By Attila Zønn

After the accident I went for a walk.

I didn’t know where I was going but that didn’t matter. The cool air felt good against my face. I looked back, saw the flashing lights, felt the confusion but knew that somehow it would all get sorted without me.

My steps were silent. Where was I going? Keep walking. Where was I going? I had to turn here.  I looked back one more time at a tiny spot of flickering light so far away. I followed the corner around and never looked back again.

There was fog all around me . . .or . . .was my mind in a fog?

I came across a  little girl sitting on a park bench under a street lamp.

“What are you doing here all alone?” I said.

She shrugged. “I’m waiting.”

She sat with her hands palms up on either side of her and kicked her dangling legs into invisible water.

“My mummy said she would come and find me and we’ll be together forever. Is someone coming to find you?”

“Where am I?” I asked.

She smiled. “You’re here.”

“Can I wait with you?” I said.

“Nope,” she said. “You have to keep going.”

“But you shouldn’t be here alone. Someone might hurt you.”

“I’ve already been hurt. No one will hurt me again.”

She pointed. “You have to go that way.”

A forest appeared before me.

The road I was on turned into a pathway through the woods.

“Goodbye,” I said to the little girl.

She smiled. “There are no goodbye’s here.”

I tread along the path to a place where I heard voices.

To my right, a clearing appeared, illuminated, spotlit to a round table with men sitting around it. They’re playing cards.

And . . . there was my dad!

My dad!

My dad was sitting there!

My heart raced and I had a lump in my throat and my voice cracked as I ran towards him, crying out, “Dad! Dad!  I miss you Dad! . . . I’m sorry!”

My dad looked up from his cards, was shocked and said, as he always used to say, “You can’t be serious? Already?”

I wanted to sit in front of his smile and be by his love and his approval. I wanted to hold his hand because I wanted to feel safe. I wanted him to tell me what this place was and why we were here. I wanted to hug him like we used to hug and feel his assurance. I wanted it to be like it was before I left. I wanted to explain to him why I hadn’t been a good son, how I misused his generosity, how I disregarded his counsel. How I always knew better but realized I knew nothing.

But he held up his hand. “No,” he said. “Keep going.”

I wiped my eyes . . .

Copyright©Attila Zønn 2023