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Meditation has been quite different ever since you returned from Dagobah about two weeks ago. In the past, it was characterized by a pleasant nothingness that centered you and calmed your mind. Now, though, vibrant memories infiltrate your mind and your senses. Some are precious, some are hard to swallow, and some are downright grim, but most are a mix of these, a melody of both tragedy and hope. The Force is showing you the lessons you’ve learned.
You remember Luke’s words on the voyage home: “Something’s coming.” One day—whether it be near or far—the Force will become unbalanced again, as it was when you were born and as it remained until Luke’s father, the Chosen One, turned back to the light—and died for his actions.
Maybe, you ponder, the Force is guiding me to let my understanding of the past inform my relationship with the Future.
You long to submit to the Force, to give it the patience it requires, and you long for it to use you as an agent of the light. You’re determined not to force anything—not in your duties as a Jedi Master, not in your relationship with Luke, and not even in your own meditation. So, as you settle down on the crag overlooking the vast lake, relishing in the sound of the wind in the trees, you ask the Force to lead you wherever it wants.
With a deep breath, you cross your legs, close your eyes, and place your hands on your knees. As nagging thoughts of chores and the day’s duties take up camp in your mind, you acknowledge them and then imagine them floating away with the breeze that lifts the edges of your robes. With each one that you send away, you feel ever lighter until your body gently lifts off the ground.
One word forms in your mind: peace. It’s not harassing, so you don’t send it away, instead allowing it to build within you to a strong-yet-soft intensity. With satisfaction, you realize that Luke’s voice is forming the word. A memory of his cryptic smile dances at the edge of your mind, and the corners of your lips twitch upward, before descending back into a soft line. Was he always this mysterious?
A sudden yank in your gut almost causes you to cry out in surprise. In your mind’s eye, you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, miles of endless sand splayed out in every direction, except in the center of it all, in a valley, where you can make out a small town. You know this place.
The voice of a dear, long-lost friend speaks up from your left side: “Mos Eisley spaceport. You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious.”
You will your head to whip around to look at Ben Kenobi, your first master, and the nine-years-younger Luke, whom you know stands beside him, but turn in the opposite direction toward the red speeder you know so well. It’s your memory, and you’re unable to control your actions.
The droids sit down in the back first, and you wait as Ben and Luke climb in. You wonder where you’re going to sit—you don’t remember not having room—before your younger self plops down on Luke’s lap and braces yourself by holding onto the side of the vehicle. This is weird. There’s no other word for it. You and Luke hold hands and touch each other’s shoulders, but it’s rare for you to even hug. It’s a safe assumption that this is the first and last time this occurred. Although, it would’ve been weirder to sit in Ben’s lap.
Luke brings his arms around you to turn on the speeder and grip the steering wheel, coughing awkwardly. Five minutes later, the five of you have journeyed into town in silence, Luke peering around you to see where he’s going.
Your journey has taken you to the center of the town, where stormtroopers surround the vehicle and Luke is forced to stop. You eye their blasters cautiously and wait for them to speak. You find that you already know exactly what they’re going to say.
The one to your right, nodding to the passengers in the back of the speeder, says “How long have you had these droids?”
Luke’s answer is instant. “About three or four seasons.”
In a clever move, Ben adds, “They’re up for sale, if you want them.”
Clever, wise Ben. You still haven’t been able to properly look at him—or Luke, for that matter.
The same stormtrooper demands, “Let me see your identification.”
Ben retorts, “You don’t need to see his identification,” and you finally turn to look at him. His smile is smug, and his hand rests upon his chest, where he laid it after a small wave. You want to smile, but your younger self frowns in confusion. You’re having a hard time distinguishing between your two identities. Maybe you should stop fighting it. Maybe then you’ll see what the Force wants you to see.
The stormtrooper and Ben converse, the former copying the latter’s words, unknowingly falling for Ben’s mind trick. Finally, the stormtrooper ushers you away with a “Move along, move along.”
You park, and a Jawa begins caressing the speeder.
C-3PO remarks, “I can’t abide those Jawas. Disgusting creatures.”
You huff in annoyance, get out, and shoo the Jawa away. “Go on, go on.”
Luke—now out of the speeder himself—addresses Ben. “I don’t understand how we got by those troopers. I thought we were dead.”
“The Force can have a strong influence on the weak minded,” Ben replies.
You look at the cantina. Luke is unimpressed and says, “You really think we’re gonna find a pilot here that’ll take us to Alderaan?”
Ben nods. “Most of the freighter pilots are to be found here. Only watch your step; this place can be a little rough.”
“I’m ready for anything,” Luke assures him, and you’re struck by how similar, and how different, he is now. Luke is still up for anything, but he puts on less of an air than he did back then. He feels less like he has to prove himself. You’ll tell him later that you’re proud of him.
As you walk toward the building, you notice for the first time how your shoulders are slumped, how your gaze is in a stand-off with the ground, and how your body feels so heavy. It’s an effort to keep up with your companions. You reach within yourself, and there is a numbness covering a solid layer of despair, of hopelessness. You feel alone. And no wonder…you’re here because your parents have died, along with Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru. Despite the heaviness, you feel like a hollow shell. It’s still painful to think about to this day—even to reminisce on the victory that is to come.
You walk through the door. Ben goes to the bar, but you and Luke remain at the entrance, taking the scene in—you can’t help it. You’ve never seen such a gathering of individuals in your lives. None of it is pleasant to look at, but the music, played by seven Biths, isn’t…terrible. It’s certainly the most pleasant aspect of the room you’re in.
You finish taking in the scene, and your eyes immediately drift back down to the floor, watching your feet as you shuffle a little. Luke’s gaze is on you, but before he can say anything to you, the bartender yells, “Hey, we don’t serve their kind here.”
“What?” Luke asks.
The man points to R2-D2 and C-3PO. “Your droids. They’ll have to wait outside. We don’t want them here.”
Luke turns to 3PO, patting his shoulder. “Why don’t you go wait out by the speeder? We don’t want any trouble.”
3PO hasn’t changed a bit after all these years, so you’re unsurprised to hear him reply, “I heartily agree with you, sir.”
You remember when you first met him, how he called you “Mistress (Y/N)” and Luke “Sir Luke.” You had assured him that your first names were fine, but he was a creature of habit. To this day, he never calls you by your first name alone. It’s always “Mistress,” “Miss,” “Mistress (Y/N),” or “Miss (Y/N).” R2 is certainly the more informal of the two—and the more confident. R2 lives at the Academy, whereas 3PO is with Leia now, serving as her personal droid. That’s a much better place for him than with you and Luke, on your adventures.
The droids now outside, Luke moves to stand in front of you. He watches you for a moment before nudging your foot with one of his own, as if to say, “Hello?”
You sigh, nudge him back, and look him in the eye, not trying to hide how you feel from him. As he gazes on you, his expression becomes like yours, and he closes his eyes. Nine years ago, when this occurred, you couldn’t sense his emotions—not like you can now—but your Force awareness has followed you in this memory, and you can feel everything he’s feeling. Up until now, he was trying to be strong, trying to get through this alive, in one piece, but the look on your face tears him apart and breaks down his walls.
You finally speak up, your voice fighting to remain steady. Your throat aches with the effort. “We’re alone, Luke,” you manage, “All alone. Everyone we love most is gone.” A single tear leaves your eye, and you struggle against the urge to release more.
His eyes open, but the melancholy that was there before has disappeared and has been replaced by fierce, determined love—those are the only words for it. Luke reaches down, not breaking eye contact, and grips your hand in his own. With an urgent tone, he contends, “No. No, we have each other.” After a pause he squeezes your hand for the very first time. Your younger self collides with the current you as you breathe in an almost-hysterical laugh in pure, unadulterated relief. You squeeze back, and he smiles, closing his eyes for a brief moment.
The sound of blaster fire and a yelp of pain rips you from the moment. The two of you run over to where Ben is extinguishing his lightsaber, next to a man whose arm now lies on the floor of the cantina. To this day, you have no idea what you missed, for Ben doesn’t offer an explanation, instead nodding at the Wookiee behind him before speaking to you and Luke. “Chewbacca here is first mate on a ship that might suit us.”
Your heart leaps in your chest at the sight of him—your friend, Chewie. He looks the same; nine years hasn’t changed him. He leads you over to a booth, where you sit down, followed by Chewie and—Oh, my stars, you think—a younger Han, who sit across from you. Han has certainly changed—much more than Chewie. You immediately decide against ever saying that to his face—unless his ego ever necessitates it.
Han wastes no time, introducing himself and getting to the business at hand. “Han Solo. I’m captain of the Millennium Falcon. Chewie here tells me you’re looking for passage to the Alderaan system.”
While he’s speaking, Luke grabs your hand again, squeezing it once. You look at him with a smile, knowing that you’ll never feel alone with your best friend by your side.
The image fades to black, and you open your eyes, your body settling down on the hard rock underneath you. Your ears can once again hear the wind in the trees; your eyes are once again graced by the beauty of the lake, whose surface is momentarily disturbed by a large fish breaching its surface and diving back down into its depths. You breathe in a full breath, and you let it go, imagining it swirling away with the leaves that drift through the air. The cool season is coming—so different from Tatooine, where the stifling heat of the suns is relentless, where the night is the only place one feels a chill.
You stand up at the sound of distant laughter—your padawans. You admire—and long for—their carefree spirits, and you hope they never know the loss and pain that you and Luke—their masters—have experienced. However, it’s an unrealistic dream; you know that such things are unavoidable. So, you amend it: You hope that when they do feel loss and pain, they have someone to squeeze their hand and let them know that they’re not alone.