He Waits For Me

Last night I step onto my back deck to let the dogs out and I noticed the stars above me where unusually bright. Now when I say unusually, I don’t mean that some unknown scientific phenomenon was causing them to be as bright as they were, I just never saw them that bright before.

Then I remembered something. There was nothing really unusual about them after all. I just never really looked at them that close as I did last night. I also had my glasses on, so that contributed the brightness as well as other stars I could never see without wearing them. 

They were so any of them just hovering above me as if they were all there just waiting for me to look up and notice them…and did just that. As I continue to stare at them all, I found one in particular that caught my attention. It was not only bright but seem to twinkle more than the others.

Maybe it was my imagination, or maybe that star was trying to tell me something. Then it happened. So many thoughts in my head came pouring out so fast that I couldn’t think straight. So fast that I couldn’t keep up with them. So fast that I surrender them willingly.

What I did next was tried to place a memory of my past and my nightmares into each star and pretend that if I can do that, how cool it would be to have my head clear of any pain that I’ve carried for so long. A past that I wish I never had… A past so filled with anguish  it consumes me even to this day.

I perfected not showing it in my everyday life to family and friends, but it’s a battle that sometimes, just sometimes I feel I’m losing. No amount of therapy and meds will ever erase what waits for me in my dreams. I’m fifty-two and it amazes me that I still have nightmares at this age.

Not just any nightmares either. These are the same dreams I had throughout most of my life. No matter how much I try not to dream of them, there they are…waiting for me. You would think I would get use to them by now, but that’s just not the case.

I still wake up in the middle of the night at times fighting to open up my eyes because sometimes when I do open them, there he is sitting by my bedroom window with a cigarette in his hand looking out my bedroom window. He doesn’t say anything, but sits motionless staring out the window.

I walk over to stand behind him and look to see what he’s looking at, but had to squint hard for a moment because it was snowing outside really heavy and I couldn’t make out what exactly he was staring at all that time by the window.

As the snow fall started to fade away, I  finally saw for myself what he had been looking at. It was me at 16 years old walking down the street with a suitcase in my hand. I was leaving the very house with hidden dark secrets that changed the direction of my life forever.

No matter how much I try not thinking about him, or of him, there he is waiting by the window staring outside. He is my ghost of my past, he is my ghost of the present, and I’m afraid he will be my ghost waiting for me till I take my last breath in this life….for this ghost is my foster father.