Hothouse

See, all that I ask for is a glass of water with ice. Now that I am moving nearby, I’d like to stop in. Ideally, on a daily basis. I hope to not be a bother. I’m positive sometimes I’ll be bothersome; afterall, you and I are only human. That is, I have the potential to bother and ultimately you are entitled to being bothered. I just hope to not be wholly a bother. I’ve only asked for a glass of water with ice. I imagine if I had asked for 6 ice cubes – no more, no less – that I could be considered a bother; I don’t care how many there are, really. I just ask that it be a glass – not a mug – so that I may see your skewed image through the tilted cup as I drink; I wish to know how you look from elsewhere. How do you mean? All I mean to say is that someday, there will surely be no more days – for me or for you – and the film will be lifted from our eyes. I’d like to know how you look from elsewhere, in case I might see you there after all of this is said and done. I’m not sure I understand. Well, it’s not exactly a science. I do sympathize with your inability to understand and I hope you’ll be patient with just how long it may take me to explain. All that I ask for is a glass of water with ice. Now that I am moving nearby, I’d like to stop in. Ideally, on a daily basis. This will afford me the time to clarify what I mean by all of this. I’ve known you for all that I can remember, as far back as the arrow of time extends in my mind. I’m sure there were moments before you, but those memories have long since vanished. I’ve not been alive for even half of your life and young me couldn’t imagine your red hair turning silver, though it has. An early memory is cemented into my being. It is of you, my father, your daughter and I. You took us to a park for a playdate. Emmaline and I did our best to run alongside each other, with stumpy toddler legs. You and my father were like gods. You roamed in slow motion as we zipped through the grass. I remember Emmaline’s every detail. Only 10 years old when she was taken from us in the most heinous and brutal of ways: a knife through the heart, wielded by a man she trusted. I couldn’t bear to live with that truth, but 9-year-old me pictured it. I heard what happened. I watched it play in my head and I knew I should’ve been there. Surely I could’ve saved them from him! I was brainwashed by television to think that I had the ability to ward off evil. I was wrong, and I know that now. I have lived with the guilt of knowing that it was her and not me; and that I couldn’t have helped even if I had been given the chance. I remember her as her 10-year-old self, immortalized and set in stone. She was unique. I understand that everyone says that of a lost loved one, but something was different about her. She was truly special. I loved her! I love her too. Well, of course you do, she is your child after all. But, I want you to know that the memory of her is intertwined with every fiber of my being. I find myself breathing differently since that day. All that I ask for is a glass of water with ice. Now that I am moving nearby, I’d like to stop in. Ideally, on a daily basis. Just to watch you be. My father left us only a little while after her, and I see them both in you. Every moment with you is a moment with them. I’m sure you must be tired but also in no rush to sleep for good. The very essence of our relationship is built on loss: the loss of a child, the loss of a father, the loss of love. Eventually, it will happen again, and I’d like to be nearby when it does. I’d like to take care of your plants and help take the trash out. I can sprinkle the driveway with salt to melt the ice before you wake. I will hold your hand if you need help to the mailbox in the snow. I know you are alive and well, and so am I! And I’d like to stay that way, but I must admit I am feeling a bit hoarse after all of this talking. Would you like a glass of water with ice? Why yes, that’s exactly what I need.