n o t e
sorry, guys. it took me a short while to post as i was sick for days (and still is). however, i finally came up with something, amidst flus and stuff. this chapter will probably seem like it's half-assed. but it's necessary for me. read on x
ps. i feel so tired because of my flu right now, so if you find slight errors, you can help me point it out and i'll work on them immediately.
sky
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—fortyseven—
the forgotten
ARTHUR SAW THE look in his father's eyes when he came home from work that day. They were usually tired whenever he got off his shift as a dishwasher at a local eatery. But never once had he said a word to Arthur about how his daily struggles went. Arthur felt like his father was always withholding his thoughts about it like he was protecting him from the real world.
He was gleaming with joy now and in what looked like anticipation, humming a jolly tune as he placed a bag of fish in the kitchen sink before taking them out, moving them into a small basin.
The tips of his hair looked almost yellow as the late afternoon sunlight streaming in from the window in front of him bathed his face–the scalp by his pate was peeking through the narrow gaps of his thinning locks. Arthur could see it from where he was standing. But his father had gotten more livelier as his age climbed higher.
"Hey, dad," the twelve-year-old Arthur said, an arch of mischief twisting the ends of his mouth, a soccer ball bouncing up and down in his hand. Then he stopped it with both hands when Jude turned to him. "What's up with the humming?"
Jude lifted up a wide smile, his expression in pure mirth that made his forehead wrinkle. "Your mother's coming home today."
His eyes widened. No, he was sure they were round as saucers in utter surprise and excitement. "Really? But why?"
Whipping to him, Jude frowned. "What do you mean 'why'?"
Arthur shrugged, even though his father had already turned to his task once again. He then plopped on one of the chairs by the small square table. "Mom hasn't been around for months. It used to be once or twice a week. Now it's like four to five times every six months."
"That is correct, kid. Her employer must have needed her around for longer hours. She did tell us in the letters that her boss might require her services that would, in return, cancel her leaves in the meantime. Would you say you don't like the ball we bought from the benefits your mother has sent to us, then?"
The little boy shook his head, his long fringes down his forehead brushing side to side. It was dampened by sweat when he'd played soccer with the other kids in this neighborhood of tatterdemalion tenements. Life wasn't so easy here. But Arthur never quite understood the duality just yet. He was too young to understand how reality worked.
"Not really. Can't a son miss his mother?"
"'Course you can," Jude said, rolling his sleeves up further and Arthur craned his neck aside. His father was busily taking out the guts of a fish. It didn't sit well with his stomach so he looked away. Then he was silent, only leaving the slosh and moist sounds of his revoltingly gross activity in the room. "Have you forgotten? It's our wedding anniversary today. She promised to come home in her previous letter. Your mother misses you as well."
Arthur smiled, fading when he realized he did forget about it. "What are you going to make?"
Jude halted and peered at him behind his shoulder. "Just fish stew. It's your mom's favorite recipe of mine. She would say there's nothing like it."
Arthur was mum for a moment, thinking about what he could do to make it more special for her mother he hadn't seen for a very long time. "Should we give her flowers? Roses. Or carnations. Tulips, maybe." At this, Jude whipped his cheek to the boy with a rather closed-off expression, making Arthur jolt a shoulder. "Seen it on Reed's TV. Men give women flowers. Letters are quite nice, too."
Jude washed the fishes afterwards before turning to him. Then his eyebrows pulled together, his eyes turning somewhat dull. Arthur saw it but he didn't know what it meant.
"That would be nice, indeed. But flowers are expensive, kiddo. I'm sure your mom would be happy with the stew alone," said Jude in a gentle voice, wiping his hands with a towel far atop the sink. He then clapped Arthur on the shoulder as the boy jutted his bottom lip in slight disappointment. "It's true what they say that it's the thought that counts. When you grow up, you find a woman who's just like your mother. Someone who can accept you even if it's love that's all you can give." Arthur nodded when Jude leveled his eyes to him. "Now, why don't you set up the table first before your mother gets here, hm?"
"Alright."
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His father had been sitting at the dining table for almost two hours. The food had turned cold; the candles were lit up just so they wouldn't have to turn the lights on to save electricity.
It was past seven when his mother arrived. A white sleek car had halted in front of their house, just as a woman stepped out of it. Arthur had found himself leaping out of the squeaky old couch by the window when he saw the newcomer and rushed to the door.
"Arthur," Edith breathed and they wrapped their arms around each other. "You're not a baby boy anymore. Oh, dear. Look at you!" She tilted his chin up, her clumps of golden hair cascading down her shoulders when she looked down at him. He was tall as where her ears were; one or two more growth spurt and he'd be a head taller than his mother. Her eyes averted from Arthur to look at his father behind him, gray flecks turning darker in her eyes as her expression shifted to a neutral one. "Jude," her voice was quiet. Almost a whisper.
Arthur sidestepped as his father walked up before practically smothering the life out of her. He realized afterwards about the lights so he reached the side of the wall to flick them on, before then enveloping the room in brightness that hurt Arthur's eyes for a moment.
"Come," his father said to her, dragging her further inside and into the dining area, "I've made you a fish stew. I'm sure you've missed it. Just give me a sec and I'll reheat it."
Arthur smiled in amusement, watching his father rushing to the table. And as he was about to get the pot–
"Jude, it's okay." Edith hitched her bag higher up her shoulder in a hesitant fashion. Arthur's father frowned and she added, "I've already eaten on the way here. I just–I need to talk to you."
His father nodded, putting the pot of fish stew back down with a longing gaze. But he gathered the fondest smile he could muster right after. "Of course, my love. What is it?"
Arthur had been looking at his mother. And as they heard the endearment, his mom had a slight twitch on her face.
Edith looked at her son, gently placing her hand on his shoulder. "Honey, will you give us a minute, please?"
He didn't hold back his frustration. His dad had been holding the dinner off. But she was here now and they could finally eat together like a family. "But I'm hungry, mom," he groaned, and she sighed.
"It's going to be really, really quick."
"Go on now, kid," said his father somberly, making Arthur turn to the man who'd nodded to urge him off. "You can play with your toys in your room."
Arthur huffed and he was certain he'd just given his dad a flat look. Because the only toys he had were the soccer ball, a ramshackle nutcracker, and a small car which was given to him by his father's buddy at work.
He obliged eventually.
He was swaying his feet against the foot of the bed as he stared up at the ceiling when he'd heard a faint commotion outside minutes later. Then another, followed by voices. The old apartment was relatively small, with two rooms which was originally a single that his father had divvied up into two to make a space for him. So, when someone was talking outside in normal tone, anyone inside the bedrooms could hear it.
But this one was different. This sounded like an argument.
Arthur didn't even have to go out. Only he had to open the door slightly in order to learn what was going on; it was adjacent to the small living room. He could see his parents in an unpleasant exchange he'd never seen before. In fact, he'd never seen his father this roused in fury. Her mother looked calmer, but indignant all the same.
"What is it about him that makes you want to abandon your vows you've made eighteen years ago, Edith? We go way beyond that. We were together for three years before our marriage and now–" Jude let out an abrupt breath that sounded like disbelief. "Tell me."
The skin between Arthur's forehead crinkled momentarily.
His mother's face faltered. "I am aware, Jude. But you promised me a better life. You kept saying the same things over and over again for years. There's so much better to do and yet you can't step out of what you think is comfort. I vowed to be with you, for better or for worse. But there's never been a better, Jude. I am tired."
His father stepped away, as if her words had struck him right in his core. "Is that it? Money?"
Edith chinned up at him, stifling a deep breath. "No. I love him. And he's the man you will never ever be."
Arthur blinked a tear and peered at his father. He understood it now, fragments of the situation. Although he was young, he was conscious about what was unfolding right in front of him.
"What about Arthur?"
Edith grimaced. "Yes, what about him? Have you ever thought about him? Have you ever looked at your son's eyes, Jude? Are you really content with just the way things are?"
Arthur couldn't help himself any longer. He stepped out of the door and trudged to the little living space where they were. The kitchen was just fronting the living room since it was small so he'd seen the tumbled pot on the table, pieces of fish lying in a pool of running soup.
His parents immediately looked at him. Not in surprise. They were aware that he could hear them. But the damage was beyond repair.
The place was thoroughly quiet. Reality amidst confusion rained down on them like shards of what was once considered whole. But it was Edith who'd shifted on her feet first, her tears beginning to stream down her face that effectively fled the anger out of her eyes.
"Mom?"
She shook her head, her face crumpling as she turned her eyes back and forth. And after much deliberation, she finally told them, "I'm sorry."
She turned away and Arthur rushed–"Mom!"–but Jude held him by the shoulder. They stared at her when she spun her heels back as if giving them one glance they might never see again. She didn't say anything. Just kept on sobbing. Perhaps because she knew that even if she'd ask him to go with her, Arthur's loyalty was pretty much inclined to his father.
She was right. He'd never leave his father. He didn't know her anymore.
But when she finally walked out of the door, he writhed away from his father and begged her not to leave. She pulled his arms away from her waist and he could only watch as she soon slid into the car and drove away.
That was the last and final time he'd ever seen her.
Because he never made it to her funeral to see her face one last moment before her coffin was closed.
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Arthur awoke in utter confusion before the pain on his face gradually settled in.
White walls. White ceilings. White blanket. Bed. Where am I?
He blearily blinked his eyes to readjust his vision, and tried to remember how he got here. But remembering sometimes only made things worse. One bit of his memory was wiped out, his throat was parched, and he felt like he'd hit a brick wall right in the face.
"Oh, you're awake!" a grating voice said, and Arthur frowned at the nurse as she walked up to his bed. She had a wide smile that was far too bright than a sun, her teeth immaculately white in contrast to her red lips. She then touched his neck and, without warning, inserted a thermometer into his mouth which instantly made him scowl.
"What happened?" he asked painfully when she was already checking it. He wanted to get out of bed but his limbs were like lead. They were too heavy to even lift an inch.
The nurse gave him water, at last, and he seized the glass and practically gorged the damn thing. "You fainted and someone was kind enough to bring you here. Actually, they were three. But one person lingered for a bit until she suddenly walked out for no reason at all–"
"Who?"
"–anyways, your friend's going to be here in thirty or so. Here are your medicines," she placed the mentioned to the table in his periphery, "you need a considerable amount of time to rest. It's good that your fever toned down a little bit. You were close to danger zone there, you know? Although you're down to 103, it's still pretty high, Huxley..."
He managed to look aside and found a familiar piece of paper on the bedside table. Paige was here?
"Paige."
"Oh, yes! She was the person who found you, actually."
The skin between his eyebrows twitched as his eyelids felt like they were in flames, his body sinking heavily back down into the bed. She was here. And I was–
And then it was dark again.