thethemeis: Reunions
theauthoris: Luke Stephenson
You know it’s funny, in a way. I can remember the
pain, but I don’t think I ever felt it. When something hits you that
hard it’s lights out before you have time to feel anything; by the time
the impulse gets to the brain for processing
it’s too late – you aren’t processing anything anymore. But my spirit
knows what I knew at that last moment: that the truck was going to hit
me, and given that I woke up here, it knows that it killed me. So I
guess it fills in the blanks from there, leaving
me with this phantom memory of a feeling never felt. Or is it a real
memory of a phantom feeling? I don’t know; I’m still getting accustomed
to it all really - I’ve never had to think about things in those terms
before.
We felt each other’s presence, my grandparents and
I. The meeting was strange; I could sense sadness in them as they spoke
to me, but also something that felt like... relief. I suppose they were
expecting my father first. We can’t look
at the living world, so they haven’t seen him in almost six years. I’m
starting to feel the same ambivalence – I miss my wife and son, but I
think I would be devastated to meet them here soon. Since we found each
other, Nan and Gramps have been helping me
settle here. There isn’t really anything to do; everything is very
still and tranquil, but I never feel bored – I never feel the need to
engage with things like I did when I was alive. This sense of patience
is slightly alien to me as I know it wasn’t a strong
trait of mine in life, but I don’t feel uncomfortable. Still, it is
nice to have company.
It was his birthday today. At least I think it was;
keeping track of time is difficult here. I already missed his science
fair and his high school graduation. We had been working on my old
motorbike together before the accident; he was
fascinated by the engineering. I would show him how a part worked, and
then I would help him take it apart so that he could put it all back
together. He wanted to build his own one day. His mother and I were
worried that he would get into racing them like
I had been, but he’s got a different head on his shoulders – he likes
to build things. I’m sorry, son. Sorry I was so careless.
There was a strange feeling in the air a few days
ago. A familiar warmth was nearby. Gramps and I went on a bit of a hike
to investigate – and my wife was there. How long had I been gone? A few
years - maybe a decade? Seeing her again left
me dazed as a hundred emotions swept over me at once, feelings appeared
from nowhere to replace the peaceful numbness. She was here. We were
reunited but... so early.
She’s been keeping her distance from me since she
arrived here. I know that the experience... changes people... but it’s
like she’s a different woman entirely. Is the woman I love still in
there somewhere? Will I see her again? More worryingly,
what happened in my absence that could change her like this? We talk
about the good old days sometimes, but never those ten years I was gone.
If I bring it up, she walks away, stifling tears. She never mentions
our son.
Years have passed. Decades. More than a hundred
years. My father is here, my mother is here. My aunts and uncles and
brothers are here. My entire family is together again, finding peace in
each other’s company. But there is still one missing,
and no one will speak of him. I am trying to fight the answer but it
lurks there in the back of my mind, taunting me. My wife’s early
arrival, the way nobody will speak his name, those nervous glances they
share when we speak of our time together in the living
world. The years continue to drift by, and new generations arrive.
Still, I cannot find my son. My fears take root, and soon after I can no
longer avoid the truth.
If he is not here, there is only one place he can
be. There is no peace for him there, and none for me in kind as a single
question forever remains:
Was it my fault?
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