Conversations with an empty chair (9) - Did I dream it?
Did I dream it? Did I dream you? Were you ever real, were you ever here?
Sometimes you feel less substantiala than air. How could you have existed then and be gone from my life now, forever? No, it can’t be. I never had you, I never knew you. It was all a happy dream. It’s been so many years since I last saw you, that I’m beginning to wonder if I dreamt it all up: your face, your laughter, your voice.
To think, there was a time when I talked to you every day. Several times a day. To think, there was a time when I had someone to take my worst problems to, someone who I knew could be trusted to give me good counsil, to help, to console, to be there for me. To think, there was a time when I wasn’t alone, a kid in a world of grownups.
To think, there was a time when I had a dad.
It seems like a dream now.
I haven’t had a dad, I haven’t had you, for over four years. Do I still remember the smell of your cologne? Did you have a huge collection of ties that I would bury my nose in, as a kid, when you were away on a business trip, just to fill my senses with your scent? Did you cook barbequest in the back yard, did you write Christmas plays, did you hold my hand when I was sick?
I have forgotten what it was like to have you here, a phone call, a walk, a hug away. I have forgotten what it was like to have a father.
How can anyone forget a thing like that? Time is not supposed to erase it, right?
Well, then.
It must have been a dream.
I must have dreamt you up.
But then… why do I still cry myself to sleep, four and a half years later?
