Chapter Text
14 October 1999
"Daaaisyyy, Daaaisyyy~"
It all started so normally, as normal as things could get with my family... I still think,
"Give me your aaanswer dooo~"
up to that day,
"III'm haaalf craaazyyy~"
about so many things.
"All for the looove of youuu~"
About the alternatives where I said or did something differently,
"It won't be a styyylish marriaaage~"
about the truth where I didn't do either,
"I caaan't affooord a carriaaage~"
but more than anything,
"But youuu'll look sweet!~"
more than the thoughts that are stuck in an endless spiral in my head,
"Upooon the seat!~"
I keep thinking,
"Of a bicycle buuuilt for-"
of her.
There she was. My mum. Standing in the doorway. But at that moment, in my eyes, my sweet, innocent eyes that every kid wore before the world gouched them out, I saw my mother in danger, the doorway threatening to take her away from me.
It's like those stories my dad would constantly tell me, even at the most inappropriate or random times of the day, mostly because whenever he said no, I'd start to beg, and cry, and pull those puppy eyes even though I'm pretty sure he was more of a cat person. And as much as I now realise that it must've pained him to see me this sad, although I must confess that frequently I was simply faking like any child who didn't get what they wanted, my father always made sure that some kind of compromise would be made at the end of the little show I'd put on.
My old man was no fool. He was wise. He was strong. He managed to resist the tears and cries of his own daughter, but always ensured that they weren't all in vain. I learned that things were gray and not necessarily black and white in this mess of a planet that we call home from him.
Yes, maybe I didn't get to hear the same tale of the same lion and mouse, same staff and sea, same princess and pea, for the hundredth time when I asked him, and now that I look back at it, it was probably because he was in an important meeting with the company he used to work in (sorry pops) but in exchange, I got to go outside and play with as many bugs as I wanted to. F.Y.I he hated bugs. No, he despised them like a vampire hisses at the sunlight. But my mom? Her entire career was revolved around insects. What a weird match. But I guess that this is what made them the best parents ever. Ones that I didn't cherish enough.
But where was I going with this? Oh, right, stories.
The doorway, classic, plain, not radiating any terrifying dangers like fire, wolves, Mondays, send a message to my childish mind that behind it was the very monster I thought was hiding outside of my room at night (you thought I was gonna say under my bed, didn't you? Nice try, but if kids are odd, consider me an unstudied specimen.)
It was always like that for me when I was young. It would just wait for me to close my eyes before starting to slowly, creepingly step into my room that felt like an exposed territory to forces of evil. I'd picture its disgusting hands, characterised with absolute darkness and long, crooked fingers that resembled messed up carrots, well, that's the description I give them at.
Try to sleep with that image holding your slumber captured, far away from the tired little kid you were, who actually believed that this horrifying creature was a demon ready to eat their soul. Not pretty, right?
I'd say the silliest prayers.
"God, the ice truck is passing by my school tomorrow, and they're gonna have mango flavor, NOW'S NOT THE TIME FOR ME TO DIE!"
I'd leave the TV on, because for some reasons, I guess a toy cowboy and a space whatever-his-title-was arguing together could protect me from this maleficent, cruel evil, camping right outside my door.
I'd sleep in the same bed as my baby brother and hold his hand, even if his was significantly tiny in mine, it was still a hand I could hold on to; an assurance that I wasn't alone.
Well, I'm telling you all this, because it's exactly what I felt at that minute. Something was lurking, ready to snatch my mum away with its ugly hands right before my eyes.
My mother's skin was dark, it had the same aspect as my favorite black licorice candy. Her hair was curly, but, like, not too curly. I didn't know how to describe it back then, and the memory is now too weak for me to properly remember what it looked like. But I do recall that she had tied them up. She had brown eyes that I found very pretty, resembling the color of dirt mixed with rain, giving me mud that I could play in and scare my dad with, threatening to give him a kind, filthy hug. We'd run around the house till one of us was out of breath, and it would usually be him, because, I thought 'he's an old man and I'm a strong princess.' She was wearing a button up shirt but it appeared to be a dark red instead of the usual white I see on other people, but I'm used to it by now. My mama always seemed to like the color red. And to go along with it, a long ivory skirt which arrived to her ankles, brushing her basic ballet flats. She always looked so classy and elegant, like royalty, like a queen.
My voice cut short the song of a man's honest love with a wince as I realised that the keys and bag in her hands meant that she was ready to leave, which didn't please me at all, acknowledging the fact that at the time, my father had also left for quite some time. He informed us that he had yet another rendezvous with that stupid company that has been taking up all his time, but this one took way longer than usual, almost a day... Although I didn't understand how meetings with important people worked, my young gut was already making my nerves tremble from the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong.
My eyes, each one representing a parent with their contrasting colour, captured, in wet puddles that had started to take over, the dim light of the room that I was about to own all for myself. I was quite the emotional one. But over the years, I've learned to not blame myself. It was hard, but true. One parent had already disappeared, and although it wasn't certain that he had gone completely missing, the idea of losing the other and only one I had left was just awful for a child, and I grew to understand that.
In my hand that had a small size, as expected for an 8 years old, was a Rainbow brite, those dolls with sweet cheeks and colorful outfits that people of today probably forgot, or didn't even know existed. She had blond hair, or more like spaghetti planted in her scalp, at least, that's what I always considered them.
I was brushing them with a barbie brush, although I never liked barbies, they're so boring, but their accessories always find a way to catch my mismatched eyes, before stopping my motion like a machine that had suddenly shut down.
Of course, she's my mum; she knew what was going on in my head even before I did. She gave me a smile. A gentle, kind smile, that I would always see at talent shows at school, or while I was cooking with my granny, or just playing with my little brother. That smile. I loved it so so so so so so much. Because it reminded me of how much my mum loved me. My dad was pretty lucky to have married her.
She put her stuff on a nearby table, shifting her focus to me, which I always adored, because, well, I was a kid. Who wouldn't want their parents' attention?
I also freed my hands from the playthings and immediately ran into my mother's arms that were already waiting for me wide open. Like I said, she knew what was going on in my head, and embraced my little form tightly.
"Don’t tell me you're gonna go!" My voice emitted an unexpected crack, one I wasn't even aware I was hiding at the time. But emotions were never my strong suit. They always bother me... anyways.
I felt her hand tap my back lightly as an attempt to comfort me, that I can confirm, was working, accompanied with her voice calm, saturated with love, that love. You know which one I mean. And if you don't, consider that it doesn't have to come from a mother to you.
"Don’t worry my little firefly. I just need to go see how your dad's doing." She assured me softly, her voice quiet in my ear.
I managed a small sniff, barely audible, burrying my head in her shoulder, weting the fabric of her clothes, but that was the least of my worries right now.
"But what if you take a long long time to come back like him!?" The question was muffled, and desperate, well, that's how I remember it. But I'm sure my mum heard something else in it, although I never knew what...
"I promise I'll be back as soon as possible with your dad." Handling me with care, she slowly pulled me away, her hands rubbing my arms, creating a warmth that I liked.
"And to make it up for being absent that long, we'll tell you the story of..." Her smile quickly gave up on being reassuring, its corners growing almost to her eyes' level.
Her hands progressively detached from my sky blue cardigan, flooded with your classic, childish stars with faces sewed on them, those patterns almost hiding the outfit's base colour from the daylight in a vast sea of yellow.
She reached them out in front of me, and all those signs told me exactly what was coming for me.
My lips quivered into a little smile. "The story of the princess-"
"-and the goblins!!" She finished my sentence while attacking my stomach with tickles.
At that instant, my tears were released from their organic prison, but not for the reason they appeared in the first place. I just happened to be extremely weak to tickles.
Cute giggles mixed with pleads to stop, but they all carried the same feeling that was making my heart beat faster than that time my pops and I raced 3 blocks down to our house. That did not end well. Advice: do not put a 30 years old man's physical abilities to the test if he spends his entire time in front of a computer feeding odd little dots (I know, it's weird said out loud, and it was weird when I witnessed it.)
"Ugly, big, stupid goblins!" My mama ended her sentence with a laugh similar to mine, ignoring that hers was a few years older.
"I know! I know that!- stop!" I pushed her away and scrambled to my hairbrush as if my life depended on it; and if not that, my dignity at least. As much of a dignity a kid could have.
I pointed the accessory at her as if it were a sharpen sword yearning for blood and justice, like in that other tale I love, but we'll get to that another time. "Tremble! A princess can also carry a sword!"
My mom played along perfectly, clasping her hands together. "Oh, forgive me your highness! I was only trying to have fun with you! Please excuse my ignorance, your majesty!"
"Ye are NOT excused!" I declared, bawling my free hand into a fist that I positioned on my hips. "And as your punishment, ye shall be fed to the most evil and dangerous goblin of all!!"
I shifted my 'weapon' to a nearby crib that held inside my little brother who was fast asleep, comfortable with bears and bunnies and a blanket decorated with a similar design to my attire. The blue was just darker, and stars faceless. Mine was definitely better! But moving on.
Noticing that he was shut down, I chuckled nervously. "Well, when he wakes up."
I heard a sigh of pretend relief escape my mother's lips. "In that case, I should write it on the calendar so we don’t forget later."
Her comment earned a snicker out of me, but I ceased expressing my amusement when her phone rang.
Her tender gaze turned to her pocket. She stuffed her hand inside and retrieved those cells that could flip, which I always found so fun. Sometimes, I would sneak around and borrow it just to open and close it endlessly without getting bored. I didn't need much to get distracted.
My mommy opened it and announced to me what was typed on the tiny screen, retrieving her gentle smile. "Your uncle just arrived. He's gonna look out for you two until I come back with your dad. Alright sweetheart?"
My face fell flat, drained from any light I might have been radiating, as reality stripped me from the joy I was sharing with her.
Right, she was leaving...
My posture became lazy, my head and shoulders abandoning the idea of being high, a crooked line forming under my nose.
I felt her fingers cupping my face warm from laughing and crying simultaneously. "Oh, honey..."
Her voice gave me everything I needed to know to guess her expression. Same smile, eyes overflowing with motherly love, and I just knew that when I would look at her, the world around me will just disolve and I'll feel wrapped in safety in her graceful presence.
I raised my eyes.
Called it.
She brushed a strand of hair away. "I promise you, everything will be okay."
Here, at that very instant, I made the biggest mistake of my life. One that will haunt me when I'm married, out partying, attending my kids' graduation and even at my own judgement.
I believed her.
At first, I didn't want to. I wanted to cry, beg, do anything pitiful for her to reconsider, but I started going over everything she had told me so far.
I did want my dad to come back, and if they were going to tell me my favourite story together, it would've been so fun! I could give them those drums sticks we have in the garage from my dad's teenage years so they would have swords to slay with! And I could draw silly things on my brother's face with my friend's crayons she let me borrow for the weekend while I lended her my bubble wand, so he would actually look like an ugly, big, stupid goblin! And all I'd have to do was wear my mum's clothes and high heels, and boom! Princess! Although I was always a princess to begin with! At least, that's what my dad would tell me on the daily.
And mostly, I didn't want to wake up my sibling with my uncontrollable whining. Again, it did not end well last time. Let's just say the neighbours attended a soap opera that day, but turned out, they were scammed.
Despite these points building up a strong case, it didn’t untangle the knot in my stomach, and as expected, my mum immediately caught attention to it.
"Hey," She gently wiped away a small tear that had slipped out from my control. "I'm just one text message away."
She pulled me in for one, final embrace, that I wish could've last forever, but lasted for what felt like less than a second for me. "Even if you dad and I will be away for a bit, we'll find our way around. Believe me. I'll never leave you. Never. And neither will your dad. It's just one quick trip to go save him from this company before they bore him out of his mind."
I couldn't help but snort at her last line. "I hate that stupid company."
My mum chuckled along, her arms tightening around me. "You'll take care of your brother and be nice to your uncle while I go get him, promise?"
"Promise." I responded quietly.
"That didn't sound very convincing." She joked, but there wasn't a trace of malice in her voice.
"I super duper hyper absolutely extremely obviously mega ultra-" I started listening all the words I could recall hearing at school, which, I'm surprised, were actually quite a lot.
"Alright! Alright, I believe you." She stopped me with a chortle, and I'm gald she did, because I was kinda running out of words.
Then, she released me. And now, I really, really wish she hadn't.
"We'll see you soon." She offered a kiss on my forehead. "Now, let's not keep your uncle waiting any longer."
She arose from the wooden floor, her heels clicking softly against the surface as she went to get her belongings, and unfortunately for me, shuffled towards the door.
Before she could even land her fingers on the doorknob, a thought flashed in my mind at the exact right time.
"Wait!" I had barely called out, my back was already facing her as I rushed to grab Sweetpea (my doll.)
My mumsy surveyed me carefully as I showed her my favourite toy. "I can't fix her hair!"
I seized one of her noodle strand and brought it closer to her. "See?"
"Hmm." She made a pondering sound as if this was a matter of up most urgency. "Let me see."
I confidently passed my puppet to her, since I trusted her to handle Sweetpea with care.
She expelled another hmm from her lungs, studying the toy and searching for an answer.
Suddenly, her eyes shifted in a way that signaled an idea had bloomed in her clever mind.
She moved towards a drawer built inside the table she had placed her possessions on before and slid it open. She rummaged through a bunch of gadgets and other things I couldn't guess what they were because of the how unclear the noises were. It was mostly clicks and clacks.
In due course, she curled her fingers around the object she had set to find, and brought it out in the open. It was a tiny hair clip, those that immediately snap on, that I had never seen before. On it was glued a butterfly, its wings spread, hiding most of the boring part of the pin. Its golden frosting was beautiful, it mesmerised me, the way it sparkled at the sunlight like a diamond. There were some additional details that I wasn't attentive enough back then to catch, but no matter, I found it perfect as it was.
My mother gathered the noodles into one high ponytail like she would do with me and held them together with the astonishing butterfly. After throwing a finalising look at her, she handed me my favourite object back, her lips still stuck in that happy position.
"There. Is that better?" She wanted to know my opinion.
I turned her around and drew my finger around on the hair clip. "I love it!"
She let out yet another chuckle. "I'm happy you like it."
I trapped Sweetpea into a hug, her body soft and squishy, just like how I loved all my plushies.
Having been somewhat calmed down, I threw one, last, truly final glance at my mum, who blew me a goodbye kiss, that I successfully caught and locked away in my heart.
"I love you." She reminded me.
"I love you too." I expressed sweetly.
And just like that, with all said and done, she turned on her heels, and stepped outside our home, on her way to what I was promised was a simple fetch for my father.
...
...
...
How was I so stupid?
A doll's hair? Seriously? That's the last thing I brought up before she left?
Why did I even mention that? I should’ve said something else. Asked more about dad and that damn company. Suggested to come with her. Hell, I should’ve cried like a malfunctioning alarm that couldn't be turned off. I don’t care if that would’ve marked me as a rude, spoiled brat, or woken up my brother and even half the neighborhood with it. At least it would've done something, I'm sure it would've. But no, I was just stupid.
No, stop. It wasn't my fault. I never could've known. I was a child for God's sake. A child who had nothing but her parents to believe.
But no matter how many times I've repeated that to myself, no matter how many times people tried to wire that statement into my curious brain, I couldn't help but... hate.
I hate that she made me think it was gonna be okay. And I hate that I believed her, despite my gut yelling at me that something was wrong.
Because those beautiful promises, the very ground us children would have for footing, crumbled down beneath me.
As those three words were the last thing I ever heard from her...