Life Repeat

My life was always a busy one.

I worked late into the night every weekday. It came as a big relief that I had no wife and children. I could never be a caring father who could be around with kids. I never really interacted with people. And I did have to deal several problems. My mother was on her deathbed and of course, I had to deal with my terrible, drug-addicted friends who were really bad influences. My friendships were all superficial; I never really had any real friends. I was ostracised by nearly everyone I met, except for a bunch of gangster-type retards who took me in. I had always been naive, so I accepted their offers. They weren't like those authoritarians who shunned me all the time.

Anyway, after a late night at work, I came back to my block of flats and was going up the elevator when I had this cold feeling. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself. When I reached my level, I walked out of the lift and there he stood, the little boy of around four years old.

My heart melted at the sight of him, and I always had a soft spot for cute kids. But this boy was just beyond cute. I squatted and looked him straight in the eye.

"Hey, buddy, where're your parents?" I asked, using a friendly singsong voice, the kind of voice which I thought a mother used when she talked to a baby. I don't know whether I was speaking the right way and I was nervous. I've never had children, so I wouldn't know  anything about them.

This kid didn't seem annoyed or put off by the way I spoke or anything. His electric-blue eyes sought mine and he asked quietly, "Where's Dad?"

Anger kindled in my heart. What was this dude's parents doing leaving him here like they didn't care? That moment I noticed something: the corridor was deafeningly quiet. My hair stood up all over my body. I shivered a little in the cold; the temperature had suddenly dropped again. I could tell the boy felt angry and abandoned, like he knew what his parents had done to him.

I felt like I did, too. But I had to make sure.

"Do you live 'round here?" I asked the little kid. He hesitated for a while before slowly shaking his head. A single tear welled up in his right eye and splashed on the pavement below. I fell to both knees and decided to tell him the truth.

"Well, then your parents must have...left you," I told him, not wanting use the word "abandoned" in fear that he might react even more badly.

To my utter surprise, he didn't react as I expected. Instead, he simpy nodded slowly.

I couldn't help it. My body shook with nervousness. The dude looked so helpless, so handsome, so lonely...my heart went out to me. I know, that sound so girly to all you kids, but trust me, when you grow up you'll have this weird liking for young dudes too. Just you wait.

We're off-topic now. Anyway, I grabbed his pudgy, meaty hand with my own and asked, "Do you want me to be your Dad? Huh? You'd like that, eh?"

The boy nodded silently, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Elation exploded within me. I had a son, at last.



He was always a quiet kid who kept to himself.

Sure, he went to school and all, but he had always adamantly refused to participate in projects which involved teamwork. That didn't come as a big surprise, seeing that he was terribly anti-social, even with me. He barely talked to me, but I knew he like me. Or, I hoped he did. I hadn't shown him to my mother though I always mentioned him to her when we talked over the phone. She was, as expected, just as excited as I was. ''Hey, a kid! Finally! A grandchild! ''

And he insisted in sleeping in a seperate room. His room was always pin-drop silent at night. He didn't snore at all. I couldn't hear him tossing and turning either.

Midnight one day, I woke up to check on my son. Sliding of the bed, I stumbled groggily into his room -- and saw a whole bunch of nothing on his bed.

OK, I admit I got a little hysterical. I screamed my throat raw and yelled the name which he wanted everyone to use.

"Bryce! BRYCE! Where are you? Where are you?!"

Another of those temperature-dropping incidents. But this time it was crazy. I literally felt like turning back into my bed and covering myself with my quilt. But instead I ran straight out into the corridor. I was about to wake everyone up and yell his name before I heard his voice.

"Dad."

I spun around and saw him standing in his too-small striped pyjamas in the middle of the living room. I stepped back when I first saw him; I could've sworn he wasn't in the house. I had looked everywhere. No way.

But I shook the feeling off. I dismissed that thought. I just ran over and hugged him.

"Don't. Ever. Do that. Again," I said through my sobs.

His eyes were wild with elation and excitement and amusment. I think he even smiled.

"Okay, Dad."

-

The next day, I decided to show Bryce to my mother.

I brought him to her house, where some of my cousins were taking care of her. She lay down on her bed. I wanted to make this a surprise to her. I walked up to the door slowly and pushed it open. Bryce held my hand. He always seemed to be smiling, but that was okay, since his smile lit up my day.

We walked in together.

"Here he is, Mom. Take a good look, even I wasn't as cute as this," I laughed merrily, picking Bryce up and offering him for my Mom to hold. I saw her expressions change from one to another: Happiness, bewilderment, confusion and finally, comprehension.

"Oh, that's a nice joke, David," She laughed heartily. "Where's he hiding?"

What did she even mean?

"But he's right here!" I exclaimed, my smile faltering.

"David. Come on."

"What?"

"David, there's no one there! That's a nice joke. Where are you, Bryce? Come see your dear grandmother!" She chuckled, craning her neck to take a look behind me, as though Bryce was hiding behind me. I looked down at Bryce, who was smiling like a maniac. I ran out without a word and came back to our block of apartments. We came to our level and I found that he was completely invisible, but I felt him in my arms. I was about as creeped out as I could ever be. I set him down and ran, ran as fast as I could. I didn't exactly know where I was running to. But I just ran, ran because my life was a failure and it would never change. I knew that, for a fact, my life was an example to others of what a sad life is really like. My lovely child was not a child at all. A ghost, a zombie, I didn't know what he was. I just ran and as I ran, I thought I saw Bryce. I saw him -- no, it -- flying alongside me, mocking me, smiling at me.



I decided for a fresh start. A new life. A successful one.

But that kid remained etched in my memory. The memories of several months of caring for my own dear son never left me. It haunted me in my dreams, and by the it I not only mean those painful memories, but also it. Bryce, the zombie child.

I wanted to forget all about me. Wish granted. It left my mind. For a few years, I thought I knew what it was like to live a really happy life. Bryce left my memory completely.

After a late night at work, I came back to my block of flats and was going up the elevator when I had this cold feeling. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself. When I reached my level, I walked out of the lift and there he stood, the little boy of around four years old.

His electric-blue eyes sought mine and he asked quietly, "Where's Dad?"