Conversation with a ghost

I’m talking to a ghost. It’s strange how the mind thinks, very strange indeed. I was wondering, then thinking, then feeling confused, then alone, until I got to the point where I called upon a ghost, the only ghost that ever mattered and ever will matter to me.

He came home late, he usually does but he was a little later than usual, or did it just feel late because I was the only one awake in the house? My mother goes to bed early, his wife. She waited for him every night, but not now. She didn’t know I was going to call him and he always visits her in her dreams, maybe she was calling him in another place and time where it made sense to talk to a ghost. But I don’t care if it makes sense or not, why should I care? I have the right to see him any time I want to; he is after all my father. The fact that he is dead is very immaterial because I’m not talking to myself, I’m talking to him in a way I could never describe… probably because it’s a way I myself don’t understand. The point is he’s there, and I’m there, and we can have a conversation we never got a chance to have. I set his dinner when he came. He never eats out, always waits till he comes home to eat a fresh hot meal. We sat together in the kitchen, him eating and I’m making small talk. I miss him. We never really had a chance to talk as two adults, not even as father- daughter. He died before I was even 11. I hadn’t had my first period. I hadn’t broken out of childhood so rudely as children often do. He never saw me except as his little girl and I never saw him in any other way as my very old yet the only significant man of my life, my daddy. It’s only recently that I started to think of how much I really need a father, not just to be daddy’s little girl; to be daddy’s big girl, the girl that is now an adult and needs fatherly advice. Motherly advice never works in these situations; mothers are so very emotional, hot tempered and would eventually end up fighting instead of conversing. I know my father, he’s calm and witty and funny in a subtle way. I used to admire the way he talks, the wisdom that was shining from him when he did. Isn’t that why I called him? To talk to the wise old man… MY wise old man!

He ate and we went to the living room, he has to smoke after his meal. I love the way he smokes, you could almost feel the tobacco in a very aristocratic non-vulgar way that’s so unlike smokers these days. He never really smoked inside the house but a ghost would only smoke a ghost of a cigarette. I asked if he was free the next day; it was a Friday but he might have had work to do after all. I told him that I missed him and wanted to talk to him because it’s been such a long time… an eternity in fact. He loves me so he agreed and didn’t complain. I hated having him sit down to talk to me against his will, but I knew he missed me too… an eternity is a long time. And just talking to him made me feel so much better, so much at peace, so much at home. I went to make us some tea, I wouldn’t make him coffee although I knew he loved it, but he had to sleep well and tea was always a little better than coffee. It’s funny how when we sat down to talk he didn’t sit on the couch as he used to. He was sitting in that oversized armchair and I was the one on the couch, probably because I needed him awake and he’d almost certainly fall asleep on the couch.

We started talking, he started talking. He really did miss me, he asked me about how school was and I told him about the pains of it, he asked me how home was and I told him how so unlike a home it had become to me. I told him how I would want to go home so badly when I’m out but how it always felt alien as soon as I saw anyone. It’s like it wasn’t my house and those people weren’t my family. That disturbed him. I guess he thought my mother would be stronger, but he had this look of recognition in his eyes, he knew how my mom was after all, and how my brother was. They were "are" his family too. I’d like to think that the two of us " my father and I" were different from the rest of the people of the house, but how far would I lie to myself about that? I know I’m different but daddy only understood because he’s been away for so long, it’s the tolerance one has for people he hasn’t seen or dealt with in a long time, and such a long time it is; 10 whole long years, and he knows he hasn’t been visiting me as much as he should have. Even when I called him, he rarely came. He’s always been a busy man so I didn’t complain much, but ten years is enough. I told him that I understood that I shouldn’t complain because this is a hard time we’re going through, especially for mommy, how she needs him now more than ever. But she’s a strong woman, always has been, and not even cancer can break her, but she’s definitely on the edge and she needs us to help her not fall off. I told him how helpless I felt… how selfish… how I wanted to just run away from the madness and how I couldn’t take it. I told him that I’m not as strong as her and he knew. Just as I had nothing to say, he kept quiet as he usually did. I told him about the dilemma of my unsolved love, how everything seems impossible, how I have second thoughts when possibilities rise to the surface. I told him I loved Nader, but I don’t want to get married for free. Was he jealous? Was he bitter? Sad that his little girls is so grown up that she’s getting married soon? Maybe it was just the worry he felt as a father who isn’t there for his daughter in a time when just a father isn’t enough. He’s doing that thing with his finger, biting at his nail so gently it’s hardly noticeable. He’s thinking about how my mother was going to respond now that she’s the only parent to me? How my hot blooded brother was going to react to an almost broke suitor? I wonder what he thinks of the whole situation. Would he agree to it or would he deny me my love? He helped so many of my cousins through their problems with marriage but would he let go of me to a stranger he never met. I’m sure under different circumstance he would have asked to meet him even informally, but it’s different now. And he can’t talk about it to anyone but me. I don’t want him to talk to anyone but me. I want him to tell me how to deal with the living now that he is dead. The longer that this conversation goes on the more I understand the helplessness of my ghost. But I know what he would say and how he would say it. He’s laying down the facts, that Nader’s broke; that he has a good future, that if I wanted him as badly as I thought I did, I would be as patient as a human can possibly be. He’s raised me to be his spoiled little girl but he also made me strong and he knows I’m strong enough to take it, and that I would take it happily for the life I wanted later on for myself.

As usual, he’s giving me the open ending for the book. I guess it’s not really an ending but a milestone. Until our next conversation! He had to go to sleep now because it’s getting very late and he’d had another long hard week. I kissed him good night and went to bed. I wanted to hug him but a kiss is as far as you can go with a ghost. A kiss and you never look back because that’s how the ghosts go away. I went to bed crying, because I know that I tricked myself. I also know that I didn’t buy it.

Reviews

[joewade]

Great story. I am guessing this is very true. A peice of advice though. If you need a ring to get married, then you should not get married. You aren't mature enough for it yet. That said, i think you already came to that conclusion on your own. Great job. There are some words in there that are redundant, but i cannot explicate those on here at the moment. There should be a way to that, but i think the only way is through email.

[Emily B]

outstanding story

[Akeen V.]

This was shocking and amazing.