Tell Me A Story

Twelve Years Later

When I think about my life, I think of it as the denouement of one night. The one night that I finally discovered who everyone was and who I was. It's not a night that I like to relive but it helped me to evolve as a person, in ways that probably no one would ever understand.

It's been twelve years but I can still remember every small detail about that night. Over time, a lot of things have changed. New people had stepped into my life. And those who stayed, continued to stay.

I saw Irene playing with a massage ball as I passed her room. For a few moments, I stood there watching her. She was playing keenly, determined to overcome the one thing that's been holding her down. She had no memory of that night; she believed she had been paralysed from birth.

I smiled and walked over to the balcony. A gentle breeze ruffled my hair as I supported my wait over the railing. I inhaled deeply, closing my eyes in the process. The night was cool and pleasant and the chaos of the busy life around me subsided.

It was a good thing that she'd no recollection of the harrowing incidents that thrusted this condition into her. None of us ever spoke about that night ever again, not even among ourselves. It was a thing of past now. But I knew that all of us recapitulated it from time to time, for it wasn't something you could bury down forever. At least not any time sooner. Even twelve years wasn't a long time in that sense.

"Thought you'd be here," said a sweet female voice from behind me.

I turned to find my wife holding a glass of wine in her hands and smiling at me.

"It's a good night," I said as I took the half-filled glass from her hands. "Has he fallen asleep?"

"I put him to sleep," she said. "Didn't check whether he fell asleep."

I took a sip of the liquid, which flowed down my body creating a warm sensation inside. She stood next to me, taking in the cool air. I slid an arm around her, bringing her closer to me.

"Irene's gatting better, you know," Anna said.

"You bet," I replied. Over the years, she'd undergone a lot of therapies. The best time of her life was spent bed ridden but at least she was improving.

"What're you thinking about, Chris?" she asked.

"Nothing...nothing in particular," I said. She knew what I was thinking about, probably because she was thinking about the same thing as well.
Right then, we heard the sound of the front door being opened. Mom had returned from work. We walked down to the hallway. She was now one of the most sought after doctors in Clistron Bridge. A few days after Irene was discharged from the hospital, we all returned to Clistron Bridge, including Anna's foster mother. Unfortunately, a few years before, she died from a stroke.

"How was your day?" I asked.

"The same as usual," she replied hastily as she settled down on the couch.

"Would you like a glass of wine?" Anna asked.

"No... I'd prefer not to have one now," mom said. She closed her eyes and drifted into a nap and we let her rest. She resigned from Glory the year we had come back here.

We all decided to stay together as I believed that would help us survive the ordeals we'd been through. It helped. It helped us in a wonderful way. Just having the other's presence was something to cherish.

Anna and I tied the knot here itself, like mom and dad. After we came here, we had never gone to Little Falls nor heard anything about it. Sometimes I even wonder whether it all really happened. But when I see I Irene, I know it did. After that night, I never ventured out late in the night, either.

Sometimes I think of driving back to there once, just to see what had become of the whole place. But something never allow me to. It remind me that I should stay away from there. And I chose to go with that instict.

As Anna went to the kitchen to do the dishes, I went upstairs, to check upon George. The narrow beam of light enlarged on his face as I opened the door wide.

"Dad?" he asked.

"It's getting late Georgie," I said. "You should sleep."

"Will you come over here?" he asked.

I exhaled sharply. Not another one. I knew what he was going to ask me.
Nevertheless, I went to him. I began to stroke his head gently. He was four years old now and was the best thing that ever happened to me. He played a crucial role in helping us move on though he was uaware of it.

"Dad?"

"Yes, Georgie?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"How to make you fall asleep," I said.

He chuckled. "You know how to!" he exclaimed.

"Oh yeah! And how is that Big G?".

He didn't say anything right away. He simply smiled at me.

"Dad?"

"Yes, Georgie."

"Just," he said, "Tell me a story!"