The Hole.

The bedroom door was ajar but I was more than an arm length away with my hands full. Their voices filtered up the stairs. Ugh. He’d walk in even though I was sure he knew better. I was exasperated in anticipation of the moment, looking around for a shield, something behind which I could conceal myself.

I honestly didn’t even know what I was wearing or what I must look like in this instant. It had all changed so rapidly, moment to moment.

“Don’t come in here,” I reminded him as they drew closer. The door swung open as I knew it would. But supposedly I don’t know him very well.

“I just told you not to come in here,” unable to maintain my irritation as a smile flashed across his face.

This is the smile that makes up for everything. Literally everything, including his current disobedience, months of silence, and every past infraction.

“Don’t look at me.” I cautioned. Of course it’s him, who else would it be? It hadn’t been clear up to this moment.

Here he was, standing in my first Lower State Rd bedroom, wearing a light brown suit and blue shirt, amused with himself for doing as he pleases, looking slightly mischievous, aware of his tardiness.

My heart lurched. Late or unexpected? As I attempted to hide behind my childhood rocking chair, craftily held together with duck tape, I considered breaking my own rule by reaching out to him.

My Dad was on his heels, remarking that it was 5:16p but of course it was to be expected that HE would arrive late, even on a day like today. I thought to myself, well, you are one to talk. But their banter was lighthearted and he was late.

He greeted Janet, who in the end, after a miscommunicated intention of a hug, was left simply and awkwardly embracing his arm. I smiled to myself as I watched her face, I knew how it felt to grasp his arm – stronger, more muscular than expected, and she reflexively squeezed it. I can never help from doing the same.

My Dad reminded him of what I had already communicated, he didn’t belong in this room, he sighed reluctantly, realizing he would be made to follow the “rules” that neither one of us are known for following.

He grabbed his dress bag and followed my Dad out of the room, their voices continued down the hall and I was left again in this musty, dreary bedroom, turned storage unit. Why am I in this room? The absence of others reminded me again that this room has lacked a human presence for years.

It accentuated the hole I felt immediately. The enormous hole that I have felt several times before when I realized that I may never see him again.

I am not reliving this now. Wake up.

I rolled over; reeling from the realness of what I realized all along was a dream.

The hole remained or had it been there all along?