Talking to my Dad

The front door was new, heavily glazed - white. I pressed the small
brass button and waited for a ring. As silently as the bell, the door
opened, revealing walls adorned with pictures and plates, stripped down
to the plaster, but with remnants of pale green paper here and there. A
glimpse into other rooms beyond revealed similar d?cor, stripped bare
but tidy and adorned.

She was small, but shapely rounded. Her hair was sparsely curled and
coloured indiscriminate beige; that strange colour that is neither
blonde nor grey. She wore a baggy top the colour of her hair, and a
gathered skirt of comfortable cotton. As she shuffled back in her cosy
slippers and reached out her hand in welcome, the shoulder of her shirt
slipped down revealing a bra strap jewelled and pretty as a brides. I
asked her how she was.

"Plodding on, plodding."

Her response was negative and sad; I muttered words of comfort, hiding
my surprise. She looked into my eyes and heaved a sigh.

"People expect me to be so happy all the time, just because of what I
am. Come, in here."

The hand that pointed was manicured and polished in pretty pink, in
contrast to the little room. It was simply furnished, a small divan
covered in white, two soft chairs and an old dressing table, childlike
in size, but covered with icons, framed prayers, pictures of Christ,
and a book about the highways and byways of Dorset. The air felt
soft.

We settled for a moment in the comfy chairs, and when she spoke again
her voice was mellifluous, her northern accent more pronounced.

"Do you have something on you that has only been yours?"

I handed her my ring.

The room fell silent. Then she nodded and spoke.

"There is great strength in you, enough for five people. You're on a
journey but there's always someone with you. Are you changing
jobs?"

I nodded.

"That's good, your Grandma says what you're doing now is wrong, but
you've made the right choice, its time to move on."

Not wanting to comment, I simply smiled.

She gave me names of people I knew well, little details and asides.
Then asked about the man who drove a Jaguar car, warning me that he
would return into my life and I must not get involved again. She paused
comfortably again, settling further in her seat.

"Many people close to you have passed, haven't they? Yes, I see. Nan,
says your daughter should have been a dancer, always dancing. She'll go
far but you must encourage her, tell her to go to college. How many
daughters? Three. But there's a young man who's close to you, a son
figure, he'll get closer, wait and see."

She turned and nodded, as if to someone sitting by her side.

"Your partner is one of a kind, a gentle man. He'll love you till the
day you die. Your Dad says there is much love in this relationship, but
you must look after it, because if you don't, you will be the one to
end it, not him, and he is a special man. Keep that love."

She looked straight into my eyes again.

"You miss him don't you, but he's always close. You know that. He says,
whenever you need his help, just ask. Oh, yes! Now he's saying, you
don't always take it!"

Then she laughed as if sharing a joke.

"He's showing me money, lots of it, and you shaking hands with someone
near Big Ben. There are cameras and he's saying you've a long way to
go, and its up. You are going to be very, very successful. He is so
proud of you. He loves you so very much."

My throat dried and tears welled. My Dad had been dead so long, but
often times I felt him close, not just when things got bad. Not a day
went by without a thought or memory of him.

"He has to go. He says, not to worry, all is well, everyone is happy,
and he gives you his love. A red rose. Grandma is sending you white
roses. Peace. There is great love and peace in your life. You are
blessed."

She smiled as the tape rewound.

"I see great things for you dear girl. Fame. Treat it wisely."

I squeezed her arm and thanked her for her time.

"Great things."

She said again as the white door closed and I stepped out into the
sun.