Here Again

Dishes clank around me. The murmur of conversation surrounds me. I am soaking in it. For my part, I am silent. My table is an island of silence amidst this ocean of noise.

All around me the business of the restaurant continues. People smiling, chatting, ordering, eating, drinking. I know every brick, every table, every light. I'm here every night. At least it feels like it anyway. It's just that most of those times, no, all of those times, I had a friend with me. And now I am alone. Why?

Why am I here again? It's a dream and I know it's a dream. They were always such lucid dreams. I could control them if I didn't try too hard. So why am I alone? Even here I can't have her back?

People move all around me. I watch them pass by on their way to the kitchen or bathroom or whatever. I see them all clear as day. None of them acknowledge my presence. At all.

Maybe I could change that. This is my dream. I've had control here before. Unless this is what I want. Do I want to be alone? Or is this just a sign of how I feel? I'm alone because I feel alone?

There's a... blur in the corner of my eye. I keep turning, trying to see what it is. Everyone around me is clearly visible, except this figure that continues to elude me. It's as if she's hiding from me.

I can barely see her. How do I know? It's a dream. Some things you just know. Between that and a flash of red...

This is going to be the rest of my life, isn't it? Seeing the red headed girl out of the corner of my eye but never getting to see her again?

Never is a long time.

Best Part of Waking Up...

I woke up tired the next morning. So tired and yet unable to sleep any further. I dragged myself up and stumbled back to the house.

My aunt was politely honest. “You either had a really good night or a really bad one. You look terrible.”

“Both probably.”


I slid into a chair at the kitchen table. This allowed me to prop up my head with my hands, leaning my elbows on the table. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked.

“Yes, please.”

“If I remember correctly you take your coffee like you take your whiskey; straight.”

If this was a sarcastic comment, I let it pass by. “That is correct.” Sarcastic or not, this response got me coffee. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

Before she could get away, I continued speaking. “For everything, Aunt Linda. For letting me visit, for putting up with me being just a pill. And for the coffee. Thanks. I needed all this.”

For a moment, she just smiled at me. From my perspective, it was one of those moments when I'm not quite sure what I've done or if it was for the best or all that. I mean the smile seemed like a good thing but the silence...silence can confuse me. It gives me too much time to think about what I may have just done wrong.

“You are very welcome Patrick,” she finally said. “Very welcome indeed. I am glad to have been able to assist you in some way.” She gave me a look, nothing harsh, just checking me over. “How are you feeling?”

What a simple question and yet, under certain circumstances, it's the most difficult one to answer. I settled on “Different” as my response.

“Different good or different bad?”

“Different.”

“I suppose that's a start.”

“That it is.”

So Much to Take In

I'm not sure how long I was stuck in the loop of thoughts. I don't even remember when it stopped. Gradually I became aware of the sound of sobbing and soon discovered it was me generating this noise.

Through the tears and the mess of my sinuses I did my best to apologize to the leprechaun still before me. I believe he smiled back at me. I'm not quite sure. It was difficult to see anything at that point. “It's not a problem lad. I said you'd remember her better and you did. Once you have a good cry, you'll feel a little better. See where that takes you.”

My ability to articulate my thoughts was still a bit limited at that point. I tried to thank him but I'm not sure what it sounded like out loud.

As he left, he made sure he made one last comment. “By the way, you're out of whiskey.”

Everything...

Warmth. I remember the warmth.

I remember when we met, actually met in person, for the first time. She was on my front porch, needing help. She already trusted me.

I remember how her hair smelled when we said goodbye for the first time. Not shampoo or perfume but something different. Something I've never quite smelled anywhere else. I joked to myself that it was her sweetness radiating from her head.

I remember the pain mixed with relief on her face upon seeing me alive after she'd seen me die in another dimension. After she'd held that other me, watching that me die in her arms. But it wasn't me, it was a different me. She was without me for a day or two. I've been without her for weeks now with less closure.

I remember the look on her face that day just after that, when we were by the lake. Watery eyes, watery smile, the pain, the happiness. The day we admitted out loud to each other that we loved each other and we had to figure out what to do about it. We cried and we kissed and we held each other.

I remember it all at once. I remember it over and over again.

It's so much...

It's too much...

I...

Another Option

“I know it's not the easiest decision to make; if you need me to come back later...”

“No, not necessary. Thanks for the offer but no I don't want that. I miss her enough as it is I just don't think that'll help. Somehow I just... Anyway, don't do it.”

Another bottle of my whiskey finished up in the belly of the leprechaun. “Well lad, I think you made a good choice there. Life is for going forward, not back. But you know, having had another think, maybe there is something I can do for you.”

Immediately, he had my attention again. “Yes? That would be?”

“Maybe I can give her to you.”

I tried to make sense of this statement but failed. “I thought you said you couldn't bring her back so how can you give her to me?”

“If the answer isn't removing her memories, perhaps the answer is refreshing your memories of her.”

“Refreshing? I should remember her better?”

“Aye.”

“How will that help? I'm already losing my mind here because I can't stop... I've tried to stop... Sometimes I'd really like to stop thinking about her but I just can't. She's been in my head for so long I guess it feels wrong for her not to be there. So how would thinking about her more help me?”

He smiled. “I didn't say you'd think about her more. Just refresh the memories a bit. Clarify them if that word helps.”

I really wasn't completely sure what he meant at that point. I could feel my face twist in confusion. “Not really.”

“I can't promise you'll think about her less or more than you are now. Maybe I can help you think about her better.”

All his words danced around his meaning as far as I was concerned. I really should have expected no less from a leprechaun. Everything I read said they were tricky little fellas. He'd even admitted to it. It was late, I was still tired, and I'd been drinking. It was becoming increasingly difficult to think around him. “Think about her better,” I found myself repeating. “Better is good, right?”

“Of course it is.” The leprechaun cracked open another bottle of whiskey.

I sighed. “How do I phrase it?”

“However you like.”

“I wish you'd tell me how to phrase this 'thinking about Sarah Jean' wish properly.”

He put the bottle down. “What you want to say is 'I wish to remember my friend Sarah Jean properly'.”

“Okay.” I took a deep breath. “I wish to remember my friend Sarah Jean properly.”

The leprechaun just grinned at me. “I never promised you more than one wish.”

I stared back at him. “What? Really?”

He laughed. “I'm just messing with you boyo.” He tapped my arm.

Huh

The idea is tempting.

A rush to recovery. No more suffering. No more nightmares. Just suddenly peace. It would be relaxing to not care anymore, just go back to working and playing and all those other abnormal things I got up to in my life. That is what I want, isn't it? To get on with my life, to not be trapped anymore by this grief? To not feel anymore?

Would that be any better? It should be but would it? Maybe I'd function better on a day to day basis but long term would I be better off barely remembering her? Would not remembering her turn me into a different Patrick? One still lingering over what Heather did to me in college? Even if the leprechaun is sincerely trying to help, there has got to be some catch to this, it can't be as simple as just that.

Can it?

Nobody Said Anything About Limits

The silence that followed was forever. To me anyway. The little fella just stared at me. Without speaking to me, he cracked open another of my bottles of whiskey and took a long gulp. When he looked at me again, it was from the corner of his eye, unable to fully look at me. “You've got the wrong fella. My magic doesn't work like that.”

“What if I wish for how to phrase the wish?”

“Lad, I'm sorry. I can't raise the dead. I could give you money and trick you out of it. I could provide you with fame and make it hollow. There are loads of ways you could find out wishes aren't all they're cracked up to be. This one's outside my ability.”

“That's not fair.” I choked on the words. Inhaling normally was beyond my abilities at that moment.
“You didn't say anything about limits on the wishes. Nobody said anything about limits.”

“I'm sorry; honestly I am.”

“It's not fair,” I repeated. “I'm cold inside.”

“You know lad, there is something I could do for you.”

Suddenly he had my full attention again. “Yes? What?”

“I dunno that you'll like it.”

“Try me.”

“I can take her away from you.”

I directed a strange look in his direction. I couldn't understand him. She's already...gone. “Huh?”

“I can take her memories from you. There'd be nothing there to make you hurt. Well, you'd have to remember her a little bit, otherwise people'd mention her and you'd be all 'who's that?' and they'd think you'd gone mad and all that. Can't have that now can we? All the detail'd be gone. You'd remember her name and what she looked like and that but none of the stuff that's breaking your heart at the moment. How about that?”