Becky with the Good Hair

Childish Becky

My name was Becky. I had a pretty decent childhood, dolls, Tooth Fairy, Santa Clause, all that stuff. My parents put in a lot of effort making me believed in all the good things. All the fine, unrealistic, impractical crap. There are good people in this world, making changes that are good for the world, helping people that are in their needs, we have to be one of them. Mother always had faith in humanity. That was what she always said and believed, no wonder she died so soon. I was only seven when father barged into my class, frantically dragged me out of class and into the car. That was the only time I saw my father cried. He was an ugly crier. He was always the good looking one. I especially loved Parents Day. He would be the most handsome father in the room, striking blue eyes, robustly tall built, and that jet black short hair. His beauty would put any man to shame. The faces of all the female teachers in my school those desperate, sexually deprived cunts. The looks on their faces when my father came to visit, how pathetic. They would say anything to arouse father's attention. How petty.

When I set foot into the hospital ward, my heart was racing, I didn't know what was going on. I hated the smell of the hospital, it smelled like despair Negative. Hopeless. Lifeless. Everyone that laid in the ward looked dead, on the inside, soulless. Mother was no different. Beneath that terribly damaged face, I could see her eyes. It was empty, like a hermit crab shell, just empty. Mother was a vibrant woman. She had a gift of influencing everyone in the room with her positive vibe. She had this lengthy icy blonde hair that reflected rays of light that shone on it. She had the most melodic voice, everything she said sounded like lyrics from a song, a song from heaven, as father put it. That was why father was so madly in love with her. And there she was, lying on the white hospital bed, lifeless, slowly grasping for air as life-force steadily drained into the atmosphere of the hospital ward. The nurse told father that mother was robbed before she was beaten to half-death by three thugs on the street. Hmpf. Mother oh poor mother. Look at what the world had done for you? For seeing the best in people. Look at what the people had done for you? Did anyone bother to help when you were robbed? Did anyone bother to stop the thugs when they were punching and kicking you? Oh mother, if you had been a little bit smarter, you wouldn't have to suffer all these.

It was a silent night. It was dead in the cafeteria, dead silence. No one was talking or even whispering, until a gang of nurses arrived. They were talking, giggling, and laughing. How I wished I could giggle and laugh too. I was a happy with a happy dream, that part of me scurried away wailing with tail between her legs. The world wasn't the same anymore. The hospital was slowly killing my energy, I could feel it. After the late dinner, we dragged our heavy footsteps back to the ward, only to find out two nurses and a doctor circled around mother's bed. I knew. At that moment, I knew. I knew mother was not going to make it through the night. How sad, mother, at least you've had a wonderful life with father, and with me.

Things were never the same since mother died. Father had to take up the role as both the man and the woman of the house. Boy, how funny it was to watch a man learning how to cook for the first time. It was catastrophic, everything was everywhere, egg shells, salt, bits of vegetable, pieces of meat. It was a huge mess. Most men can't cook, my father was one of the most. We decided to go out for dinner instead. We went to a Chinese restaurant. I loved Chinese food. They were just funny, the shapes, the names, the combinations and even the taste. Chinese food were so exotic. I ate dumplings, father ate pork, it didn't look all pork to me, there were definitely something else in it. Lord only knew what was on the plate, but father seemed to enjoy it a lot. We were chatting, laughing, it was the first time we had so much fun since mother died. We were moving on, we were continuing with life. We had to.