It was late afternoon on a too-warm summer day. The afternoon light was filtering in through the screens surrounding the porch I was sitting on. My Dad was talking to me about something or other from outside. There was a lull in the conversation. I had been caught up in thoughts all day and suddenly, without any real conscious effort on my part, I asked him a question: “What was my first daughter’s name?”
He looked at me and was quite shocked for a second, then he quickly shook it off and made a joke. I was puzzled, and confused, and seeking. He looked at me more closely and said, “do you really remember her?”
I wasn’t sure what he meant so I only answered with, “I think so. What was her name?”
“I don’t even remember,” he said. “It seems like such a long time ago.”
I urged him to tell me more and, finally, reluctantly, he did.
He swears he can’t remember her name, though I’m not sure I believe him. He said that around 2 years old she became unspeakably violent without cause. We brought her to the hospital where they insisted that she be supervised and examined by a child psychologist. We were told that to really understand they’d need to watch her for a few days and that we should go home.
I can’t imagine agreeing to leave my daughter there and go home for more than a few hours, let alone a few days, yet my dad swears that we all thought it was best. We weren’t home for more than a few hours when the hospital called to tell us our daughter had been stolen. They had no idea who had done it but assured us every available resource was looking for her.
I was consumed by it. Time passed and they found nothing. I hunted for her day and night. I could not rest until she was found and no one seemed to be helping. I lost my job and was becoming sick. Eventually, according to my dad, I was urged to see a psychologist myself. After a weeks worth of lengthy visits, I was no longer obsessing over finding her. And after a few months, I didn’t speak of her at all. Over time, it was as if I had completely forgotten.
Even then, as he was recanting the entire story to me, it seemed like a story belonging to someone else living in a world that wasn’t anything like the one I lived in.
It was such a scary, insane dream that I can’t get it out of my head. I still remember almost every detail and there’s a part of me — a rather big part considering what we’re talking about here — that feels like it is real.
Even stranger is that there was no indication of time. I don’t know if the dream was in the past, the future, or the present. I also never saw my “other daughter” or spoke of her other than in reference to the fact that my missing daughter was “first”. I awake from the dream not knowing either daughter’s name. Is it more scary that this could be from the future and that my “first daughter” is Celeste? Or that this is from the present/past and that my “first daughter” came before Celeste?