// TW //
this is a flashback only chapter
***
I woke up with a start, hearing the sound of the alarm I set. It was twelve in the morning of January 16th, my birthday. It was my seventeenth year today. I flicked on the light by the bed, illuminating my small room. I looked past the years of my life.
So many memories, all of them gray and sharp. I saw the hundreds of places I've been to, hundreds of people I've met, the hundreds of seconds I lived, but none were filled with love. I never wanted these memories, never wanted this, but I can never fall out of affection with life. I didn't need to see where I came from, only to see where I was going. But I was going nowhere. Still, I needed to keep moving forward.
For the past years I was beaten, I was thrown into fire, but still I stood on my own two feet, though it earned me scars that would forever be etched into the memory of my past. Torment and grief pumped through my veins, serving them to every cell and organ inside of me, making me immune--no, making me use to it. I memorized how they would stab me, the precision of their movements, the time of their attack, I knew all of it. I memorized how they sounded like, the tone of their voices when they would whisper suffering in my ears. I memorized how they looked like, and they led to the only image reality produced into existence.
My mother.
I took the candles on the bedside table, casting a fire with the lighter I stole from the 14 ones that mama has. Three candles for three wishes.
I only needed one. I held the candles at a reasonable distance from my face and closed my eyes. My words would eventually vanish into nothingness, my efforts in vain, but I made and wasted my wish anyway.
"I wish Mama would love me again."
Yet I knew it was a wish that could never be granted.
Was I difficult to love?
Were my eyes not enough of a mirror of love?
Were my hands not enough to cradle love?
Were my lips not enough to taste love? Were my ears not enough to hear the whispers of love?
Perhaps not.
Maybe not ever.
.
.
Seven hours later I found myself wearing my school uniform. I took my bag and went downstairs, only to be welcomed by the sight of my mother carrying a cake. A birthday cake. I stood unmoving on the last step, confused. Mama turned and smiled to me, a smile I've never been able to receive for years now. But it was as beautiful as I remembered it, it was as loving as I have felt before.
"Happy birthday, Jennie."
A wave of nostalgia hit me as my past birthdays when Papa was alive suddenly flashed before me. How I missed them both.
"Mama..." Words could not mount to what I was feeling. I wanted to dive into this happiness, into this elation, but I stared down at my hands and said nothing.
Maybe my wish was granted?
But what made Mama do this now? I celebrated my birthdays alone since Papa's death. But even if this was a lie, a dream, an illusion, I wanted to swim into it. Even if this would only be once, I needed to feel the love I was craving for.
"I baked this cake by myself, Jen. Come, blow your candles." Mama put the cake down on the table near the stairs and pulled me by the hand.
Oh, it has been a long time. A long time since I have felt Mama's touch with having to feel pain. Without the whip of the belt. Without the sound of a slap. This warmth I have been deprived of for a long time has finally been offered to me.
I had no idea this soft and cozy woman was still alive. It took me a minutes to process that. I stared at her, surprised. I wanted that woman to be alive forever, not the alcoholic and mad woman that possessed Mama's body.
"Make a wish, baby." Mama held the cake in level with my face.
My wish was already granted. I smiled, and blew the candles. Mama gave me a slice and looked at me, waiting for me to take a bite. She never looked at me without disgust. I loved the way she looked at me now. I pierced the cake with my fork and placed some inside my mouth. Mama watched me carefully while I did it all.
"It tastes good, Mama."
Mama pulled out money from her pocket and handed them to me. "Go and enjoy your day."
But she didn't know money could never exchange for love. Anyone's love. I gave her one last smile and left the house.
.
.
After class ended, I entered the studio nearby to attend my ballet class. For the past twelve eras of my life I have never felt more beautiful when dancing. Never felt more free. In dancing I can separate myself from Jennie Kim, an abused teen inside her home to just a dancer, a simple dancer. In dancing I scream my sorrow in every flick of the arm, I cry my grief in every kick and turn. Dancing became my sanity medium.
"Oh, Jennie! Come and meet your new classmate, Jackie. It's her first time dancing." My ballet instructor, Carla, revealed a girl who was around my age. Her hair was cut into a short pixie, the color her eyes that of the sky, her physique slim but toned. She stood a good height a couple of inches bigger than mine. "Jackie, meet Jennie, one of the best in our studio."
Jackie came forward from the dancers to shake my hand. "It's finally nice to meet you." She squeezed my hand tight. I took this chance to study her more closely. Her arms and legs were shaped, almost as if she'd been dancing for long.
I gently pulled my hand away. "What made you decide to enroll in ballet?" I was suddenly the curious one. It was rare inside the studio to have a girl enroll in her late teens, it would usually be around below the age of ten.
"Work."
Ah, yes, the one-worded answer that only meant she didn't need me nosing around her personal life.
"What about you? I've heard you've been here quite some time now. What made you learn ballet?"
"Life."
And I didn't need her to nose around mine. Fair enough.
.
We started our class not too long after. Jackie was definitely inexperienced with ballet. Her body was too stiff, she couldn't flow her limbs freely to every note of the music. But time can heal that. Carla had to correct her posture almost every basic dance step taught to her. But we were all patient, no one starts with excellence, after all.
I was sitting on the corner, drinking from my water bottle when Jackie sat beside me, offering her cookie. "Want some?"
I shook my head.
"You're really good in ballet. It seemed like you were the song itself, and every note is your every move. It's amazing!"
I blushed. Compliments were hard to fish these days. But this one I didn't even had to try, it just came. "Thank you. Results of being here for twelve years, I guess."
"I hope I'll get to be as magnificent as you."
"Maybe you'll get even better than me." I said sincerely. "I hope so."
"Have you ever thought of dancing as a profession?" She suddenly asked while looking at the other dancers who were practicing.
"No. I want to be a doctor. A psychologist."
"That's quite farfetched from ballet." She looked down to her ballet shoes worn by her feet, swaying them from side to side.
But it wasn't farfetched from my mother.
"I know." When I came to learn ballet, there were no disorientations. I knew exactly where I was, what I was doing, and how I was going to it.
"Okay."
Then we continued our class.
.
When I reached home, the house was unusually dark. Mama would usually have all lights turned on. But the kitchen was in contrast to the dim living room. I let my eyes take time to get use to the shapes before I went inside. I expected Mama's roaring voice to echo in the hallways but it was abruptly silent.
"Mama?" The silence was too much for me.
"In the kitchen!" Her voice travelled all the way to the front door.
I walked timidly towards the dining area and saw her washing dishes in the sink. Her back was faced to me, her hair tied up in a neat bun. There was a bouquet of flowers on the table, neatly placed together by a ribbon. But what nettled me was the black dress she was wearing.
It was the dress she wore for Papa's funeral.
I was too stunned to do anything more than to stare.
"I never expected you to come home early, Jen." Mama's voice sounded a little bit hoarser compared to the voice I heard while it was in the morning. She looked over her shoulders at me.
I didn't recognize the face I saw.
Mama wore make-up, giving her age an additional ten, or twenty. The lines in her face pulled at different directions. The smile mama wore did not fit the face she had. Her eyes were empty and lifeless. Her expression was dark and dangerous. Something even more than the past years mama had that image on her face.
Mama turned around to face me. She was holding a knife.
"I haven't given you your gift, Jennie." Mama croaked through her throat. I was frozen solid, unable to react. It didn't feel right at all. None this felt right. There were so many questions in my mind, but I wasn't given any answers when mama suddenly lurched forward a step.
"You will surely remember my gift, Jennie." Mama loosened her apron and tossed it to the side. She walked around the table, standing near where I was, but stopped a couple of feet away. I blinked slowly, the shadow of fear settled itself around me. She kept her eyes on the knife, the light on the ceiling slightly reflected by it.
"I was about to give it to you when you were about to leave school, but I thought I wasn't prepared enough. Wasn't dressed enough for the occassion."
I tried to swallow but could not. My head started to spin. So what happened in the morning was all an act. It was all too good to be true.
Mama suddenly raised the knife above her head, bringing it down towards me.
I brought my palm to meet the sharp edge of the knife, feeling my skin meeting with steel. The knife pierced my palm, forcing its way to sink into my skin, splitting it in between. The knife's journey on my skin was slow, but ever so wild. Half of the knife was buried in my hand, but funny how my heart was the one that was completely bleeding. When I felt the last of the steel out of my flesh, we locked eyes for a moment.
I was stunned. Every nerve of my body became immobilized. But mama's face was calm.
She exhaled in angry gust and took a step back.
The next thing she did would forever change my life, and I couldn't stop her fast enough.
She stabbed herself in front of me.