Something

By Jack Fisher

I guess she wants to follow in my footsteps, my daughter, because I, myself, recently obtained my Master's Degree so that I'll be able to work in the guidance department of my school. And after teaching fifth grade for nearly twenty-two years, this will be my last. Next year, a position will be available in the guidance department and I have been selected to fill it in advance. Now, all I have is the house's security system to keep me at ease.

Strange things go on inside the house while I'm out during the day. I've been coming home to pictures laying face-down--pictures of my daughter and I--the comforter on my bed--which I make diligently every morning, crisp and tight--looks as though someone sat on the edge, and the heat kicks off when I know I leave it on before I go to work. It's these happenings that convince me that I'm not alone. I wouldn't dare tell me daughter! The funeral itself nearly killed her. It nearly killed both of us. Three weeks after his death, over lunch, I gathered enough guts to question my son's girlfriend, who had found his body.

She had just come home from a three-day skiing trip. It was one of those trips where the bus picks you up with a group of other strangers, takes you to the resort, and then drives you back a few days later. My son chose to stay behind on account of the back spasms he had frequently. When she returned, upon walking into the apartment, she noticed that all the lights were off except for the blue glow of the television.

"Jesus, Dave, what'd you burn in here?" she said she called. She walked into the living room, turned on the light, and there he lay. His head was propped up on the sofa, legs crossed with the remote control in his hand. The sofa--having been near the baseboard heater--made for a horrible smell. His body had literally exploded into a black, flowering mess, a "sickening mess..." she called it. On his face, she recalls, was a pleasant smile.

I'm not really scared...I think I actually feel a little bit at ease knowing that it's my son who wanders the halls when I'm out and at night. If I allowed it to scare me, I'd probably drive myself to the grave! Last night, for example, I could have sworn I felt someone sit in the bed next to me. A little too scared to turn, I'll admit, I just lay there.

And then there was a warm breathing on my neck...and then it was gone. Yeah, the hackles on my neck and arms were on end, but the presence is my own son. I shouldn't fear him when I miss him. Oh, and there was last Saturday morning. Every Saturday morning I clean the house until you can actually taste the cleanliness when you walk in. There I was again, with my knees on the counter--balancing myself so that I wouldn't fall into the sink--ready to scrub the tops of the kitchen cabinets. That morning, however, in the fresh dust was a little note left for me:

HI MOM

Having cleaned the top of the cabinets the previous Saturday, I knew the message wasn't there then! Funny because it was at such an angle that only a left-handed person could have written it.

My son was left-handed.

And the width of the lettering was as close to the width of a finger as you could get. I traced the words with my own fingers and left it. I wouldn't dare wash it away. Like I said, I have a lot to look forward to. My daughter will have her Master's Degree soon and I will have my guidance counselor position. If I'm lucky, maybe my little boy will write me a message on the bathroom mirror when I get out of the shower.

We miss him something terrible.

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