Part 1

On February 23rd, 2010, my mother disappeared.

I remember the morning vividly. It was cold. The sun reflected off the freshly laid snow directly onto my face, offering a comfortable warmth. I reached my tiny arms up towards my face, rubbing my eyes as I sat up. I was six years old at the time. 

I raced out of my room, exerting far more energy than I had any right to have. As soon as I opened my bedroom door however, I knew something was wrong.

It wasn’t anything specific. Nothing in particular stood out to me at the moment, yet I knew she wasn’t there. I called for her all the same. An hour of my life spent searching my home in a panic.

I remember staring out into our backyard, looking at the snow, knowing that I’d have to call the police. Something we’d practiced many times before, yet I never expected to do it. The glimmer of the snow worked as a nice distraction from the nightmare. We had watched it fall together the night before. It was below freezing, but I didn’t care. The warmth of her hand was all I needed to stand out there.

She’s a fading memory at this point. Subtle glimpses at the woman, filled in by stories from others, none of which matched perfectly. Everyone I’ve met since had a different perception of her. I still wonder what mine would have been.

For that next month I was staying with my father, someone I had little to no relationship with prior to this. It would be inaccurate to say they ever split up. They were barely together to begin with. He was more so forced into the position once she was gone. 

These scars were picked at with the passing of my father. It was just a few days ago. Drank himself to death. It almost felt expected in a grotesque way. 

He called me that day, tried to. I didn’t answer. I don’t even know what I was doing. I just sent it to voicemail. I was going to text him, but couldn’t even be bothered. If he needed me, he could’ve left a message, right? I don’t know if I’ll get over that.

Despite the drinking, he was a great father. All things considered he was a perfect father, but I never really gave him a chance. He tried his best with me, he loved me more than anyone I’ve known, and he let me know it. I just wish I reciprocated. I guess none of that really matters anymore.

He left me this journal. It belonged to my mother. I’d received some random jewelry of hers, hand me down clothes, stuff like that over the years, but somehow had never seen this before. Honestly, I wish I never had.

At first I was upset, but now, I don’t blame him for hiding it from me.

I can’t understand this, no matter how hard I think about it. I’ve been having these vivid dreams ever since. They won’t stop.

They never figured out what happened to her. The investigation came up with nothing. Nothing that made sense. Nothing satisfying. I spent most of my life wondering. Questioning why she left me. Now I know.

I know where my mother went.

Chapter 1

The trees were larger than they should’ve been. Towering over me, giving their best effort to shade the sun from my eyes. They were massive, or I was small. I looked down at my attire, and sure enough, I was wearing a puffy pink jacket, a Beatles shirt two sizes too big, and a pair of light up sneakers. I was a child. 

I heard a distant calling, yelling. Nothing discernible, but I could hear it. And the air was crisp. Not too cold, just a subtle breeze, but I could feel it. Specifically on my cheeks. I could feel the blood rushing to them. I could see, hear, feel, smell, all without that dreamlike quality. It was honestly amazing. Unlike anything I’d felt before.

It was like a vivid memory. One I wasn’t in control of. I was a passenger.

Pulling me from my thoughts, In the distance, far, very far but still discernible, I saw a figure. It looked like a deer, but something was wrong. I just couldn’t tell what at the time. It was standing behind a tree, watching me. It took me a while to make these conclusions, just due to how still it stood. No rocking back and forth, no breathing, barely even reacting to the occasional gust of wind. Just standing. Staring. Watching. 

I wasn’t immediately off-put. There was something comforting about it.

There it was again, that calling. A male voice no doubt. Desperate, yet still, I couldn't make out any words. It came from behind me though, so I instinctually turned, hearing the crunching of the autumn leaves move with my body.

I turned back towards the deer, for some kind of help, some answer, that comfort it just brought me, but it was gone. 

I no longer felt safe.

---

The alarm tone scratched its way into my ears, forcing me out of my deep sleep. The sunlight beaming through the crack in the curtain accompanying the annoying alarm, finding its way perfectly into my eyes.

 I hadn’t experienced a dream like that before, the feeling was new, it was unexpected. A man to my left awoke alongside me, turning my way with a smile.

To be honest, I couldn’t tell you his name.

“Hey, you alright?”, he asked. I wonder if he knew my name.

“Yeah, sorry. Just had a weird dream”

“No, don't be. What time is it?”

“Late”

“Shit yeah it is”

I began pulling clothes on, whatever was easily reachable, paying very little mind to the guy next to me.

“You have somewhere to be?”, he asked.

“Yeah actually. Sorry you’ll have to leave”

“Yeah yeah of course, I’ll get up”

With a groan he pulled himself out of bed, grabbing his clothes from off the ground.

We both sharply turned our heads to the sound of a door opening in another room, something clearly audible in my underfurnished small apartment.

“Who’s that?”, he asked with a concerned tone.

“Charlie?!”, someone called from outside the bedroom.

“Shit”

I quickly pulled on a random shirt, giving up on the bra I was clipping, and stormed out of the room. I think the halfnaked man said something else but I didn’t listen.

I threw open the door to find Ben, standing in my kitchen. Dressed casually for whatever uneventful day awwaited him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”, I asked, angrier than I intended.

“Sorry I just forgot something”

“What?”

“I forgot something here”

“I heard you Ben, what did you forget?”

“My headphones”

“Your headphones aren’t here”

“Well they’re not at my place so”

“That doesn’t mean they’re here and you can’t just show up unannounced”

“It’s not like I didn’t text you Charlie”

“I have your number blocked”

“You what? Why would you do that?”

“I can’t just have you blowing up my phone with random bullshit every time you need something or miss me”

“Oh dear god”, he said, looking past my shoulder.

I turned to find the man standing in my doorway.

“You didn’t-“, the man stammered, unable to finish his sentence.

“No I’m not with him”, I said, gesturing to Ben.

“Are you serious?”, Ben said, offended.

“Ben shut up”

“So this is what you’ve been up to?” He said, gesturing.

“No this isn’t what I’ve been up to. I’ve actually been doing this thing called working a job”

“Really?”

“What?” I scoffed, “I’m just telling you what I’ve been up to”

“I’m sorry can you get the fuck out?”, Ben asked the man behind me.

“Yeah I’m sorry I’ll go”

He quickly made his way out of the room, Ben closing the door behind him. He sighed deeply before continuing the conversation.

I started making myself a coffee, pretending like Ben wasn’t there.

“How long did you wait?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s been two weeks. How long did you wait before fucking that guy? Or any other guy”

“Longer than you waited with Lily”

“That’s entirely different”, he snapped back, too quickly.

“Really? Tell me how it’s different”

“I wasn’t sleeping with her for one”

“You mine as well have been”

“We were just friends”

I scoffed, realizing simutaneously that my phone was buzzing in my pocket. I hung up without looking.

“I thought we were on a break Charlie”, he said.

“We are”

“This isn’t how breaks work”

“Says who?”

“Says me”

“Since when is it up to you?”

“It’s not, but you didn’t think to ask for my input?”

“Not even for a second”, I said, not thinking much about my words as they left.

“Well then we have more issues than I thought”

“You have issues Ben I’m fine”

“Like you’d know”

“All you do is complain to me about your issues”

“No I don’t”

“Yes you do Ben”

“Why do you think I went to Lily?”

“Excuse me?”

My phone began ringing again, loudly disrupting the silence he let the room sit in. I decided to pick it up, grateful for the distraction.

I don’t remember what the woman said. Something sterile, something corporate, something she’s told thousands of people beofre me. She was a pro at breaking bad news. It felt gentle, yet routine. I was one on a list of many.

She told me my father died.

Chapter 2

I spent some time staring at the overly complex carpet my black heels stood upon. Decades of tears and pain seeped within the harsh material, hidden by the variety of colors. I imagined the dark brown woven lines to be tree branches as I thought about my dream. I was in a trance, self induced. Better to think of a dream than to face what lay in that room with me.

“Charlie?”

I looked at the women standing beside me. One of five people that accomponied me in that room, two of which were workers. It was my aunt, father’s sister. She was kind, always meant well, but If what my father and I had was a distant relationship, this woman was a stranger.

“You okay?”, she asked gently.

Her perfume did its best to mask the cigarette ash and smoke that was now one with her black dress. I wondered then how many funerals the outfit has seen. How many will it see before it dies itself.

“Yeah I’m good”

She gave me a smile, gently squeezing my arm before walking down the path, lined with empty chairs, making her way towards the casket. A tradition I’ve never understood, nor have I appreciated. I knew what it meant to others, but I also knew what it meant to me.

I believed in good faith that she would be the last to show up. She moved towards my small group of cousins after looking at the corpse. One was on their phone, couldn’t tell you his name. I couldn’t blame him though, I could only thank him for showing up.

I made my way down the aisle myself, walking steadily towards my father, ready to be hit with a sterile scent. To this day I’m not sure if it’s something they use in my local nursing home, or if it’s just in my head. Regardless, it stings my nostrils as it makes its way to my lungs, every time. Without fail.

Before I knew it, I was looking at my dad again. His eyes closed, arms crossed upon his well fitted suit. He looked great. Better than he had in years. He looked closer to death a few months ago than he does now. 

“I’m sorry dad”

I didn’t mean for the words to come out, yet they did. Flowing out of my mouth, drifting down and hovering above a set of ears that can no longer hear. Words that can only mean anything to me. I can’t get forgiveness, not for this. I should’ve been there for him. Even if it was just an extra day. Yet I couldn’t be bothered. 

I thought of how many before me stood in my place, staring at their loved one, thinking the same thing. If only. If only. I won’t make this mistake again. Yet we always do. Every time, we feel the same way. 

I’m still sorry, even today. I hope I can make it up to you dad. Some time. Soon.

Chapter 3

My childhood home was nothing too special a decade ago, and not much had changed. I spent some time staring at it through my car window. A small, one story home, a decent way off from the nearest main road, a shout’s distance from the nearest neighor if I was lucky. Not that I made much use of that growing up. My father was a very quiet, reserved man, and preferred to keep every element of his life that way. I always wondered if he was any different before my mom passed. Before he had me.

While the moral obligation to hold onto the place was strong, my disinterest in living there was stronger. I just wanted to empty the place and move on, something that would take longer than I’d like for the undiagnosed hoarder my father was. This was immediately confirmed for me as I opened the front door, pushing a heavy garbage bag alongside it. One that had the good intention of being taken out one day. The day never came.

Once I passed through the living room, stepping over random papers and dirty clothes, none of which he’d worn since I’ve known him, the odor of the place really presented itself. A thick musk of cigars and molding wood. The house felt as dead as he was, barely being held together by a few old memories, left with me to keep stable. Everything was left with me. Who else would he have given it to? I had never seen the man spend time with anyone outside of work. By the time I had bought him a cell phone, his only contact was me. It was sweet, but depressing.

I made my way to my old bedroom, hesitating before opening the door. I’m not sure why I did. It had been years since I’d been in there, but it was like I was scared to see it. Scared to remember being a kid. Scared to remember all the time I’ve lost.

I stopped myself, preventing a breakdown before it came, and pushed open the door, not allowing myself the time to overthink it. My room was smaller than I remembered, a cliche I hadn’t understood before that moment. Not a single thing was touched. It was spotless. Even my old bed was made, something I remember doing before I moved out. I wanted at least one room in the house to look nice before I left.

I had a feeling he’d never gone in there. He was never one to show much emotion, typical macho tough guy, a layer of grease and oil covering his hands that paint thinner wouldn’t even remove. So him sitting in my pink walled bedroom alongside the few plushies I left behind, reminiscing about his daughter, hell even missing his daughter, was a near impossibility.

It still hurt all the same.

-----

It was morning. Still early enough for that greyish hue in the sky. I was laying on the grass, my jacket being used as a makeshift pillow, with another random jacket laid on top of me, yet I was freezing, presumably what woke me up, and the fire that was once full of life was now barely lit. 

“Hey”

I jumped, shooting my head towards the voice. Standing, only a few feet behind me, was a boy, poking the fire with a stick.

He was probably twelve? Not threatening in the slightest. He had lightly curly hair, jeans, I guess just, normal clothes? It’s one of the only things I don’t remember too well. I guess I was just shocked to see another person.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you, are you alright?”

“Um… yeah I’m okay”

He looked at me for a moment, a saddened look in his eyes. One I didn’t understand at the time.

I’m not sure what it was, why I thought this, or why I knew this, but he wasn’t real, he couldn’t have been. I was in the middle of the woods completely lost. Why would this kid be here with me? I know it’s a dream regardless, but he specifically gave me such an odd feeling. Like a false comfort.

I didn’t feel like I was in any danger, if I had I would’ve just run, but I felt… I felt like he was lying. Maybe not with his words, but with his appearance. He looked this way because if he didn’t, I’d be scared. He didn’t want to scare me.

“Are you lost?”

“Yes”, I said, pulling my focus to the fire. It felt rude to stare at him for too long.

“Yeah, me too. I’m gonna help you get out of here though, okay?”

“Do you know where we are?”

“Well, I still haven’t figured that part out, but I'm here to help you. That much I know. So whatever you need just let me know”

“I just want to go home”

“I know. Me too. We’ll get there. Soon enough”

“Where’s my dad?”

“I’m not sure, we’re going to find him though”

“Why are you here?”

He took a while to answer that question. I let him think of an answer. One that never came.

----

I was yanked from my dream, frantically trying to make sense of my surroundings as my brain attempted to catch up to my body. I was on the living room couch, a small portion of which I hadn’t remembered clearing off, yet evidently did. It was still dark outside, near pitch black in the room as I tried to discern what woke me up. My ears and eyes adjusted near in unison to the unnatural darkness and sounds enveloping me. Then, just as my mind processed what I was picking up, the final ring of a grandfather clock chimed, bringing the room yet again to a discomforting silence. 

I began to panic. I had no clue where the closest light was, nor where I’d even begin to look for one. It had been years since I’d been in that house and any idea of my fathers placements surely would have been undone by a mountain of unopened mail or trash. 

The fuzzy outline of the living room furniture started becoming visible as I frantically looked around the room, the sound of my eyeballs scraping against my lids breaking the otherwise silent space I found myself in. 

 I sat up from the couch. As if the home itself was punishing me for my noise, a faint creak emanated from my left. Directly from the large window that spanned the front deck. 

I stared at that window for a long, long time. Taking every second desperately trying to see what was outside, what could have possibly made the noise, with nothing but an endless void staring back at me. Not even a hint of a star nor moon. Nothing but a deep dark abyss.  I felt like a child seeing the jacket shaped monster sitting on their chair. No matter the self reassurance and reasoning, I couldn’t shake the dreadful feeling coursing through my very being. I was being watched, I wasn’t safe, and I didn’t know why.

A noise from behind me pulled me out of the self induced trance, unconsciously whipping my head in the direction. Similarly, nothing there, but my newly adjusted eyes were able to see a light switch on the far wall, nearest the long hallway leading to the bedrooms.

In a quick motion, I moved towards the light switch, feeling the window itself staring me down as I went. Chills scraped down my back, feeling as though the cold glass itself touched me. 

I reached for the light, hitting the wall quicker than I intended, and in an instant, the room was filled with a warm glow, illuminating, nothing. The room was completely undisturbed. Even the numbing silence seemed to dissipate. Despite the thin blanket of comfort the light provided, I couldn’t stop looking at the window. It wouldn’t stop looking at me.

I’m not sure what came over me then. Perhaps an adrenaline boost, or just a lack of critical thinking, but I walked towards the front door, switched on the outside light, and opened it.

The frigid winter air greeted me harshly. I gave it no mind though, I just turned to face where I’d heard the noise. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing there. I scoffed at myself, pulling the door closed behind me as I made my way back to the couch. Not before throwing the blinds over the large window.

Even with the reassurance, something still didn’t sit right. I’m not sure how I managed to forget at the time, but it hit me shortly thereafter.

While my father was a hoarder, he never owned a grandfather clock.

Chapter 5

The next few hours were a blur. A rush of exploring every inch of the home, desperately trying to find what could have made that noise. The idea of it being in my head, maybe a remnant from the weird dream I had, but it was so clear. A distinct, loud chime of a grandfather clock, echoing throughout the home. A small home mind you, one floor, not enough room to hide a small chair let alone a massive clock.

I began towards the bedrooms down the hall, when my head brushed against something. A long pull string dangling from the ceiling. I had never been up there, honestly I'd forgotten we had an attic. It was never a place for a young woman like me to go into, according to him.

I pulled on the string, a layer of dust only touched by time falling in rhythm with the unfolding wooden steps. The metal hinges moving for the first time in decades, creaking loudly as they went. I was more scared of the stairs themselves than the balck void they led to. Yet, I scaled them, carefully, the aged wood creaking with every step.

The first thing I noticed upon entering, phone light in hand, was the lack of cigar smoke that had stained every inch of the first floor. It was dusty, with a hint of mold flowing through my sinus’s, but it was a nice relief in comparison.

It was nearly empty, a couple of Christmas decorations sprawn about, none of which I recognized. They all had an aged look to them. Something you’d find in a thrift store or a yard sale. A fifty year old ceramic figure of an elf, most likely irradiated with an obscene amount of lead, left to rot, until someone finds some meaning in it. Today wasn’t that day though, so Into the makeshift donate pile it went.

It didn’t take me long to sweep through the cramped space, again there was very little up there. In the back corner of the attic however, something I almost missed entirely, was a cardboard box. There was writing on the side, the remnants of a sharpie desperately trying to not fade away, but it was hard to make out. I made my way over to it, expecting more trash. What I found instead would change the course of my life forever, even if I didn’t know it yet.

It was mostly clothes, but on the top was a photo of my mother and I. She was smiling brightly, holding me in her arms. I couldn’t have been more than a few months old. I was always told I looked like my mother, mainly by my grandparents, but it always shocks me how true it is whenever I see a photo of her. Subtle differences, but a stranger could be tricked into believing we’re the same person.

That always bothered me. I’ve gotten a lot, a lot from my mother. Personality, nearly identical, looks even more so. More than I’d ever want, but while holding that photo, I didn’t mind.

I dug through the clothes, all of which were nothing special, weirdly a fair number of child's clothing, none of which I recognized. Until one caught my eye.

A small pink jacket, with a puffy white lining. At that moment, I felt inclined to look around the room. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. Removing it from the box however, revealed something else. Something that took me a while to fully process. Deja Vu screaming into my ear as I stared, trying to understand. 

An old Beatles shirt.

Part 2

On March 23rd, 2010, my mother was found.

One month to the day, laying in her bed. As if she’d never left. No one understood how. They said she hadn’t been dead for more than a few hours. Hell, the body was still a bit warm. She had run off on the night of her disappearance. Had a mental break of some kind, just to come back a month later, and die in her bed. It was a suicide. 

That’s what they told me. It’s what I believed for so long. It was the only tangible thing I could hold onto. A young girl, desperate for answers, wanting nothing more than to know what happened to her mother. They thought it was easier to lie, than to admit they were as lost as I was.

She was wearing the same pajamas as the night she went missing. I remember pointing that out to them. They assumed I just misremembered, but I knew. The black hoodie I played with the sleeve of as she read me a story for bed. The out of season easter pajama pants that she found so comfortable. Her white college T Shirt, still stained with hot chocolate. 

I watched her open my door that night. She put me to bed, a tradition I was far too old for, but I didn’t mind. She stood at my door for a moment, longer than I’d expect.

“You know I love you?”, she asked, as if the answer was unclear.

“I know, I love you too”

She gave me a weak, tired smile, before closing my door. It was the last time I saw her alive. 

I have my theories now, but they’re just that, all of which distort any concept of reality I’ve desperately been trying to hold onto these past few weeks. 

I think I know where she went, the same place I went all those years ago. I don’t know how she was there or why, but even at the time I could feel her presence. I knew she was there. 

She was always there.

Chapter 6

It was the middle of the day at this point. I had been walking for probably hours, following steadily behind Peter.

“Are you doing alright?”, he asked.

“Yeah I’m okay”

“Good. We can stop soon. We just gotta keep heading this way”

“What’s this way?”

He didn’t respond to that. Just kept walking forward. I looked around as I followed, taking in the scenery. It honestly was beautiful, when I had the time to enjoy it. Nothing more to do than put one foot in front of the other, trudging through the snow.

I noticed the weird looking deer again. Far away, once more. Just watching us walk. Not moving.

“Do you see that?”

I pointed towards the animal.

“Yeah”

“Is it a deer?”

He took a moment, never once turning his head towards her.

“I’m not sure”

“Why isn’t it scared of us? Is it dangerous?”

“Not really”

“Not really?”

He didn’t take it as a question, and left the conversation at that. In the midst of our talking it vanished. Not sure when or where it went, but I wasn’t too concerned. If Peter knew about it, then I felt I didn’t have much to worry about.

“We can stop up here”

We sat down next to a river, water running steadily, even with the cold air.

“Are you thirsty?”

I nodded.

“Here, you can drink this water. Have you drank from a river before?”

I shook my head.

“Well you just need to use your hands like a cup, and scoop the water. It’s easy”

He demonstrated for me, but not in the river.

I put my hands together and dipped them in the water. It was freezing, but I got what I could, and put it to my lips.

I could taste it so clearly. It immediately hit my two sensitive front teeth, sending a sharp sting through my gums, but I honestly didn’t care. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was until that moment.

“Are you gonna have any?”, I asked.

“No I’m okay, you go ahead”

I took a few more scoops of water, silently enjoying every second.

“I’m sorry I don’t have any food, but we won’t be out here much longer I promise”

“That’s okay, I had a big lunch yesterday. Are you hungry?”

“No I’m alright”

I used my pants as a makeshift napkin, before shoving them in my coat pockets, attempting to keep them warm.

I was nervous to ask, but felt I needed to.

“Are you imaginary?”

“I don’t know”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t really have an answer for you. Imaginary works for me though”

“I’ve never had an imaginary friend”

“Well, I’ve had plenty”

We left it at that, sitting in our silence for a moment. Listening as the water rushed past us.

Then I remembered something. I looked down at my shirt. It was still that oversized Beatles shirt, partially obscured by my pink puffy jacket, but even so, I could tell.

It was the same as the one I’d found.

“Charlie?”

As I turned towards the voice, I found myself in a completely new space. I was still a child, no longer in the woods however. I was in a room. Long room. Cold. Everyone around me was wearing suits. Some dresses. There weren’t many people. It wasn’t until I noticed the coffin straight ahead of me, down the narrow suffocating aisle, that I noticed I was in a funeral home.

It was the same one I’d just been to with my father a few days ago. Different people of course, and different decor. Different chairs specifically. These looked cheaper. All metal, no wood. And the room was damp. You could smell it. I could smell it. I could smell and hear and see and feel everything, like I was standing there myself. It was once again, more than a dream.

My hand was taken, gently.

“Are you alright?”

I looked up to the voice. A man, no one I recognized.

“I think so”

“Do you want to walk up with me?”

“Okay”

Guiding me, we began walking towards the coffin. People looked at me as I passed. The pain in their eyes grew stronger as they met mine. 

I wasn’t exactly nervous, I felt calm. A familiar calm. 

I drew my attention towards a doorway at the end of the room, just in time to catch a mass pull behind the corner, out of site.

I didn’t see her, not physically, but I knew it was her. She was even here. Watching me. I still don’t know what she wants.

“We’re here”

I turned back to the voice. We were now standing directly in front of the coffin. I hadn’t noticed the distance I traveled. I couldn’t see inside the coffin. I was too short. I had to step on a small stool they placed. There was something about taking that step though. That step was more daunting than the other combined. It had a sense of dread to it. An anxiety that was absent prior. It all rushed back to me. So quickly.

“It’s okay, you can look”

The man spoke so calmly, but I could hear the pain in his voice. It didn’t help my nerves. I didn’t even know who these people were. I don’t know where I am, or who I am or why I’m here? I don’t know what’s happening.

I stepped up.

Laying in the coffin, was me.

There was nothing special about it. Honestly, I wish there was. It would’ve given me some reason to believe this was a nightmare. 

No. I was just laying there. 

I looked so calm. So at peace. 

A gentle smile. 

Calmly rested eyes. 

I saw my freckles, my birthmarks on my arms, my scar, everything, everything was their every little detail.

And I smelt like flowers.

Flowers that, weren’t strong enough.

Like flowers laid over a graveyard.

 A perfume, a familiar one, a calming one masking the stench death leaves behind. The one I smelt on my father, because they didn’t mask it well enough on him. The smell left when a rodent dies, but this one’s different

This smell digs into you, it finds its way deep into nasal passage until you can almost feel it in your skull, like a damp dying decaying old building rotting with mold, and no matter how hard you may try it never leaves, not fully, you can mask it but you can’t remove it, it’s always their lingering waiting for the next time it’s greeted and only then will it show itself once more fully and this time grow stronger. 

And my face, lathered in makeup far too much for a living human to manage, the heat and the sweat would pool the thick second skin down into your eyes, my eyes that were clamped shut violently, burning and stinging with the only possible relief being tearing the makeup off all at once but no this makeup sat, it sat and would stay as such for the rest of time as I laid and rot and died in this box, and that smell wouldn’t leave even in death, that smell lingers and it waits and it prays for the day that you finally keel over and die so it can thrive, it thrives within you and spreads and the body you once called your home becomes nothing more than fertilizer for the rotting decaying wooden home you’re trapped within. The place my mother’s in now. The place my father’s in now. The place I’ll be in one day. And we’ll all be together.

No, I wasn’t a decaying corpse within a wooden box. Not yet. But maybe that would have been better.

The air forced its way into my lungs as I grasped desperately for it, throwing myself off of the kitchen table my head was lying upon. A pool of saliva and tears layed soaking the table and sticking upon my face. 

I had no idea how I’d gotten there, for a moment I barely knew where I was. I slowly gained some amount of composure as the familiar smell of my fathers home became clear, mixed with a subtle cold breeze. I saw the sliding glass door leading to the backyard, which now sat wide open. A black abyss laid beyond the backdeck subtly illuminated by the hanging kitchen light.

I got up, wiping away the saliva haphazardly, still in a daze while trying desperately to understand how or why the backdoor was opened. Had I gone outside earlier? Where was I earlier? What was I even doing, why was I asleep at the table? Questions swarming my fuzzy mind as I found myself standing at the sliding door, holding the cold metal handle, ready to pull it closed. Something kept me there though. Something off in the distance.

The wind picked up the same layer of loose snow that laid upon the fresh white lawn, moving back and forth effortlessly, creating a kind of barrier hiding the woods beyond. But I saw it. What I believe to be a deer, standing at the edge of the yard, just far enough to make out the subtle outline. It stood still, facing me dead on, standing, staring.

The doorbell rang.

I jumped out of my skin, I think I screamed a bit, throwing my attention to the front door that sat adjacent to the home. It was 10 PM, and someone visiting at 10 AM would’ve been concerned, so my mind instantly went to the worst casinerio.

I turned back to the sliding door, the deer now gone, but I had bigger things to worry about. I slid the door as quietly as possible, turning the old rusty lock, causing a loud snap.

“Tom?”, a woman’s voice called on the other side of the door. That was my fathers name. The voice was completely unrecognizable, but she sounded concerned. 

I was greeted by an older woman as I opened the door. Her lowcut shirt meeting my gaze far before her overdone eyeshadow.

“Oh”, she said slightly petrified by my sight.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m so sorry, is Tom home?”

“Sorry who are you?” I asked coming across far meaner than I intended.

“Oh I’m just a friend of Tom’s, my name’s Lily, and you are?”

I didn’t recognize the name, but I responded regardless.

“I’m Charlie”

“Oh my god, Charlie? Is Tom your father?”

“Yeah he is”

She excitedly threw her arms towards me, pulling me in for a hug that locked my arms down. I could only awkwardly reciprocate with a slight tapping on her lower back.

“I’ve heard so much about you!”

“You have?”

“Oh my god you’re all Tom talks about!”

It dawned on me now that this woman, whoever she may be, was blissfully unaware of what happened to my father. At nearly the same exact time, I realized it would now be my job to inform her.

“Do you want to come in?”

-----

She went through an entire tissue box within the half hour she spent crying. She was shedding more tears than I did, something I wasn’t expecting in the slightest. It looked like her whole world came crashing down after telling her, and she was an inconsolable wreck from thereon.

“I’m so sorry you’re seeing me like this, this is not how I wanted to meet”, she said through muffled sobbing. “Why wouldn’t he tell me?”

“If it helps he didn’t tell me either”

It didn’t help.

We sat on the couch together, me holding a second fresh box of tissues and her holding her head in her hands. I hadn’t asked for much of any information from the woman. I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to know. I could infer from her outfit alone, but the thought of my fifty something year old father having a casual relationship was nearly inconceivable.