I watched as you went from room to room looking for your reading glasses when there it was, perched right there ever so snugly on the top of your head, nestled among the golden streaks of highlights of your auburn hair. I wanted to call out to you, to tell you just where exactly you could find them, but I couldn’t. I wanted to hold your hand, smooth back the few strands of hair that have come loose from your bun and tell you to relax, but I couldn’t either. I could only crouch here, hidden behind your white picket fence, smell your hydrangea from the bush in your garden that was in full bloom, and look at you from afar.
You curse as the sixth drawer that you pull open, too, sees no square-rimmed, gold-framed pair of spectacles. You really need them; how can you fill out that form you have on your coffee table when you can’t even read the words? And knowing you, the consent – or lack thereof – that you would scrawl onto that sheet of paper is of utmost importance. Just like the many other petition forms and appeal letters that sit in stacks on your office desk. Just like that one particular form you signed so many years ago that... Never mind. The thought was too harsh, too painful and sad, for me to even think of.
I watched as the yellow school bus rolled into your driveway and the young boy about sixteen years of age got off it. Even at first glimpse, I could tell he couldn’t have been younger than me any more than two years. He trudged up the driveway lazily and I watched as he let himself in to the house. You look up from the chest of drawers you had been searching through at the sound of his voice, and went out to the front to embrace him in a hug. I watched as he shrugged you off in indifference and climbed the staircase to his room.
I watched as you sank into the nearest couch in resignation. The slightest sign of exhaustion crept over your features to reside in between your eyebrows. You took one look at the many folders and documents splayed across your coffee table and sighed. The slump of your shoulders pained me, and I wanted so badly to collect you into my arms and hold you till your worries melted away. You stretch and brush the loose hair off your forehead. That was when you finally located your glasses and you laugh mirthlessly at your own folly. At least you can now finally get to work.
I watched as you straightened up to position yourself closer to the coffee table and the documents upon it. You sat with your back straight and head slightly tilted forward with the grace of a ballerina. You went through the papers with no haste, and I marvelled at how temperate your hands were with the documents as, one by one, you went through them. Your fingers were long and slim; your hands were those of a musician, no doubt. I repositioned myself to lean on my other leg as I adjusted the guitar strapped onto my back. I cringed when the neck of my guitar accidentally caused a ruffle in bush nearby and made you look up for a while to stare out of the window in my direction. I shrank further back into the shadows.
After a while, you go back to your work. I watched as you finish reading the sheet of paper you held in your hand, put it down onto the table and picked up the pen. I watched as you touched the nib of the pen to the paper and penned in your signature. A big loop of a C first, over which you write your joined H-R-Y-S-T-I-N, with a long tail which extends far to the bottom for the Y. You finish by underlining it bold and straight, always sure, never unwavering.
You always do your signatures like that. No-nonsense and to the point. No hesitation. No uncertainty. Just like how you signed those papers so many years ago; those adoption papers that gave up all the rights you had over me as a mother.
Just like how you signed those papers, exactly eighteen years ago today.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Lace Upon the Blue Chiffon
Those who know me would know that love stories and I have never gone too well together. As such, when I was assigned to write a piece for Valentine's Day, this was what I could come up with. Jia Huey said it was too morbid for a Valentine's Day article but this is the only way I know how to go about romance, so this is how it will be =) It is also too short for my liking - it didn't give me sufficient time to expand the characters - but seeing as how I had a word limit to abide by, this is the best I could do.
------------------------------------------
My gut feeling told me all that I needed to know before I even had to pick up the phone. Just as I had foreseen, my best friend Kaylie’s voice floated to my ears the moment I held the receiver close to the side of my face. Before I even needed to say ‘Hello’, Kaylie uttered the words I have heard just too many a time:
“Lena, I need your help.”
***
Kaylie’s room was as it had always been – so messy it was a wonder she’s ever managed to find anything at all amidst the piles of clothes at the foot of her bed and tower of books stacked so precariously on her table they were on the verge of toppling over. The girl herself was in the act of digging through her wardrobe when I walked into her jungle of a bedroom. When she looked up at me with the all-too-familiar fluttered expression on her face, hair askew and panic flashing vividly in her eyes, a single thought broke into my thoughts: Luke.
As if on cue, she bounded over to me. “God, I don’t know what to wear!” The whine of exasperation in her voice was impossible to miss.
I touched her arm and gave her the most indifferent look I could mustre without looking like I was patronizing her. “But you know he’s always thought you looked beautiful in anything.”
Kaylie had been going out with Luke for almost two years now but as happens without fail each time they’re due to meet one another, she’d undergo this unexplainable panic attack over what to wear. It wasn’t as if she had anything to worry about; she was one of the prettiest girls in school with a personality just as compelling and dynamic to match. Anyone who had seen Luke and she together could tell he was head over heels in love with her, and she him. In a way, I have the nagging feeling that maybe that was what exactly the problem was: they were too in love with one another – if at all something like that was even possible.
For sixteen-year-olds, they loved each other with a passion so undying you only see in that of adults. I, as her best friend, knew this was no longer mere puppy love. Kaylie had serial dated before she met Luke and the fact that she had stuck with him for two years considering her previous dating record was proof enough that this time, she really loved the guy.
“But this time it’s different!” Tears were dangerously welling up in Kaylie’s eyes as she spoke. “You don’t get it: I really like this skirt to go with that blouse, but it’s all of the wrong colour and this top – it’s just too… well, wrong!”
Fearing for the worst, I quickly scanned the room for something to save the day. My eyes came upon the blue dress I knew for myself Luke had picked out specially for Kaylie last Christmas – the dress she had shoved to the very back of her wardrobe as if the mere sight of it pained her to end.
“What about that one?”
Kaylie turned and when she saw which dress it was I meant, chewed her lower lip in deep contemplation. “Are you sure?”
I knew exactly what it was she was asking. But despite the dresscode culture and tradition had set for us to abide by as means of respect, I really didn’t see why not.
“All I want is to look nice for him,” Kaylie murmured, more to herself than to me, sounding really doubtful. But the quiescent way in which she said it told me that she had made up her mind.
“Quick,” I said, smiling. “Get changed – I’ll send you there.”
***
The girls all dressed in black loitering outside the front door clicked their tongues when we walked up to the cold gray granite building. Kaylie tugged uncomfortably at the sleeves of her dress at their disapproving stares and took to staring at the ground. I could tell it was taking her great efforts to simply put one leg in front of the other while shuffling her way into the building, all the while looking at nothing but her feet. I protectively slung one arm around her shoulders and gave it a small squeeze.
“Hey, don’t worry about them. You look great.” I gave her the biggest smile of reassurance I could mustre. She merely smiled feebly back in return.
At the door, we paused. Stealing glances at my best friend, I could not help but see just how much she was shaking – out of trepidation, out of pain, out of fear. I could not help but also worry; worry over the fact that she had not cried a single tear since receiving the news. I did not know if she was trying to be brave, the part of her Luke had always told her he loved most, or simply because she was still in denial. Whatever it was, I knew that her having not cried was every reason in the world for me to worry about how she was coping after the incident.
“Ready?” I asked.
Kaylie looked up at me with her wide doe-like eyes, as if for strength.
“You can do this,” I told her.
Fingering the delicate lace rested upon the blue chiffon of the dress she loved so much, given to her by the one person she loved more than anything and anyone else in the world, she took a deep breath and nodded. Taking my hand, she pushed open the door to the church and strode in, with her head held high, into Luke, her one true love’s funeral.
Walking in with her to the last time she’ll ever see Luke, it gave me an odd moment of serenity to see the tears spilling down her cheeks – the first tears she’s ever cried for Luke in the two years they have known one another.
If anything at all was proof enough of her love for him, it would be this: her insistence on looking her best for him, even at his funeral, just as she had on their very first date.
------------------------------------------
My gut feeling told me all that I needed to know before I even had to pick up the phone. Just as I had foreseen, my best friend Kaylie’s voice floated to my ears the moment I held the receiver close to the side of my face. Before I even needed to say ‘Hello’, Kaylie uttered the words I have heard just too many a time:
“Lena, I need your help.”
***
Kaylie’s room was as it had always been – so messy it was a wonder she’s ever managed to find anything at all amidst the piles of clothes at the foot of her bed and tower of books stacked so precariously on her table they were on the verge of toppling over. The girl herself was in the act of digging through her wardrobe when I walked into her jungle of a bedroom. When she looked up at me with the all-too-familiar fluttered expression on her face, hair askew and panic flashing vividly in her eyes, a single thought broke into my thoughts: Luke.
As if on cue, she bounded over to me. “God, I don’t know what to wear!” The whine of exasperation in her voice was impossible to miss.
I touched her arm and gave her the most indifferent look I could mustre without looking like I was patronizing her. “But you know he’s always thought you looked beautiful in anything.”
Kaylie had been going out with Luke for almost two years now but as happens without fail each time they’re due to meet one another, she’d undergo this unexplainable panic attack over what to wear. It wasn’t as if she had anything to worry about; she was one of the prettiest girls in school with a personality just as compelling and dynamic to match. Anyone who had seen Luke and she together could tell he was head over heels in love with her, and she him. In a way, I have the nagging feeling that maybe that was what exactly the problem was: they were too in love with one another – if at all something like that was even possible.
For sixteen-year-olds, they loved each other with a passion so undying you only see in that of adults. I, as her best friend, knew this was no longer mere puppy love. Kaylie had serial dated before she met Luke and the fact that she had stuck with him for two years considering her previous dating record was proof enough that this time, she really loved the guy.
“But this time it’s different!” Tears were dangerously welling up in Kaylie’s eyes as she spoke. “You don’t get it: I really like this skirt to go with that blouse, but it’s all of the wrong colour and this top – it’s just too… well, wrong!”
Fearing for the worst, I quickly scanned the room for something to save the day. My eyes came upon the blue dress I knew for myself Luke had picked out specially for Kaylie last Christmas – the dress she had shoved to the very back of her wardrobe as if the mere sight of it pained her to end.
“What about that one?”
Kaylie turned and when she saw which dress it was I meant, chewed her lower lip in deep contemplation. “Are you sure?”
I knew exactly what it was she was asking. But despite the dresscode culture and tradition had set for us to abide by as means of respect, I really didn’t see why not.
“All I want is to look nice for him,” Kaylie murmured, more to herself than to me, sounding really doubtful. But the quiescent way in which she said it told me that she had made up her mind.
“Quick,” I said, smiling. “Get changed – I’ll send you there.”
***
The girls all dressed in black loitering outside the front door clicked their tongues when we walked up to the cold gray granite building. Kaylie tugged uncomfortably at the sleeves of her dress at their disapproving stares and took to staring at the ground. I could tell it was taking her great efforts to simply put one leg in front of the other while shuffling her way into the building, all the while looking at nothing but her feet. I protectively slung one arm around her shoulders and gave it a small squeeze.
“Hey, don’t worry about them. You look great.” I gave her the biggest smile of reassurance I could mustre. She merely smiled feebly back in return.
At the door, we paused. Stealing glances at my best friend, I could not help but see just how much she was shaking – out of trepidation, out of pain, out of fear. I could not help but also worry; worry over the fact that she had not cried a single tear since receiving the news. I did not know if she was trying to be brave, the part of her Luke had always told her he loved most, or simply because she was still in denial. Whatever it was, I knew that her having not cried was every reason in the world for me to worry about how she was coping after the incident.
“Ready?” I asked.
Kaylie looked up at me with her wide doe-like eyes, as if for strength.
“You can do this,” I told her.
Fingering the delicate lace rested upon the blue chiffon of the dress she loved so much, given to her by the one person she loved more than anything and anyone else in the world, she took a deep breath and nodded. Taking my hand, she pushed open the door to the church and strode in, with her head held high, into Luke, her one true love’s funeral.
Walking in with her to the last time she’ll ever see Luke, it gave me an odd moment of serenity to see the tears spilling down her cheeks – the first tears she’s ever cried for Luke in the two years they have known one another.
If anything at all was proof enough of her love for him, it would be this: her insistence on looking her best for him, even at his funeral, just as she had on their very first date.
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