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A ghost came to me one morning as I awoke from the comfort of my sleeping bag in my small one bedroom apartment. The ghost was a little girl, a four year old child standing right in front of me, swinging only her upper body around to acknowledge the bare white walls I hadn't touched or cared to decorate since I had moved in just a couple of months ago. I was certain this image was a dream or some fickle mind game early mornings from very late nights brought upon my imagination, so I turned my face back into my warm feather-filled pillow for I still felt too tired and hesitant to get up. My eyes were shut and as I yawned my bad breath away before another session of slumber the ghost who I believed wasn't real spoke to me.
She said, Daddy?�
I quickly turned around, now more awake than I've ever been at any moment I've known in life, and stared directly at the little girl. I saw that she was barefooted but she showed no signs of being cold, her dress was a perfect fit full of playful white and pink elephants with clever words like love and hope and beautiful spread out like a schematic scatter, purposely done for the more youthful of adults. Her skin reminded me of a cloud themed explosion in the sky, white and brilliantly flawless, smooth and clean and fresh. Her straight hair was a lightly shaded brown and the tips met her shoulder tops, and her bangs swung across the right side of her face. She had a pair of eyes that would cause anyone to seriously contemplate whether she kept a dark blue ocean as an autumn coat to her pupils. She was confused, she was scared, she was beautiful.
I could not help but sit there motionless, trying to my best to see if I was still alive or not. I didn't know what her intentions were for although she was merely a child, she was indeed not of this world and I frightened myself with uncertainty. I tried my hardest not to speak, even more so not to breathe but she said nothing and my fear grew more and more weary with the harmless presence of this small framed child.
I finally conjured up the will to ask her, Are you ok?� with a scratchy voice from had just woken up.
She replied, I think you are my daddy. But that couldn't be, I thought to myself. I never had a child nor would I be capable or strong enough to bare the loss of one. So I searched for more clarity and continued on with the conversation.
How can I be your father?� I asked, hoping desperately this was a case of mistaken identity, I've never had a child with anyone� and then I asked her for her name.
She said her name was Sadie, that she was in dire need to find her father.
She said, I'm not sure I ever really existed but here I am, today is my birthday! Will you sing happy birthday to me daddy?�
I didn't know what to tell her or really even to tell myself. Should I deny her request and instead demand her to leave, I could never really be that kind of person. However, in retrospect I didn't want to give this child false hopes and have her assume that I was in fact the father she'd be looking for.
It took me only a few seconds to weigh the pros and cons of how my next move would impact this child, I knew she was dead already but surely she was here for a reason and she was an interesting kind of company I'd not yet had before so I sang to her and she playfully applauded.
I talked with her all day, ignoring the phone calls and text messages more likely than not demanding me to show up for work. Instead she and I played games and watched cartoons together from my multipurpose sleeping bag, I could not put my arm around her shoulders so I simply sat as close as I could instead.
It's too bad you're not my daughter, I thought to myself, you're such a blast and an exquisite breath of fresh air, please don't go to wherever it is you came from, I barely know you but I love you.
There were so many things going on inside my head, I didn't know why I had attached myself to this child, to this ghost. I couldn't find anything of logic or stability for me to find such pleasurable company in an image of happiness given from the afterlife.
I asked her, Do you really believe I am your father?
She replied, Of course you are, aren't you?
I stared directly into her precious little blue eyes and said, Yes, I am. I'm sorry I lost you. I wanted her to be upset, to be angry, to start crying, but instead it was me who began to shed tears and I couldn't control them and I did not want to. I said, I've always loved you and she comfortingly replied back in the most angelic of voices, I love you too daddy.
I leaned over to give her a hug and while I held my arms out to squeeze her close she disappeared, as if she was never there at all. I looked in every direction, hoping she had misplaced herself momentarily, but I could not see her. I stood up and started searching my living room, but all there was were empty brown boxes labeled my stuff and my clothes I never found time to take outside to the complex dumpster. I ran to my kitchen thinking maybe she'd gotten hungry, but all I found were countless cigarette butts and bottles of water staring back at me. I started heading towards my bathroom for it was the last and final place to look and through the hallway hung a calendar with the month of February as its main title and underneath a picture of the girl I had spent my entire day with. And on the 22th box I had written Sadie's birthday, 4 yrs old.
It dawned upon me just then that eventful day I had experienced happened only inside my head, Sadie was the daughter I was supposed to have had if her mother had not selfishly pressed the abort button when she panicked from hearing she was pregnant and unprepared. The picture of the girl within the calendar was just the easiest image I could throw into animation while I meditated in memories of the daughter I've always missed. There was no certainty behind the actual date Sadie would have been born on, but I'm sure I'm very close. I've always felt guilty that Sadie wasn't allowed to be here with me, that I could have done a lot more to ensure her safety and stability, that I could have spoken in greater conviction to have her mother change her mind. I feel like I have failed, as a man and as a father, that I shouldn't even deserve to have that title for I've done nothing worth showing to earn it. I just wished I could have that dream again of her with me here at home, sharing laughs and teaching her everything I know only hoping she'd one day teach me in return. And now that she is gone all I've left are my empty brown boxes, cigarettes, and my plain white walls who had watched the entire event.
I walked into my room and over toward my sleeping bag. I always had a pad and pen around just in case I had a clever notion or the need to defeat boredom with sub-par depictions of the imagery inside my head. I shoved over a couple of used socks with my foot so that I can reach for my pen, I grabbed it from the floor and walked boldly into my living room. I kicked aside the empty boxes and pressed my body firmly against the wall directly facing my living room door, I then wrote:
“Sadie, I miss and love you but I promise I will find you and won't stop looking until I do. I hope you can forgive me for not being a stronger person.
When I had finished writing my emotions on the wall that was no longer covered in only paint, I walked into my kitchen. I grabbed a steak knife from the dirty dish water I had left inside my sink for days convincing myself that I would get around to it eventually, and sat down on my tiled and coldened floor. I grabbed the wooden handle of the knife with the blade pointing downward and stared at the ceiling while I took that one clean slash across my wrist. My eyes teared up a little and there were little flashing spots from the corners of my eyes. I whispered softly, Sadie, I am so sorry, and drifted off into darkness