A Fascinating Language

T E N

I lay in bed thinking about the hypothetical. About Uncle William, about his health and about if the doctors had given us bad news, what would have happened?

They say you shouldn't think about the past too much. What has happened, has happened. The people who are gone, are gone. But it is the memories that you should cherish, for they are the only things that you take with you from this world. That and your doings, whether good or bad.

But I have been thinking about my past, mainly the recent events, a lot these past few weeks, months even. And I'm still continuing to torture myself.

What happened to Uncle William partially felt like my fault. Maybe I'm a bad omen to this family.

Or maybe what Grey Arrington did to my father all those years ago is finally catching up to him or instead, to his son?

I shook my head at the nature of thoughts I was producing. I didn't even know Grey Arrington, therefore, I could never know why he did the things he did. I turned sideways and faced the wall sized window.

I wonder what my grandmother was like, was she as kind as Dad or better? Surely she had been an amazing women to capture the heart of a man with the likes of Grey Arrington.

My mind trailed towards my mother. I don't even know what to think when it comes to her now. Or Oliver. Could I have done something to stop everything that happened. If I were give a second chance, would I be able to fix anything? I don't even know the entire story. Maybe I should just bury my past and move on. But I know myself well enough that I can't just move on. I have to find out what happened. Maybe that could give me some closure. I should try to bring this up with Dr. Parker.

Soon enough, exhaustion took over me like a soft blanket and I drifted to the comfort of sleep.

I was in front of my father's study. I needed his typewriter so I rushed down to ask him if I could borrow it for awhile. I knock twice at the door and wait. A couple of minutes pass by and I get no response. I knock again and try the door handle. It easily opens but as I'm about to enter, I notice a pair of eyes on me in the hallway. I turn around to look sideways but find it empty.

Feeling alarmed, I quickly enter the study and close the door behind me. I find my father's, usually occupied chair, vacant.

"Dad." I call out thinking he's in the attached bathroom.

No response.

I move closer to his study table where his typewriter is placed. I touch the soft leather of his chair and slide on to it. When I glance at the table, I find a letter addressed to me.

I hesitantly pick it. The penmanship indicates that it's been written by none other than my dear father.

This is strange. What on earth...

I hastily open it and notice that there are two items present inside the envelope. A take them out and place them on the table in front of me. A picture in black and white of a woman, who I had never seen before, smiling down at what appears to be a child wrapped up in a blanket and she's cradling it in her arms. I open the folded paper with it and surprisingly find only one word scribbled on it.

Always.

I jolt awake. It takes me a whole minute to remember where I am. I had been dreaming, and it was quite a normal one compared to my nightmares. Relief spread through me. I pick up my phone from the nightstand and turn it on to see the time. It's a little after six in the morning. I have slept a bit over six hours and I'm grateful for every minute. But for now it seems I'm fully awake and the memory of the picture I saw in my dream is fresh. Who was that women? Does she even exist? Or is she a figment of my imagination?