Ghost of Mine

He’s drawing again. I’d rather he read my diary. I’ve waited so long for someone to find it and read it and understand it. I don’t think I can wait much longer.

I try to stop his pen, but my attempts are fruitless. He keeps stroking the paper with his wrist, while the pencil is running along – leaving behind thin lines of led. Sometimes, it’s hypnotizing. Sometimes, it’s nauseating. Sometimes, it’s just plain annoying.

I shove his shoulder. He moves – then looks shocked. He looks around the room, but of course, he sees nothing. I’ll never be able to understand how he can draw something he’s never seen.

I drag him out the door and down the hall towards his dark bedroom. It’s like the darkness is pouring out into the light hallway, just like the light is pouring in. It’s like air trying to equalize – only it’s light and it’s unsuccessful.

I get him to sit on his bed, close to his nightstand where he put my diary. I sit down next to him and bounce up and down on the mattress. It doesn’t move, though.

He grabs my diary and I squeal in delight.

His head shoots up. His wide eyes look scared – his pupils huge – as he scans the room frantically. With his eyes still wide and his pupils still dilated, he looks down at my name.

I bite my lip in anticipation.

He opens it up.

‘G has learned how to fetch a stick. Mother thinks it is a bad idea, since now he might bring all sorts of things into the house, but I will teach him not to. He is a good dog.’

I miss G. He really was a good dog. He never ran away or hid or did something I didn’t allow. He always listened to me too. I’d go to bed and have him with me. Mother hated it. She always complained about the sheets getting dirty, but they never did. I washed him every night before I cuddled up with him under my eiderdown, where he would listen to all of my secrets.

I look back at him and see that he’s still reading. I read over his shoulder again.

‘My horse got here today. It has come all the way from Europe and Father says it is of the most reliable, expeditious and expensive kind. It will need a lot of grooming, which is why Father has decided to hire a groomer. Apparently, I cannot be trusted with such a task.’

I remember my father. He was barely ever there, and when he was, he never trusted me with anything. I offered to ride into town with him and assist him on some business, but he said I was too inexperienced. I offered to clean up his desk, but he said I would only make a bigger mess of it. Once I even offered to put his horse back in its stable, but he shook his head and handed the reins to a stable boy.

I shake my head and read over his shoulder again, but he has closed the book. His fingers run over my name again.

I really do hope he will understand.