will continue with our demise, yet you can find light in such a dark place. You, who have lost family and friends. You who have been forced by circumstances to become a killer, can take delight even now. And I'm finding your energy attractive and infectious. You have awakened me from the nightmare, banished the chasing spectres, comforted me by your presence and turned my mind to brighter visions.
My question remains. Why?.
" Princess? Your Highness?" .
My titles sound wrong when spoken by you. I turn and smile once more.
" Call me Leia."
You look surprised and delighted, and behind you the Corellian snorts with
derision and replaces his blaster in its holster. I try to ignore him as he mutters something about
'royal charm' and 'green kids'. You color slightly at his words, but your annoyance is short-lived.
" Sure ...Leia."
I smile at your pronunciation as you brush my name with your accent, and
I know I have heard my name uttered by a similar voice...
A female voice...long ago when...I was little and she...
I feel myself frown as I strain to clasp the transient memory.
" Are you okay?"
I look back to you. You have crossed the compartment and now stand awkwardly
before me. You appear so concerned, so worried for my well-being. You have no idea of the confusion
you have caused within me. I reach forward and take your hand, turn my eyes to yours.
" I 'm fine, Luke." I hear my own pause, my own hesitation. Then I utter
the words which I do not understand, for they are words intended for a close friend, a cherished
companion. " I'm glad you're here."
And I see my own confusion reflected within your eyes.
A quiet tone breaks the stillness of the moment, and you glance
away as the Corellian calls you.
" Come on, kid. We've arrived. Let's have a look at this Rebel Base of her's."
Excitement replaces perplexity. Your eyes burn with anticipation, your pupils
are wide and wild and you cannot hide your eagerness, your desire to discover. I release your
hand and urge you forward.
" Go on." Then I watch you follow the pilot from the passenger area
to the cockpit.
I wish I could feel the same sense of exhilaration as you. I wish I could be so innocent as to believe that this is only the next phase of an incredible adventure. We are of a similar ages, and yet I feel so much older; weighed down by war and political duties, and I envy you and pity you. I know the losses you have suffered, and the realities of this civil war will inevitably break through your natural defenses. I can only pray that you will never become one of its victims.
The ship shudders slightly as we hit some atmospheric turbulence, and I am jolted from my thoughts. I have to refocus myself to the hours to come. To the battle which looms before us, and I am nowhere near to solving the puzzle you have become. Perhaps I never will.I only know, now, that somehow-with your presence- I feel complete. Despite the loss of my world, my home, I feel as though I've gained something; and that knowledge comforts me, eases my grief and gives me renewed hope.
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