behind_the_scenes

“Dad… is that you?” I don’t know why I asked. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the weight of everything tonight — too much, far too much. My father groaned. His voice was hollow. Raspy. I gripped the desk to steady myself, hands trembling, staring at the hood that hid his face. “How did you get up here?” My voice cracked. Living alone was a mistake. “Find. Your. Sister.” His tone was sharp, the same stern cadence he used when anger boiled beneath his words.

My brain couldn’t cooperate with what I was seeing. It was 39 minutes past 12, and my 58 year old father was standing outside my front door, looking especially tired and zombified. And he was asking me… “Are you sure you haven’t seen your sister?” He questioned in a raspy, hollow voice. I continued gaping at him, shaking my head. I forced my jaw to shut. “No, Dad. I don’t have a sister, I’m the only child.” I said, for the millionth time. “Are you… okay?”

I was just finishing up an essay at midnight when somebody knocked on my door. My face twisted with confusion as I wondered why somebody would knock on my door instead of using the doorbell. Plus, it was MIDNIGHT. I stood up slowly and heard another knock on the door. Annoyed, I ran downstairs. Another knock. It was rhythmic, like the beat on a drum. KNOCK-KNOCK… KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. Feeling my dinner crawl up my esophagus, I opened the door. “Dude, it’s midnight. What are you d-”

It’s a late September night, and I’m walking to the Londoun Gateway to catch my train. Sure, it’s midnight, but my cousin Iora called me and told me to get over there immediately. She said she found my dog. My dog Crustin went missing a few years back, and I’d almost forgotten about him, until today. My first thought was: NO WAY! Crustin’s been missing for YEARS, and he’s ALIVE?