The Edge

The Father

Still frames of memories started flaring through my head. Like slides through a projector, every frame was shined upon with light. Each one, more descriptive and detail-filled than the last, brought back so many things that I'd forgotten.

Well, being honest with myself . . . I'd buried them, hadn't I?

I'd had the memories all along—it was a matter of unburying them. Nothing was forgotten; sitting in his mind, every memory was placed neatly in his subconscious. That place, of course, was unseen for many years. If it weren't for the placement of those demons, I doubted I would have ever recalled everything in my history.

Maybe they weren't demons after all.

Whatever purpose they might've served, I slowly became . . . grateful for them. Though the biggest regret of my life, I felt fortunate enough to have that experience.

Many, many dead; countless others injured; each one scathed; none without blood stains.

A few questions ran through my mind, and I began to ponder them while observing the landscape. It was still covered in bodies, a majority of the water still being covered. However, each one slowly sank. I could slowly see more of the commingled blood and water. Another rush of blood ran through my head, a tear finding its way down my face again. If I had collected every drop of my rage and fluster, I'd be bound to have filled a jar. My tears would have stacked enough to quench a thirsty soul—which was almost expected from the brutality of everything.

With almost a full reserve of memories, I began to remember things about his character. Physically, he was stout, strong; about average height, he reminded me of, well, me, in ways I could have never imagined. I also recalled things such as his honesty. He would never tell a lie—to him, the cold hard truth was always the best way to put something.

There was also a smile always worn on his face. It was a content, satisfied smile, and it always warmed me. Something about him was just always happy. Not euphoric or overjoyed, like a child at a party, but more of . . . recognition, I might say.

There was a thing in him that recognized the beauty of life, and he wanted to live out every moment of it. Whether that meant spending time with me or working to provide for me, it was worth it.

Which brought me to another thing about him: he valued his time. Every second was precious and priceless. As I searched through my memories further, I could see that every moment he dedicated to me was better than the last. Spending time with his only son was more important to him than anything. I knew, somewhere inside, that he was unlike anything the world had ever seen.

It was with this contentment, this . . . unwipeable smile I had on my face, I looked into the distance again. The porch I stood on gained new importance, while also seeming to lose some of its meaning to me. Having other illustrations of my father overjoyed in ways I would never have imagined.

The porch, gaining importance, was now a heavier reminder of my father. It was not only something he built with me, but something we spent time on together; moments passed here, filled with conversation and emotion and love.

Losing meaning, the actual porch just seemed to be less impactful. It became less about the porch and more about the togetherness.

Tears rained down my face again, but my smile wouldn't wipe away—it was a strange feeling I had. Though it wasn't the best emotion in the world, I wouldn't trade it for just that. Given the chance, I would dwell on it forever.

Inexplicable. I suppose that would be the only way to describe it.

There was something that gave me a sense of peace. I believe it was from the father—the man that I had once called my own.

Tears continued pouring, and I felt freer by the second. It was as if this was my soul's way to open itself. It took on a physical, understandable form, and emptied itself in the form of tears. Though I didn't understand it, I was thankful for it.

Freedom! It was like nothing I'd ever experienced before.

I wanted it, craved it, longed for it more.

I could've never expected what did lie in store,

     but it was worth the things that I had fought in war.

Never before in my life had I been as ecstatic as I was in this moment. A new revival came to me, and the water shone more beautiful than ever before. Yes—it was still red, impure, stained with blood—but it reminded me of my dad's eyes. I could stare into them for eternity, never tiring of what I saw, hardly ceasing to see something new.

If this was all there was to life—a mixture of reminiscence and love—then I would be happy to live it as long as I possibly could.