Eight
You know the saying “You don’t
know what you’ve got until it’s gone?” Well, I had no idea how much I enjoyed
and relied on my gift until it disappeared. I couldn’t read a single soul and
the quiet in my mind was near maddening.
“Sill nothing?” my father asked as
I was headed out the door.
“Nothing,” I said angrily,
avoiding eye contact at all costs. I didn’t look at him as I spoke. Even though
I felt very emotional, I would be damned if I lost control, especially in front
of my father.
“Jonah?” My name from his lips was
full of pity and sorrow, which caused a bit of rage to begin simmering in my
veins. I didn’t need anyone to feel sorry for me. He could tell I was hiding
something. As always, my dad could tell. He had a sixth sense about this kind
of stuff. Either that, or his precognition abilities gave me away.
I turned and struggled to look at
him, angry tears threatening to emerge at any moment, which I would ultimately
hide with an outburst of fury. God. Why was I being such a pussy? I was
contemplating whether I needed to share my despair with him or keep it bottled
up. Sharing my sorrow, if for no other reason, would be to keep my sanity. So,
I spoke from my heart and hoped he would understand. Hoped he wouldn’t push me
to the brink of sharing my deep and bottled up emotions with the world. Not
today. Not now. Gritting my teeth, I spoke. “Not even a dream, Dad. Not one
dream. This is the first time I haven’t dreamed of her in six years.”
He walked over to me and held both
of my shoulders so I would look him straight in the eye. He had to stoop down
slightly just to get my attention enough before he spoke.
“It will come back. She will come
back. You do not just lose a gift you have had your entire life. I am certain
you will be ok,” he said with conviction.
“How do you know?”
“I just do.” He enunciated every
word in staccato as if it made his promise more permanent.
I knew what that meant. That meant
he had a vision. As a precog, he was always very private of his visions.
Especially when someone was as close to him as I was. But if he said he was
“certain” of something… then he had a very good reason to be so confident in
his words.
His confidence that everything
would be ok lifted my spirits a bit. However confident his encouragement was, I
was still a basket case.
“Oh, your mother and I went and
got your car for you. She hated me for taking her away from you while you were
ill, but at least now you’re not stuck here.”
“Thank you. I actually didn’t even
think about the fact it was still at the museum. Shows how on top of things I
am. So, I appreciate you thinking ahead for me,” I said with sincerity.
“You sure you’re okay to drive?”
he asked, still holding on to one shoulder as if he needed to keep me in place
for a moment longer.
I just nodded and said, “Yeah, I’m
fine now. I was fine shortly after my little episode and sleep seemed to help.”
After a quick man-hug with my
father, which consisted of a shoulder bump and a single pat on the back, a kiss
for my mother, and sheer willpower not to break down like a nancy, I left my
father’s house for the studio. Lavendine was like my sanctuary. And my heart
was calling out for my safe haven.
To keep my mind occupied, I
decided to start laying the frogs out and planning the pattern they would be
mounted in. Taking up an entire classroom, I pushed all the high-top tables
together and spread several sheets of drywall out onto them to make up the
ten-foot by twenty-four-foot space the piece would occupy. This way, I could
organize and trace them with a pencil to plan their positions carefully.
Considering I had Jay taking care of the studio and member sign-ups again
today, I was able to delve into my work uninterrupted.
After several minutes of prepping
my area, I made the verdict I would place a sign on the classroom door,
claiming the room as mine until this project was
You know the saying “You don’t
know what you’ve got until it’s gone?” Well, I had no idea how much I enjoyed
and relied on my gift until it disappeared. I couldn’t read a single soul and
the quiet in my mind was near maddening.
“Sill nothing?” my father asked as
I was headed out the door.
“Nothing,” I said angrily,
avoiding eye contact at all costs. I didn’t look at him as I spoke. Even though
I felt very emotional, I would be damned if I lost control, especially in front
of my father.
“Jonah?” My name from his lips was
full of pity and sorrow, which caused a bit of rage to begin simmering in my
veins. I didn’t need anyone to feel sorry for me. He could tell I was hiding
something. As always, my dad could tell. He had a sixth sense about this kind
of stuff. Either that, or his precognition abilities gave me away.
I turned and struggled to look at
him, angry tears threatening to emerge at any moment, which I would ultimately
hide with an outburst of fury. God. Why was I being such a pussy? I was
contemplating whether I needed to share my despair with him or keep it bottled
up. Sharing my sorrow, if for no other reason, would be to keep my sanity. So,
I spoke from my heart and hoped he would understand. Hoped he wouldn’t push me
to the brink of sharing my deep and bottled up emotions with the world. Not
today. Not now. Gritting my teeth, I spoke. “Not even a dream, Dad. Not one
dream. This is the first time I haven’t dreamed of her in six years.”
He walked over to me and held both
of my shoulders so I would look him straight in the eye. He had to stoop down
slightly just to get my attention enough before he spoke.
“It will come back. She will come
back. You do not just lose a gift you have had your entire life. I am certain
you will be ok,” he said with conviction.
“How do you know?”
“I just do.” He enunciated every
word in staccato as if it made his promise more permanent.
I knew what that meant. That meant
he had a vision. As a precog, he was always very private of his visions.
Especially when someone was as close to him as I was. But if he said he was
“certain” of something… then he had a very good reason to be so confident in
his words.
His confidence that everything
would be ok lifted my spirits a bit. However confident his encouragement was, I
was still a basket case.
“Oh, your mother and I went and
got your car for you. She hated me for taking her away from you while you were
ill, but at least now you’re not stuck here.”
“Thank you. I actually didn’t even
think about the fact it was still at the museum. Shows how on top of things I
am. So, I appreciate you thinking ahead for me,” I said with sincerity.
“You sure you’re okay to drive?”
he asked, still holding on to one shoulder as if he needed to keep me in place
for a moment longer.
I just nodded and said, “Yeah, I’m
fine now. I was fine shortly after my little episode and sleep seemed to help.”
After a quick man-hug with my
father, which consisted of a shoulder bump and a single pat on the back, a kiss
for my mother, and sheer willpower not to break down like a nancy, I left my
father’s house for the studio. Lavendine was like my sanctuary. And my heart
was calling out for my safe haven.
To keep my mind occupied, I
decided to start laying the frogs out and planning the pattern they would be
mounted in. Taking up an entire classroom, I pushed all the high-top tables
together and spread several sheets of drywall out onto them to make up the
ten-foot by twenty-four-foot space the piece would occupy. This way, I could
organize and trace them with a pencil to plan their positions carefully.
Considering I had Jay taking care of the studio and member sign-ups again
today, I was able to delve into my work uninterrupted.
After several minutes of prepping
my area, I made the verdict I would place a sign on the classroom door,
claiming the room as mine until this project was
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