I read up on lucid dreaming in the time between visits so that when he returned I would be better capable of talking to him. He held my book in his hands, flipping through my drawings, doting over the increased refinement of my drawing skills. I had filled a dozen sketchpads and upgraded from Crayola to Prismacolor Premier pencils for my drawings. His biggest surprise was when after he complimented my drawings I spoke to him.
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He leaned forward and pressed his plate like face to my head as if to kiss me on the forehead, which was odd since he didn’t have a mouth. Then, as usual, he closed my eyes and I drifted back to sleep. My life took a downturn during the latter years of high school. My Dad lost his job, and when the search for a new one dragged on, he turned to drinking to cope with his failure. He wasn’t abusive, but he wasn’t fun to be around either.