He was back, standing at the staircase. His hand gripping the aged
wood of the railing, to steady himself, John stared at the top of the
stairs. He wondered if the same thing would happen up there when he went
up.
This dream was different. He knew what was happening. His feet felt heavy as he trudged up the stairs, and he realized he was shaking. Who wouldn't, knowing that the son he had lost nearly five years ago was up there, a fully grown young man.
When he finally reached the top of the stairs, he was shaking a lot more. Aliens, human bats, and morphing lizards couldn't get to him, but seeing Luke again did. It shook him on an emotional level.
He walked cautiously into his bedroom, peeking in first to see if the young man was there. He was. This time he was sitting in the rocking chair that was in the corner of the room, his legs crossed, a quirky grin on his face when he saw John standing at the door. He was wearing an expensive looking light brown suit, and exuded this aura of finesse and charm.
"I thought you'd never be able to face it," Luke told him, standing up to greet his father. John only stared at him, his mouth shut, unable to speak. He only stared down, numbed, at the hand that Luke outstretched toward him.
"Of course, I knew it would be all of a shock to you, seeing as I'm supposed to be dead," Luke reasoned aloud, walking around John and studying him.
"But you are dead," John answered, standing still through his son's inspection, "and you're not supposed to be this old."
"I can be as old as I want to, Dad," Luke answered, shrugging, "Heaven doesn't exactly assign you to an age, and I like this one. Fourteen is such an awkward age, don't you think?" He sat on the edge of the bed. "Come on, ask me."
"Ask you what?"
"What you've been wanting to ask me," Luke said with another shrug, "That's why I'm here. There's something bothering you."
"And you're like my guardian angel or something?" John asked, feeling ridiculously skeptical, "what the hell is going on?"
"Not hell," Luke corrected him. He stopped, looking at John's face, before a small, shy smile curved his lips, "I've missed you, Dad."
John stood up, studying his son. For the first time since he had walked into the room, John noticed his son's beauty. His hair was a light brown, lighter than his suit, whose slightly rumpled appearance only added to his charm and allure [think Jude Law]. His eyes were a mixture of green and hazel, the same as his mother's, and he had a straight jaw and nose.
"I've missed you too, Luke," John finally answered, pulling his son into a hug, "so damn much."
They spent the rest of the time, which felt like it had to have been hours, talking and reminiscing. "Were you in pain, Luke?" John asked. It was a question he had always wondered, if his son's last living moments had been filled with agony.
Luke was quiet for a moment, "Yes." He answered slowly, "but it's not your fault. I know that's what you're thinking." He patted his father on the back reassuringly, "you did your best, Dad. There's nothing to regret. You can't take back the past, you can only use the knowledge to shape the future."
"I don't regret anything about myself," John told him sadly, "I only regret what you've missed."
= = = =
John opened his eyes, a smile coming to his face as he stared at the ceiling. Something inside of him felt relieved, as if something locked up inside of him had been released. He pulled the covers up to his shoulders, wanting to stay in bed for the rest of the morning, but knew he would have to get up in a couple of minutes to get ready for work.
"Good morning, I take it you slept well?" He heard a now familiar voice ask him. He sat up, his back ramrod straight, his eyes wide when he saw Luke sitting on the wood chair that was near the door.
"What are you doing here?" He asked, surprised by how his voice sounded high-pitched.
"You're going to have to answer that," Luke answered with a shrug, holding his palms out in confusion.
"What do you mean?" John edged toward the end of the bed, setting his feet down slowly on the cold wood floor.
"Well," Luke began, leaning back in the chair and crossing his legs. This morning he was wearing a pair of jeans, sneakers, as well as a plain white t-shirt. "There's obviously something that's bothering you, that's why I'm here."
"Can other people see you?"
"You're going to have to answer that," Luke told him, picking at a piece of lint that clung to his shirt, "as you can probably tell, I've never had to do this before."
"This is not happening," John muttered to himself, going into the bathroom. He peeked out again, frowning when he saw Luke still sitting in the chair, "I'm going insane!"
"Tell me something new." Luke added, smirking.
= = = = =
This dream was different. He knew what was happening. His feet felt heavy as he trudged up the stairs, and he realized he was shaking. Who wouldn't, knowing that the son he had lost nearly five years ago was up there, a fully grown young man.
When he finally reached the top of the stairs, he was shaking a lot more. Aliens, human bats, and morphing lizards couldn't get to him, but seeing Luke again did. It shook him on an emotional level.
He walked cautiously into his bedroom, peeking in first to see if the young man was there. He was. This time he was sitting in the rocking chair that was in the corner of the room, his legs crossed, a quirky grin on his face when he saw John standing at the door. He was wearing an expensive looking light brown suit, and exuded this aura of finesse and charm.
"I thought you'd never be able to face it," Luke told him, standing up to greet his father. John only stared at him, his mouth shut, unable to speak. He only stared down, numbed, at the hand that Luke outstretched toward him.
"Of course, I knew it would be all of a shock to you, seeing as I'm supposed to be dead," Luke reasoned aloud, walking around John and studying him.
"But you are dead," John answered, standing still through his son's inspection, "and you're not supposed to be this old."
"I can be as old as I want to, Dad," Luke answered, shrugging, "Heaven doesn't exactly assign you to an age, and I like this one. Fourteen is such an awkward age, don't you think?" He sat on the edge of the bed. "Come on, ask me."
"Ask you what?"
"What you've been wanting to ask me," Luke said with another shrug, "That's why I'm here. There's something bothering you."
"And you're like my guardian angel or something?" John asked, feeling ridiculously skeptical, "what the hell is going on?"
"Not hell," Luke corrected him. He stopped, looking at John's face, before a small, shy smile curved his lips, "I've missed you, Dad."
John stood up, studying his son. For the first time since he had walked into the room, John noticed his son's beauty. His hair was a light brown, lighter than his suit, whose slightly rumpled appearance only added to his charm and allure [think Jude Law]. His eyes were a mixture of green and hazel, the same as his mother's, and he had a straight jaw and nose.
"I've missed you too, Luke," John finally answered, pulling his son into a hug, "so damn much."
They spent the rest of the time, which felt like it had to have been hours, talking and reminiscing. "Were you in pain, Luke?" John asked. It was a question he had always wondered, if his son's last living moments had been filled with agony.
Luke was quiet for a moment, "Yes." He answered slowly, "but it's not your fault. I know that's what you're thinking." He patted his father on the back reassuringly, "you did your best, Dad. There's nothing to regret. You can't take back the past, you can only use the knowledge to shape the future."
"I don't regret anything about myself," John told him sadly, "I only regret what you've missed."
= = = =
John opened his eyes, a smile coming to his face as he stared at the ceiling. Something inside of him felt relieved, as if something locked up inside of him had been released. He pulled the covers up to his shoulders, wanting to stay in bed for the rest of the morning, but knew he would have to get up in a couple of minutes to get ready for work.
"Good morning, I take it you slept well?" He heard a now familiar voice ask him. He sat up, his back ramrod straight, his eyes wide when he saw Luke sitting on the wood chair that was near the door.
"What are you doing here?" He asked, surprised by how his voice sounded high-pitched.
"You're going to have to answer that," Luke answered with a shrug, holding his palms out in confusion.
"What do you mean?" John edged toward the end of the bed, setting his feet down slowly on the cold wood floor.
"Well," Luke began, leaning back in the chair and crossing his legs. This morning he was wearing a pair of jeans, sneakers, as well as a plain white t-shirt. "There's obviously something that's bothering you, that's why I'm here."
"Can other people see you?"
"You're going to have to answer that," Luke told him, picking at a piece of lint that clung to his shirt, "as you can probably tell, I've never had to do this before."
"This is not happening," John muttered to himself, going into the bathroom. He peeked out again, frowning when he saw Luke still sitting in the chair, "I'm going insane!"
"Tell me something new." Luke added, smirking.
= = = = =