I continued playing the tape while looking out at the window outside.
The flowers were beautiful.
The vegetables and fruits are flourishing.
But she was nowhere to be found.
Which is good.
Just like my parents, I shouldn't be able to see her too.
'Mikaela' the name lingers on my lips.
The ghosts that haunted me disappear with her.
But my memory, those meds, I can't remember much.
The side effect lingers on.
Or maybe it was myself.
Refusing to remember.
Standing there in the kitchen.
Wishing I could hear the words she left behind.
Was it all in my mind? Is she real, no one can prove anything, ghosts, her, me.
I played the recorder, but the tape got stuck and I have to take it out and tried to salvage it. I worked day and night in the kitchen, pausing for some water and food and the occasional toilet break. Eye bags under my eyes and I finally able to fix it, I inputted the cassette again.
'Ain't No Mountain High Enough' was playing in the background when suddenly at the end, just right at the end, I heard someone's voice. "I learned how to record a tape today."
"How?"
"It's easy, you just have to click here-"
A crash was heard, a bang of sorts. Metals scattering on the ground.
A scratchy voice was talking, "I love... you. Dad."
My wrinkled hands can't help wiping the tears away from my eyes.
The familiar voice that I love so much.
How could I forget my own name?
John Stuart, father of Mikaela Stuart.
My knees felt weak.
I stumbled forward.
Falling on the floor.
On the ground, from the corner of my eyes.
I saw the old medicine that I took hidden in between a gap.
I reached and held it in my hand.
The white and blue pills.
The doctor prescribes them for my anxiety and depression due to my dissociative amnesia.
I just can't handle the fact that Mikaela died.
I forget, to remember again.
To part, to meet again even if briefly.
(2747 words)
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