Chapter 16

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I walk around downtown Seattle trying to remember everything I can about you.  I pass the Italian restaurant.  Pike's Place Market.  The ferry docks.  I sit down on a park bench to watch the rain sweep the bay.  

I hear a voice call my name.

My father is stting beside me in a London Fog rain coat. 

I think I'm going crazy Dad.

You're not going crazy Anne, he says, putting his arm around me.  You're grieving.

I miss you, Daddy, I say, as you hold me close.

I miss you too, baby.

What am I supposed to do now?

You know what do to.  I've already told you.

But I don't even know if I like horses anymore,  I don't know anything.

You know I'm proud of you, honey.

For what?  I don't even know what the fuck I'm doing with my life. I'm a mess, walking in and out of dreamworlds, plots, and my overactive imagination.

I'm proud of you for having the courage to grow, baby, and I've always loved your overactive imagination. 

You pull a story out of your pocket that I wrote when I was in second grade.  It's called the Peanut Butter monster who eats all of the peanut butter in the house but it turns out to be my father in the end.

You remember?

Of course, I remember, baby.  I remember everything. Even your mother before she left, and how much I loved her.

I called her, you know.  We're going to meet next week.  He gives me his hankerchief.  Tell her I love her, and that I'm happy that she is well. 

I hug my father one last time, and thank him for all he's done for me.  You know I wouldn't be who I am without you.

I wouldn't be who I am without you, he says. 

By the time I'm done using the handkerchief he gave to wipe my tears, my father is gone.

There is only me on a park bench in the rain.  But as I'm getting up from the bench I look down to see that someone has carved with a knife into the wood the words, Carpe Diem.

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