Sleepwalker

Chapter Five: Drowning

“Papa,” A little girl called out. Her hair was a vivid red color. She wore a simple cotton dress, shapeless and grey. Wait, was that me? She trotted around the first floor of the inn, searching for her father, er, my father. “Papa?”

I followed silently. I was invisible to them, nothing more than an observer.

A tall man scooped her up in his arms, Papa. “Jenny! What are you doing, sweet? I cooked lunch already. I wanted you to help me.” He kissed her on the forehead.

“I’m sorry, Papa.” She wrapped her small arms around his neck.

The inn’s guests came down for lunch. The only guests there at the time were an affluent family. Their daughter was a girl whom I’d had unpleasant experiences with.

I groaned. “Must I watch this day? Living it once is quite enough.”

“Ah, so you remember. Good! You were only a year above half a decade.” Sleepwalker chimed in, standing next to me. He reached his hand beneath his hood. Both of his hands were still intact, not even a scratch.

“Your finger looks better,” I noted with eyebrows raised. My shoulder ached even in my dream. The bruises down my forearm still remained as well.

“Yours does not,” He retaliated wryly. Drawing my attention to my swollen crusted clot along my finger, he laughed; I wondered where the bandages had gone.  “Do not fret, Genevieve.” Like sandpaper, his fingers clutched my injured finger. Roughly, he seemed to have pulled the illness from it.

“H-how did-” I marveled at the finger, but my head was yanked toward the scene.

He interrupted me, “Genevieve, I brought you here for a reason. Just watch!”

The daughter of the guests pushed away the meal that my father had given her. “Father, this is disgusting. I will not eat this slop.”

The younger version of myself pulled out of my father’s arms.

He pouted. “You don’t like me anymore?” When my young face fell, he laughed, “I only joke you, sweet.” Grinning, he ruffled her hair. “Go start on the dishes, Jenny.”

She groaned, “Must I, Papa? Shouldn’t I wait until all of the guests are done?”

“You are going to grow to be lazy, Jenny! Surely, you don’t want that?” He scooped her up and tossed her in the air while she was in a fit of giggles. “No?”

Little Jenny controlled her laughter. Her bottom lip stuck out in a pout. “I’ll go start.” Her small booted feet began to scuffle into the kitchen until her father lifted her.

“You are the best daughter I ever could’ve asked for. Never forget how much I love you, Jenny.” Those weren’t words my father said to me often. He never had to.

“I love you too, Papa.” She buried her face in his shoulder. “Does this mean I don’t have to wash the dishes?” When her father plopped her down with a chuckle and scooted her off, she knew his answer. Dejectedly, she resigned herself to the kitchen.

The scene, which unraveled before me was one I’d heard from my place in the kitchen, but had never seen until I was only a ghost in the room watching as a memory.

The father of the whining girl dressed in his classiest suit brought the bowl of food back to my father. “My daughter does not care for this. Perhaps you have something else to give her? Something sweet maybe? She likes sweets. I’m sure you have this problem with your daughter as often as I do,” He explained flatly.