The windows are open. I can hear some streetnoices from where I stand. Children are playing outside. Boys are yelling and girls are giggling all the time. It's a funny sound, like it's summer. But I expect heavy weather. The clouds turns grey and I'm waiting. Waiting untill they cry out their sadness over the world. I close the windows and return to the living. The only sound is the tick tack of the clock. My hands are searching for the Jack Daniels in front of me. I can easily find it with my eyes closed. It's still there, at the same place where I left my glass a few minutes ago. This time Jack taste a little bitter but I like to drink because I'm in the mood.

Just four steps further is a cupboard. It's a storage place for books. Dictionary's, novells, science fiction and agient magazines. Not very often I like to read. Now the books are there, just for decoration but I know what's written down. I'm walking to the cupboard and let my eyes go over the covers. It's not what I'm looking for. I'm trying hard to find my picture book. It's there at the top, almost hidden. I take a chair and climb on it so that I can get it. When I sit down again I fill my glass with another Jack. My hands are shaky and my mouth is dry.

Then I open the book and watch the pictures. They should be coloured in black white but nowadays the photo's are yellow. But I don't care. I can clearly see the boy on the pictures, he's me. Simulair like I was, a long time ago. Blond hair, alsmost white. Sparkling eyes and a fine young body. I close my eyes and try to get some memories. Outside the first rain is pooring down and for a moment I'm shocked by a flashlight and a thunder. When the sound is fading away I move my fingers softly over the edges of the pictures and try to speak.

"Hello, young boy. I'm here to visit you again. How are you?"

Nobody expects an answer. I feel lonely and start talking again.

"Hello, there. You in the picture, are you ignoring me? You should be glad that I'm here".

I close my eyes for another time and let the memories run.

"What's wrong? Why did you call my name?", sounds the voice of a boy.

I shake my head and watch to the glass in front of me. Today there was too much alcohol. I feel dizzy and drunk. This must be the reason that I can hear voices around me.

"I can learn from your face that you're having sad moments".

"Shut your mouth, young boy and listen".

"Listen to what?".

"To the rain. It inspires me".

"Looks like the drank inspired your day already".

I try to close the picture book but my hands are shaking too much.

"I wish that I was young again, so that could play with you. But all my energy is gone".

"Maybe you have to go to sleep for awhile".

"No. It's not that. I feel empty because I'm exhausted by life. I'm fading away".

"Silly. I faded away, but I'm here still as a picture".

"Yeah. Your life was dedicated to be a picture. But I'm human. This are my restrictions".

"You can try to be a picture".

"For gods sake. Please shut up. How can I be a picture?"

"You ever tried?"

"No. I didn't try because this kind of magic is impossible".

"I'm sorry".

"What are you doing right now?"

"I was listening to you".

"No. Before you was listening to me. What did you do in the picture?".

"I was just smiling to the photographer. He's my dad, you know. He can shoot cool pictures. He's great".

"I know. This man is also my dad but he passed away a long time ago".

For a moment nobody was able to speak. The young boy was there and I was speechless, trying to collect memories from my father.

"Do you miss him?".

"Yeah, I miss him a lot. Wish he could be reborn again".

"Then close your eyes and put your hand on the picture. Not too hard because I'm still in it".

I did what I was ordered for. At that moment a journey starts and the world goes round and round untill it stops.

When I open my eyes again I find myselve in this room full of memories. The boy is there, smiling to the photographer. My dad is there, instructing the little kid and mom is knitting a sweater in an easy chair near by. And the boy ... is me.

This dream feels lovely and is so real that I can almost touch the furniture, and touch the hair of the boy. I want to shake hands with my father againand kiss my mother. And at this moment the world stops and I am waiting for somebody who is able to open the picturebook of memories again.

To be continued << Dream Contact >> episode #2 of Picturebook

For some persons a picturebook is journey through sweet memories, for others it might be a nightmare. But ... whenever the rain is gone and the sun is shining brightly again I presume that it's better that this picturebook remains closed.

Engeltje

Engeltje