I’ve Been Here Before
I’ve been here before. Though I can’’t remember exactly when or for how long, I now I’ve been here. My mother carried me in her womb hundreds of miles to this very place. And as I exited the airplane for the second time, I acted as if this wasn’t anything new. I watched curiously as my brother got excited blowing cold air out of his mouth, though most of my attention was centred somewhat in the distance where a group of tall trees stood, their branches left bare, illuminated by the melted snow. The branch that kept me still, however, had kept all of its leaves. And as I looked at this fire red tree blaze in the midst of the cold weather I realized, even at that time, there was something odd about the entire scene. My daze was interrupted seconds later when my brother blew his frosty breath into my face. I chased him through the tunnel that led inside the airport. I remember looking back outside for that tree and not being able to see it through the window. Today I debate with myself whether it was there in the first place. If you knew me, it wouldn’t be a stretch to think I imagined the whole thing.
From my novella “Thoughts of a Fractured Soul,” a story every young father should experience.