Original Art by Steve Poulacheris – Copyright © 2019
Took an afternoon nap and had a peculiar dream about my father in outer space. It’s quite a long story. It’s good, though.
We were both working on a project. I was doing the ‘groundwork’; I was interested in establishing whether there was any intelligence out there. He told me that that night, if I looked up at the sky and focused very hard, I might just be able to establish contact. So I went out to an isolated spot, lay down on my back in the grass, and peered upwards very, very hard. And eventually I could see beams of shimmering, spectral light. There was definitely something there, and it appeared to be interacting with me. Suddenly, it went out. But hours later, if I trained my eyes, I could make out a faint, distant glimmer.
He called the next day, and said: “I’m sorry to disappoint you. It was just me & my mates out there. And as far as I can make out, there is no intelligent life in outer space. I’m afraid I found nothing at all”. He sounded extraordinarily apologetic; it was as if he had failed.
Shortly afterwards, I got a call from my mum. She said: “they went up, far out, in a ship. Actually, their plan was to get all the way to Mars. But it was basically just a glorified blimp. There was a malfunction; as they adjusted the controls, your dad went off on his own and started playing with the central mechanism. The whole system went down. There were two casualties”. It made sense. My dad was a drinker, and had the technical savvy of a newt. I imagined him out there clutching a bottle of Ballantines, with an intense look of baffled concentration. My mum said: “Your father is dead”.
I was devastated. Crushed by emotion. It was as if I had died,as well. I adore my dad. My mother and I wandered about aimlessly all day long. I found it almost impossible to comprehend that he no longer existed. Then I came up with a plan: “Fuck it all. I know what I’ll do. I’m going to find the best, most expensive cocktails in town. And I’m going to drink them. Then I’ll drink many more. And I won’t stop”. It made as much sense as anything else.
But looking back, I thought: “If he’s dead, how could he have called me the next day, as if to say goodbye? And why, long after the lights went out, was there still a faint trace, a faraway, flickering glimmer? Perhaps he’s still out there, lost, a long, long way from home. But intelligent life? Nah. Forgeddit”.
Ben Golomstock
From the forthcoming book, “Dreams from Hell”
