It was evening. Around 7. It was mid August. Mother had been in the kitchen for the past fifteen minutes. Mother's a professor. So she stayed away most of the time. And first year of job, I didn't get a lot of time either. So she ended up compensating for it on Sundays. I was fiddling with my PC, when my mother suddenly came out of the kitchen. "Don't you think you're making it too hard for yourself?", I asked her, "Working people don't need to spend so much time in the kitchen on weekends. They need to rest." "No, absolutely not. Weekends are the only time we can get together. I'm not compromising on that." "Hmm ... yeah right you won't listen to me anyway. So, what's for dinner tonight?", I asked, looking up from the mangled heap of my PC. "Dinner, yes, right, that is, there's a little trouble. I was looking for the vinegar, and it seems we're all out of it.If its not too much, could you run down and buy a bottle from the mart? You see, I've already prepared the dish halfway and without the vinegar it'd be such a waste and.. " "Sure", I cut in,"If you're using vinegar, I'm guessing its something good.", I said winking at her. I grabbed my purse and the handbag, put on my sneakers and rushed out of the door, "I'll be back in a jiffy." "Oh! You're a life-saver dear.", mother called out. The mart's two lanes away from our house. I walked on.
"Look, there she goes. She's the devil's child, I tell you. That white face. She scares me." "Yeah and where do you think she gets that colour from? Her's mother's all brownish and so was her father. She's weird." "Oh come on, don't be silly. Everyone knows why she's that way. Her father, you say. Her so called father. You know her father wasn't that person we knew to be her mother's husband. I tell you, her mother, she must have run of with some weird guy. That's who this girl's father must be. And then she got dumped. Now even her husband has left her. What a twisted family."
She makes a little grimace and walks on. Again. And Again. Those words. Repeated. Like a chant. A spell. Every single time they see her face. As if to embed it into her brain. Like if they stop whispering, even for a moment, the truth might fade away. The truth.....who knows what the truth is. She doesn't know it herself. And she doesn't want to, in any case. But what people say hardly matters. Because deep inside, she's lifeless. Nothing bothers her. Deep inside, she lies dormant. Like a dead volcano. Emotionless.
I reached the mart. "What a bunch of crap.", I thought to myself. "Those old ladies got nothing better to gossip about!" I picked a bottle of vinegar, cashed it at the counter, and came out. Walking back to home always seems to take a bit longer.
Earlier, when she was little, she worried over these things. Even now it makes her uncomfortable when she looks at her own face. Because it reminds her of the possibility of the gossips actually being true. Her mother told her that father has disappeared. That one day he might come back. That there are reasons that can't be told. But once you grow up you start realizing that parents don't just disappear. They leave because they can not adjust with their families. Why? Who knows? Though she doesn't care anymore about these things, deep down she knows those stories may be true. So she has detached herself of the only family she has left. Its. She's not like this because she hates her mother for not tellin her the truth. She's like this because she's afraid that if the truth surfaces, she might break down, so she's always ready for the worst. She loves her mother. But she doesn't care. So if one day she finds out that those airy bits of gossips are true she can cut off without hurting. Without hurting herself.
But even being like that, there's one person she admires. Her father. Or maybe just her mother's husband. Whichever be true. But the man who left instead of ruining an entire family by staying. Goodness knows why. But she respects that man. Even if it turns out that he isn't her father. Even if he left a load on her mother. Because deep inside, perhaps she had already pinned her mother guilty. Perhaps.....
"I'm back", I announced, "Oh, the door's open? Where are you ... hmm ... mother's getting careless.", I muttered to myself, getting in. I left my sneakers at the entrance and entered the kitchen, the handbag with the vinegar bottle still hanging in my hand. She wasn't in the kitchen. No sign of her in the bedroom. Not in the bathroom either. Not even in the roof. Or the balcony. That left only one place. Father's room. Untouched for 19 years.
A room untouched for 19 years. She remembers the smell of it still. But that's all she remembers.The insides of the room has faded away from her mind. Because the last she saw was when she was three. Her father had the habit of locking the room when he went out. One day, he locked the room, went out for a little walk after dinner, and never returned. She don't have a clue where he vanished. Her mother had a spare key to that room, but she never touched it. Father abandoned her, she abandoned his room. Simple as that. Or maybe, there is more to it.....
I had no particular desire to enter that room. "Mother", I called out, "Are you there?" Silence. I walked towards the room. There were two doors to father's room, on wooden hinged one and a sliding glass door just after that. From the distance I could see, the wooden door was open. I reached the door, and the glass door was closed. "What are you do.." I stopped, mid-sentence. The handbag slipped through my hands. My fingers lost all sensations. I had seen, what I should have never seen. Or maybe...
In all her life, she has never, let emotions surface. But now, now...for the first time perhaps...
She can feel the vinegar flowing out from the broken bottle, beneath her bare feet. In all her life, she has never.....
Through the glass door, I could see, mother's back. And what she was looking at. A photograph. Her husband's photograph. My father's And with him, there was a woman. In her early twenties. A beautiful face. Black, jet black hair. A pale, pale white complexion. Almost an older version of me. And not just that one photo. The whole wall covered with framed photos of that woman. Like some maniac's room. It was insane ... so insane ... nauseatic ...
And inside her, she feels something break. She hears a sharp sound, and with a snap the strings break off. The strings holding her onto sanity. And she feels tears. Inside. She cries. Silently. Crimson tears. Unseen. Unseen.
~ Angel
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