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I don't remember it very well, honestly. It was so long ago. But I do remember tugging at her sleeve, like I always did when I wanted her, calling for her. And, just like always, she stopped what she was doing, giving me her full attention.
Mama was… She was really nice. She wore these half-rimmed glasses that she always pushed back a bit before she spoke, and I vaguely remember her huge, warm laugh where the creases of her smile pressed dimples into her cheeks. She had an ahoge too, a natural one; it was curled twice, almost like a heart. Every time I pointed that out, she said something cheesy about how much she loved me. I forgot exactly what. In fact, that's… That's about all I know. I don't even know what color her eyes were. I wish I did.
…
Oh! Wait, I also remember her voice, kind of. She was a musician, so it was always really soft. I've always had a tough time falling asleep – She used to sing to me every night. I don't remember the melody. I don't remember a lot of things about her. It's…
… Um, I'm getting off track, aren't I? I digress. The point is, she was in the middle of styling her hair, and I tugged at her sleeve. Just like always, she glanced down with a "Yes, Sebastian?" and I told her that I wanted an ahoge like hers. Mine isn't natural, see; I style it like this every morning.
She just laughed, that huge, warm laugh, and ruffled my hair, saying something along the lines of, "I'm not sure if I'll be able to do that, but I can try. Could you grab the hair gel, please?"
And, despite her doubt, she figured it out pretty quickly. Mama was always smart like that. So, after about an hour of fidgeting impatiently, I had a small lick of hair too. Not exactly like hers, it still isn't exactly like hers, it never will be, but it was as close as we could get.
I remember looking in the mirror and bursting into laughter. I thought it looked hilarious. It became a normal part of my routine, giving myself that ahoge. I was so proud of it, so proud to look more like her, and every morning after I styled it, she always chuckled, ruffling my hair again. Mama always… really, really loved me. Even though I was just seven years old, I could tell she'd always love me.
And then she was gone.
I think… I think after she disappeared, I really started to depend on Pops, to fill that gap. To love me all the same, to approve of me. He never really did. And then he was gone, too.
I was alone.