An Imaginary Dialogue with My Son / Scene 1

An Imaginary Dialogue with My Son—Scene 1 (Written by Rhonda.H.Y.Mason)
An Imaginary Dialogue with My Son—Scene 1 (Written by Rhonda.H.Y.Mason)
An Imaginary Dialogue with My Son—Scene 1 (Written by Rhonda.H.Y.Mason)
An Imaginary Dialogue with My Son—Scene 1 (Written by Rhonda.H.Y.Mason)
An Imaginary Dialogue with My Son—Scene 1 (Written by Rhonda.H.Y.Mason)

‘Where are we?’ asks Cameron.

‘In my imagination,’ I say.

‘But what is this place?’

‘It’s a shell that I found at the beach near the holiday house.’

‘It's...huge.’

‘That’s because I made it bigger. Or I made us miniature. One or the other.’

‘So you created this world—this imaginary dimension—so that we could meet?’

‘Yes.’ A pause. ‘Because…I miss you.’

‘I miss you too, mum.’

We grin at each other. My eyes begin to sting.

Cameron looks around him. ‘How did we get here, you reckon?’

‘I don’t know. And I don’t think we’re meant to know. It’s like when I have dreams at night and I never know how I end up in strange places and scenarios.’

‘Dreams...I don’t have dreams.’

‘No?’

‘No. Where I am, we don’t need to dream.’

‘That makes sense.’ I pause again, wanting to ask him more, but the moment passes. Instead, I say, ‘For some reason, this place reminds me of a derelict Roman colosseum.’

‘Or an old, shipwrecked submarine. Those could be portholes.’

I look at him, surprised. He catches my glance. ‘I’ve read about them,’ he explains.

‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ I reply. ‘Your father loves to read. And submarines would be right up his alley.’

We walk over to examine the raised patterns on the ground.

‘Each of them is a tiny spiral,’ Cameron observes.

‘It’s like they’re all mimicking the primary spiral.’

We both move closer to the spiral in question.

‘Can you see the honeycomb pattern down there?’ he asks.

‘Yes. Amazing. I guess God has an eye for detail.’

Cameron looks at me and smiles. ‘Yes, he does.’

We sit down next to each other.

I gaze down into the spiral. ‘I wonder what’s at the bottom.’

‘We could slide down and see?’ he suggests with a grin.

‘Maybe there’s a portal to another world.’

We both chuckle.

‘How are things back at home?’ he asks, looking directly at me.

‘Really good at the moment. We just had two weeks of holidays together by the seaside. Your father read many books, and I managed to do some knitting for a change. We also spent lots of time down at the beach, where your father developed a new favourite pastime: building big piles of large rocks. Your brothers enjoyed helping him.’

‘Sounds like fun!’

‘Yeah, I think it was.’ I look straight into his eyes. ‘We missed you though. We always miss you.’

We lie down, side by side, as if we’re star gazing. We are both silent for a long time. He reaches over and squeezes my hand.

‘I’m glad we’re doing this, mum. Thanks for bringing me here.’

‘Me too,’ I say as I squeeze his hand back.

‘How do we meet again?’

‘Leave that up to me, darling.’

‘I love you, mum.’

‘And I love you. Always and forever.’

We embrace. Then everything fades.

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You can read the other posts in this series here.