on life and believed that anything was possible. Determined to never give up, she spent years on trying to publish her own novel and her dream has been finally accomplished. She was also such a caring and loving mother and wife, besides being an amazing woman with great strength and a forward look on the future. She didn’t believe in the past, only the now.” And by that time, his deep voice has broken and he’s up there wiping tears off his face with a tissue.
I’m trying hard not to cry. So hard. I’m steady and calm on the surface but inside I’m breaking. The unfeelingness dissipates until the hurting rushes back to me. I look down to see my fists clenched so tightly at my sides that when I uncurl them, red fingernail prints are imprinted on the tender skin.
The ride home is as uncomfortable as the first. I turn the radio on but all I’m greeted with are bubbly pop songs, not the ones that I need. It’s raining heavily, the sky a winter gray above us. I listen to the rhythmic sound of the wipers moving across the watery windshield in front of me. This whole day has been like a hallucination.
Thunder rolls across the sky and it starts raining harder. When I turn to look out the window, I can’t decipher between what is tears and what is rain.
When we’re back at home, the clanking and hitting of pans together in the kitchen make up for the empty silence. I’ve skipped lunch so I’m starving. Dad is chopping lettuce fast and I help him with grating the cheddar. Dad swears suddenly, letting the knife clatter to the sink.
He nicked his thumb while cutting and blood oozes out of the cut. He clutches his hand with his shirt, still cursing under his breath. Surprised and nervous, I rummage in the drawers for bandages.
Dad’s standing there in the middle of the kitchen, looking down at the tiles. A vein in his forehead pulses. Then he sweeps aside the chopping board, the bowls, and plates on the countertop. I’m too shocked to catch the dinner pieces as they smash to the ground and splinter to ceramic pieces.
A haze goes over his eyes and he slumps to the ground, hiding his face in his hands. His shoulders tremble and sobs come out of him. I don’t know what to do. It’s one thing to cry yourself and another to see your dad cry. I kneel beside him, reaching to pat his shoulder.
“It’s been over a year,” I say in a soft voice. I’m coming close to crossing the invisible line. “We’ve got to let her go and move on with our lives.”
I try to pull him up but he just keeps on kneeling on the ground, weeping. Knowing that I can’t fix this, I leave him there on the kitchen floor and run to my bedroom upstairs, grab the picture of Mom under my bed, hurling myself onto the bed.
Her affectionate smile and sparkling eyes looks back at me. I run my fingers over the wooden frame, wishing that I could just throw this all to the tide. Wishing she is here.
Can’t look at her familiar face anymore, I bury my face into the pillow, starting to get hysterical. I feel like I can’t breathe, all my sobs are choked in my throat. I can’t feel anything, like my body is numb. Memories of her are eating greedily at me. Like the time I hit my head hard in the mirror when I was six when I thought that it was a time portal to another world. A jagged cut ran along my forehead and bits of glass were embedded in the skin.
Mom looked terrified when she found me crying loudly on the floor. “Oh, Avena , what did you do?” Mom said, wrapping bandages all over my head, tsking . “Silly child!”
Tears ran out of my eyes as I wailed. “It hurts!”
“It’ll all be better soon.” She brushed my hair out of my eyes and kissed me tenderly on the forehead. “I swear it, okay?”
“What about the next time I get hurt again?” I asked petulantly.
“I’ll make the pain go away.”
The flashback fades and I scream hoarsely, pressing my hands to my ears. “The pain is not going away!” I yell feverishly, weeping
I’m trying hard not to cry. So hard. I’m steady and calm on the surface but inside I’m breaking. The unfeelingness dissipates until the hurting rushes back to me. I look down to see my fists clenched so tightly at my sides that when I uncurl them, red fingernail prints are imprinted on the tender skin.
The ride home is as uncomfortable as the first. I turn the radio on but all I’m greeted with are bubbly pop songs, not the ones that I need. It’s raining heavily, the sky a winter gray above us. I listen to the rhythmic sound of the wipers moving across the watery windshield in front of me. This whole day has been like a hallucination.
Thunder rolls across the sky and it starts raining harder. When I turn to look out the window, I can’t decipher between what is tears and what is rain.
When we’re back at home, the clanking and hitting of pans together in the kitchen make up for the empty silence. I’ve skipped lunch so I’m starving. Dad is chopping lettuce fast and I help him with grating the cheddar. Dad swears suddenly, letting the knife clatter to the sink.
He nicked his thumb while cutting and blood oozes out of the cut. He clutches his hand with his shirt, still cursing under his breath. Surprised and nervous, I rummage in the drawers for bandages.
Dad’s standing there in the middle of the kitchen, looking down at the tiles. A vein in his forehead pulses. Then he sweeps aside the chopping board, the bowls, and plates on the countertop. I’m too shocked to catch the dinner pieces as they smash to the ground and splinter to ceramic pieces.
A haze goes over his eyes and he slumps to the ground, hiding his face in his hands. His shoulders tremble and sobs come out of him. I don’t know what to do. It’s one thing to cry yourself and another to see your dad cry. I kneel beside him, reaching to pat his shoulder.
“It’s been over a year,” I say in a soft voice. I’m coming close to crossing the invisible line. “We’ve got to let her go and move on with our lives.”
I try to pull him up but he just keeps on kneeling on the ground, weeping. Knowing that I can’t fix this, I leave him there on the kitchen floor and run to my bedroom upstairs, grab the picture of Mom under my bed, hurling myself onto the bed.
Her affectionate smile and sparkling eyes looks back at me. I run my fingers over the wooden frame, wishing that I could just throw this all to the tide. Wishing she is here.
Can’t look at her familiar face anymore, I bury my face into the pillow, starting to get hysterical. I feel like I can’t breathe, all my sobs are choked in my throat. I can’t feel anything, like my body is numb. Memories of her are eating greedily at me. Like the time I hit my head hard in the mirror when I was six when I thought that it was a time portal to another world. A jagged cut ran along my forehead and bits of glass were embedded in the skin.
Mom looked terrified when she found me crying loudly on the floor. “Oh, Avena , what did you do?” Mom said, wrapping bandages all over my head, tsking . “Silly child!”
Tears ran out of my eyes as I wailed. “It hurts!”
“It’ll all be better soon.” She brushed my hair out of my eyes and kissed me tenderly on the forehead. “I swear it, okay?”
“What about the next time I get hurt again?” I asked petulantly.
“I’ll make the pain go away.”
The flashback fades and I scream hoarsely, pressing my hands to my ears. “The pain is not going away!” I yell feverishly, weeping
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