Yesterday I found myself standing in the café. My purpose for this visit was concealed by the intent to deliver some mail he had received at my house. However, I think my ulterior motive was to prove to myself that he is real, that I didn’t just make us up. But more importantly, I went to prove to myself that I am real.
Do I exist? Or is it that I possess the super cool super power of invisibility? It sounds cool anyway. But I’m here to tell you, it gets pretty lonely being the only person that nobody can see.
The last time I was standing in his presence he glided right past me, looked right through me, as if I wasn’t there. So maybe… I don’t exist. Maybe I’m just a phantom here to roam this world in perfect seclusion haunted by my own hallowness.
It’s one year ago, I’m at the mall, standing in line to buy my son a softshell chicken taco from Taco Bell. I look over and see my dad, standing in another line with no lines between us. Our field of vision is clear. His eyes wander the big, open space, scanning the row of people behind me, in front of me. I know he sees me, yet he pretends not to. He looks right past me, my own father, his own flesh and blood, like I’m not even there. Like I don’t even exist. I suppose, to him, maybe I don’t. I suppose maybe it’s always just been easier for him to deny my existence than to take responsibility for it.