Fragments Gallery
Reflections: Close to Home
I find myself once more staring off into the distance as they continue to talk in front of me. What I see this time... This time it is different. What I see is more recent and much more personal. Normally when I have my visions they are of the distant past. I see things that happened long ago to people who are long dead. It is interesting to see but it is certainly not really relevant to me. This time… it’s not so irrelevant.
I’ll start at the beginning. I was, and still am, sitting in a little coffee shop in the middle of nowhere. This shop is in the center of a small town in the highlands; here little more exists than a few run down shops surrounded by an assortment of houses. This place has essentially been a ghost town for years. There is nothing here, and no one, certainly no travellers or sight seers, even comes here.
To most people this is the middle of nowhere; for my family this small town has plenty of meaning. My father grew up on a small farm near here. It was in this town, in this very coffee shop in fact, that he happened to meet my mother. They're both gone now, died in a car crash many years ago; I came back here to remember them.
But now because of my gift I'm not just remembering them. I see them as well.
I came into this empty shop, ordered a coffee, and then sat down in a corner booth. Once there I proceeded to stare out the window at that sleepy street. Through the window I could see some houses along the main road, some were fine but others were in varying states of disrepair. I was examining those houses when a bit of motion dragged my eye back in the shop. I turned my gaze indoors once more and saw that now every seat in the shop was filled by faded reflections. Even at my table I was joined by an elderly pair of ghosts, for lack of a better term.
Although I could not hear them I imagine that the shop would have been loud. The place was bustling; the servers rushed round taking order after order. I was watching one of the waitresses rush by the door when I noticed a young man come in. At first my eyes passed right over him, however as realization of what I had seen set in my gaze shot back.
That young man was my father. He was dressed casually; blue jeans, band t-shirt and green ball cap. He calmly looked around, clearly searching for a seat, and eventually settled on a chair at a table with a young woman. She had her back to him but from the way his eyes lit up I could tell he thought he recognized her. As he ordered his coffee I studied her. I knew who she was, just as I knew that he would not actually know her. She was my mother. This was when they met.
My father strode over, his lips moving in a familiar greeting; my mother looked up in shock and blushed at his words. My father then noticed his mistake and seemed to apologize fervently. Mother waved away his apologies and gestured for him to sit. She could see there was nowhere else. They remained silent for a few minutes before my mother noticed the band t-shirt, she gestured at it and said something. It wasn't long before they were speaking steadily. Slowly the shop cleared out around them leaving them alone at their table. Eventually a server pointedly flipped over the open sign on the door and my parents took the hint.
Now they are rising from their seats and moving to leave the shop. I have to follow them; I will continue writing in a moment.
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As the reflections were approaching the door I hastily drained my coffee and by the time they had opened the door I was there to follow them out onto the street. They stood and talked for a moment before she got into an old car that was parked there. The engine roared to life and she pulled out onto the road. It wasn't long before she turned a corner at the end of the street and disappeared from sight.
My father stood there the entire time, watching until she was out of sight. Into his pockets went his hands as he turned to walk away with his head down. Clearly he thought he would never see her again.
A horn honks and he turns back; my mother is driving back down the road. She comes to a stop, hops out and rushes back to my father. She says something to him with a smile and presses a small piece of paper into his hand. She then runs back to her car and once again disappears down the road. I get closer to him so I can read what is written on the paper. It is a phone number.
The vision begins to fade as I scribble in my notebook. I try to desperately hold on but it is already gone. It wasn’t what I expected to see when I came here but I’m glad it is what I witnessed.