The Way Home
Copyright© 2013 by BarBar
Chapter 8
(snap) (thunk) (click-click) (snick) (traffic) (voices) (birds)
"Hello Benito."
"Edward Richardson, it seems that we keep meeting – here in Memorial Park."
"Yes ... I..."
"What day is it, Edward? I'm having trouble keeping track of the days."
"It's Thursday, Benito. Today is Thursday."
"Ah! Thursday, excellent. And what time is it, Edward?"
I glance at my wrist. "My watch ... it seems to be playing up. I must have taken it off."
"Oh? Then what time would you say it is?"
"I think we have a half hour before the end of school."
"An entire half an hour. Did you come so much earlier just to talk to me? You must be enjoying our little chats."
"Um ... yes. Yes, I am. But I wanted to ask you something."
"Oh? Ask away."
"Have you noticed ... anything strange?"
"Strange? What do you mean?"
"I think something is wrong. I think something weird is going on."
"What is happening?"
"I don't know. I can't put it into words. The fountain..."
"That fountain over there? What about it?"
"Yesterday, when we were speaking ... was it yesterday?"
"Yes indeed. We've been speaking every day. The last time we spoke was yesterday."
"I'm sorry. You're not the only one having trouble keeping track of the days. Yesterday, when I left you and went to meet my daughter..."
"Yes."
" ... I don't remember meeting her. Isn't that strange? I remember getting to the fountain and then I just ... I don't remember what happened after that."
"Ah! That's interesting." He stands and holds out an arm. "Will you take my arm? I think we should take a walk."
"A walk? Where will we walk?"
"I think it's time for you to take me to the fountain."
"Oh ... but..."
"Edward Richardson, there is a band-aid on your soul. It has been protecting a wound. But it is time to take off the band-aid."
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