Required Forgiveness

Just a short story I had to write for an English class :) Enjoy!

My body awoke, but my eyes didn’t open. I couldn’t remember where I was or how I got there, but I could feel myself floating. There was no breeze or any texture to be described, just an emptiness. The pain I had felt moments before was gone. The dizziness in my head was absent, as was the painful movements of my joints. I opened my eyes slowly, afraid of what I would see.

            I stood up on the pavement of my child hood driveway. The house was yellow, darker than what I remembered, but not quite as bright as the sunflowers in the garden, outside of the windows. The door and shudders were white, as was the ‘72 Challenger sitting in the open garage. My hands were not the 64 year old hands I remembered, but 12 year old hands I had grown out of. I could see the pond my brother had drowned in, and the bench we used to sit and count cars on. I took a terrifying step, afraid the vision would disappear.

            But, of course, the world stayed stable as I made my way to the bench. The grass was soft in between my toes as I walked. I sat down and looked over the yard, the grass a deep green. I could smell it freshly cut, just as I always had every summer after Dad had mowed it. I can’t feel the sun’s heat, but I love the look of the blue sky above me.

            “I knew you loved this place, but I didn’t realize you loved it this much,” my father said. I looked up at him and met his ocean blue eyes and blonde hair, his glasses reflecting the sun light. His chin hair wasn’t the grey that he had died with, but the blonde I could remember growing up.

            “Am I dead, Dad?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

            “Yes,” he answered simply. We both stared out over the murky pond.

            “Where’s Mom and Josh?” I asked, afraid of what their absences could mean.

            “Their souls could move on, but our situations were a bit trickier,” he replied, his tone thoughtful.

            I nodded, starting to remember. I saw my father’s drunken face as he screamed every night, my brother’s death destroying the family. I could hear my mother’s cries as I sat in the driveway, covered in chalk, trying to draw Josh’s face.

            “I’m sorry,” my father said, his tone pleading, “I never wanted to become the way I was. I never wanted to be violent towards you or your mother. I never wanted to lose touch like that.”

            “I know, Dad. I forgive you and I understand,” I said.

            My father’s face showed relief. A tear ran down the side of his face.

            “That’s why I couldn't move on,” he said, “and that’s why you can’t move on. We’re more similar than I ever thought we would be.”

            I nodded, remembering the liver cirrhosis that had killed me and remembering my son’s cries as I threw a beer bottle at his mother. I remembered the divorce and the pubs, I remembered being fired and her being remarried, and I remembered being shut out of his life. I remembered dying alone.

            “So I guess I’ll have to wait,” I said. I looked down at my hands. They were as large as they were in my thirties. They were rough and cracked as they were when I had worked at the lumber yard. My feet that were bare on the grass before were now in my my work boots. I looked up at where my father was sitting, but my eyes reached emptiness.

            I sat and waited patiently, wondering what I’d say when the time would come. 

Reviews

[richieb]

Strowye,
Your story is creative and thought provoking.
We all imagine what it is like on the "other" side.
You showed the hard times that many people face in a lifetime. Your writing is sad and well written.
Richie b.

[H.D. Murphy]

Thank you! I appreciate the feedback and I'm glad you enjoyed it