Imagine

Chapter 1: My Some-what Home

I was raised in a places where the sound of sirens were a lullaby, and the smell of freshly lit blunts and stiff cigarettes hung in the air. But I'll never forget the smell of my mom's cooking, slapping my face as soon as I enter our small apartment after school.

"Mom what's that you making?" I asked, dropping my book bag on the floor, next to the table.

My mom, Liana is a petite, brown-skinned woman with thick, curly hair that always seemed to have a life of its own. Her bright smile and diamond-like eyes could light up the darkest corners of our neighborhood.

"I'm making chicken pot pie today." She replied, smiling with her eyes sparkling. My mom loved cooking. It was her love language.

I joined her in the kitchen, watching as she mixed the filling. "Can I help?"

"Sure, love. Wash your hands first."

I washed my hands and came back to mom's side. She handed me the bowl and spoon she was just stirring and I got to work.

As we were finishing up, dad walked in from work, his worn scrubs showed his long hospital shift. "Hey ladies, how was yalls day?"

My dad, Michael, stood tall at 6'2. His chocolate brown skin and strong physique brought attention. His low-cut hair, complimenting his round gentle eyes, which always seemed to hold a deep kindness.

"Good, dad. How was work?" I replied, focusing on rolling the dough.

"Long," he said, "but worth it. Today I helped a patient recover from surgery."

Mom's face turned serious. "That's wonderful, love! You're always saving someone, huh?"

Dad smiled, his eyes shining as he stared at mom. "Someone's gotta keep that place running smooth."

We chatted a while as we finished making dinner. Mom asked about my day and I told them about school and how it went while Dad shared funny stories from the hospital.

After we all sat and ate dinner, the whole atmosphere changed. I was in my room doing homework when I heard mom's and dad's voices getting louder from inside their room. I peeped out my doorway to take a look.

"....You knew what I went through Michael," my mom's voice trembled. "You knew about my family, about the abuse. But when I got pregnant, you turned on me, just like your family."

I've heard variations of this argument before, the all too familiar sounds of hurt and regret, echoing through our apartment walls whenever the past resurfaced. I'm used to this, but the tension is still unsettling.

Dad's voice, laced with regret, "Liana, I was wrong. I was young and stupid and didn't understand—"

"You understood enough to leave me alone to birth our daughter." Mom's words cut deep. "You understood enough to side with your family, to believe I trapped you—it takes two to tango. I didn't impregnate myself!"

Dad's voice cracked. "I know—I was blind, Liana, My family filled my head with lies. But when you left, and I saw how happy they were.... I realized my mistake. I came back though, we raised Asia together."

"You weren't there when I needed you the most though! I faced every obstacle thrown at me alone!" Mom yelled, tears streaming down her face.

"Liana," dad pleaded, "I know I can't erase the past, but I've spent every day, for the past 12 years, trying to make it right. I love you and Asia, just please forgive me."

Mom's voice barely rose over a whisper, I could hardly hear. "You think forgiveness comes easily? You think 'I love you' will fix it all? I've spent every day, for the past 12 years, trying to forgive you."

"No," dad said, stepping closer to mom "but it's a start. We've built a life together, Liana. We created something so beautiful. Please don't let my past mistakes ruin us." He wrapped his arms around her and they both stood there. Silent cries hung between them, heavy with emotion.

Mom spoke up, "I love you Michael but sometimes, in the quiet moments, it still hurts" she held on tightly to dad's shirt.

Dad's voice wrapped around her gently, "I'll hold you through those moments, forever Liana."

Their argument faded into whispered apologies and tears. I crawled back into my room, quietly shutting my room door.

Later, as we watched TV together, dad turned to me. "Asia, you know we love you right?"

"Of course, Dad." I replied, confusion wrinkled my brows.

"We just want the best for you." Mom added, her hand on my shoulder.

"I know, mom. I love you guys too." I snuggled between them on the couch.

Their tension was concrete, but in moments like these, I felt safe.