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“She floated again from out the light, and into the gloom…and again her shadow fell from her into the ebony water, and became absorbed into it’s blackness.” This line echoes again and within the hollow confines of my skull. It is from “The Island of the Fay” by Poe. It is the story from which I chose the name Fay, and as it speaks of the life cycle and of death, I can only blame myself for the suspected fate of my beloved daughter.
She was all I had. It was only me and her. It used to be just me and my mother. I was always a loner. Never a ladies’ man. Always a one on one kind of person. I always had one person to occupy passages of time, during which I isolated myself from everyone else and devoted myself to that person. Which is why I’ve assumed my last girlfriend broke up with me. She was young, eighteen, not ready for the type of relationship she guessed I was searching for, which happened to be a wrong assumption on her part. I suppose my actions confided otherwise. My ultimate devotion. I was twenty-four, not ready for that type of relationship either, but too content with this young woman.
Once I had my daughter, and as I mentioned it has only been two years, I never thought of including another person in my life. I’d only get lonely when I’d miss sexual intimacy. So now and then I’d meet a woman, somewhere that I had my daughter, the library or a museum. We’d arrange for lunch some time, of course Fay would come along, and most times they would return home with us to spend the evening. When Fay’s bedtime arose, my loneliness ceased to be. Never anything long term.
Being a writer, I worked at home, at my leisure. I learned to not be distracted by the well-behaved, though not always quiet play of my little girl. Though most often, I would reserve my writing time to the evenings when she was asleep. Appointments, shopping, errands, everywhere I went, I would take Fay with me. I never let her out of my sight.
And now I have no idea where she is or what might be happening to her.
…to be continued…