Never Forgotten

by Kelly Risser

  ***

  I couldn’t sleep. For about the fifteenth time, I looked at Katie’s alarm clock. Four-thirty. Great. Ten minutes had passed since the last time I checked.

  A throat cleared, and I whipped my head toward the sound, straining in the dark until my eyes grew accustomed. I almost screamed until I recognized the man.

  “David?” My father stood by the window, leaning against the wall. “What are you doing here? How’d you get in?”

  “I wanted to see you,” he said. He ignored my second question. He pulled out the chair by Katie’s desk and sat down. “How are you doing? How’s your mom?”

  “I’m fine. Mom’s, well…she’s okay. Wait. Are you here? I’m not sleeping?”

  I pinched my arm. It hurt.

  “I’m real,” David said. “Not a figment of your imagination.”

  I thought I’d be afraid, but I wasn’t. This was my father. He wouldn’t hurt me. I stood and walked to him. My fingers itched to reach out.

  “Go ahead,” he said as though he knew what I was thinking. Maybe he did.

  I touched the hand that was resting on his knee. He didn’t move. His hand was warm. “I thought I was dreaming you,” I said in a daze.

  “I know.” He stood up, and I took a step back. “I’m here, Meara.”

  “Does Mom know?” He shook his head, and I remembered I’d asked him that before in my dream.

  “The previous times I saw you, was I sleeping?”

  “Yes and no,” he said. “I suppose it was like you were sleepwalking.”

  “Were we at the lighthouse?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the beach? The first time?” I tried to control the fear in my voice.

  “Yes.” His voice was quiet. Calm. Like he knew I was getting scared, and he was treading carefully.

  “How?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t tell you. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Why do you look so young? What are you?” I wanted to know, and I was afraid at the same time. Had I asked this before, too? I couldn’t remember.

  “You’ll find out. Soon.”

  “Why won’t you tell me?” I didn’t understand his obscure responses. He was about as open as a bank safe. I had so many questions, and so far, he only had mediocre answers. I studied him, wondering what I could ask that might get a real answer.

  “Are you human?”

  He paused and searched my face, as if measuring how I would react. Finally, he said, “No, I am not.”

  I swallowed. “And you won’t tell me what you are? What I am?”

  “Not yet. The timing’s not right.”

  “What’s timing got to do with it?” After all these years, he was worried about timing?

  “Everything.”

  Well, that helped.

  “You’re dating your friend’s brother, aren’t you?” he asked. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to change the subject or if he wanted to know.

  “Maybe,” I said. What was it to him? If he could be cryptic, so could I.

  “Be careful, Meara,” he said. “Take things slowly.”

  He was a fine one to talk. “Oh, like you and Mom?” Angry, I sat up and crossed my arms. “Please!”

  “Exactly.” He continued to speak in a frustratingly calm voice. “Learn from us.”

  “Dad,” I said in my most sarcastic voice. “Is that right? Should I call you Dad?”

  He winced, but recovered quickly. “I’d like it if you would.”

  “I’m not sure that I can. You suck as one. You come back into my life after seventeen years, tell me I’m not entirely human, but don’t disclose what I am. And then, of all things, you give me dating advice?” My hands shook, and I was on the verge of yelling. I closed my mouth and took a deep breath.

  “Relax,” David said. “Your friends can’t hear you.”

  “Why not?” What did he do to them? Cast a spell or something?

  “They’re drunk. Passed out cold.”

  Oh yeah. There was that.

  He stood. “I have to go.”

  “Go? You just got here!”

  He chuckled and leaned forward to kiss my cheek. “You need your sleep. I’ll see you again soon.”

  “When?” I asked. I wanted answers. He needed to give me something.

  “Take care of your mother.”

  Those were his last words before he disappeared. Literally. Not like walking out of the room or jumping out the window, he just vanished. Poof. Gone. I shivered. What in the world was he? What was I?

  I lay back on the floor and wrapped the blanket tight around me. My head pounded, but my mind raced. I needed sleep. I couldn’t have gotten more than twenty minutes so far. Taking deep breaths, counting sheep, and even meditating didn’t help. I gave up and stared at the ceiling. Sleep was not coming.