The clock chimed, startling me from my deep slumber. I stirred slightly, rubbing my eyes as I checked the time on my bedside clock. The faint green light made my eyes terribly uneasy, as I squinted hard enough to decipher the numerals. It read as 3.05 a.m. Sighing heavily, I groaned as I pushed off the covers and propped myself up on my pillows when I realized that someone was sitting at the edge of my bed.
Moonlight filtered through my grills, making it easy for me to discern her lean silhouette. Her eyes were sunken and she had dark rings under them, a sad smile playing around the corners of her lips. Her dark hair framed her thin face, a white rose tucked behind her ear. She looked straight at me, her bony fingers reaching out for me. I hesitantly reached out for them as I grasped them. They were cold as ice.
“Mom?” I whispered, as her smile grew, startlingly with tears crinkling in her eyes.
“Baby.” She mouthed. It was no less of a whisper, and yet it felt like her smooth voice resonated against my bedroom walls, sending a chill down my spine, a comforting one.
“She continued gazing at me as I sat there, her hand in mine, thinking of so many possibilities of why would my mother be seated on my bed at this unearthly hour, crying.
“Mom, why aren’t you asleep? Are you okay?” I asked my voice unusually high.
She shook her head. “You’re so beautiful, baby.” She continued in that same soft whisper.
I stared at her. Surely, my mother wouldn’t choose a time like this to tell me that I’m beautiful? She herself was a jaw-dropping beauty, which makes it all easier to explain, probably. I gripped her hand harder; as I felt my heart beat accelerate.
“Mom, stay here alright? I’m going to call Dad and ask him why he hasn’t been watching you.” I frowned.
Dad was a heavy sleeper alright, and letting Mom wander around the house in the wee hours of the morning is something to be of concern. I immediately got out of bed, mom’s eyes following me as I wrenched the bedroom door opened and padded across to the master bedroom. Dad was sprawled on the bed, fast asleep, mouth open as a slight drool ran across his jaw with a week-old of stubble. He looked a little barbaric, as I crouched beside him, shaking him awake. He stirred and awoke with a sudden start.
“Dad, can I ask you, why are you letting Mom wander around the house? You’re supposed to take care of her!” I said in a low hiss.
My dad’s eyes widened with fear as her rubbed them vigorously before looking up at me again, his large hands cupping my chin.
“Baby, are you alright?”
“Well, yeah I am, but Mom’s not. She’s crying back there.” I jerked a thumb back to the door left ajar.
Fear flitted across my Dad’s face, as he grabbed my arm.
“Show me.”
I took the lead, as I brought him to the threshold of my room. Mom was sitting there, her gaze continuing from when I left the room, this time at Dad. Her eyes filled with more tears, as she looked at him with longing in her eyes.
“There. She’s crying. Go on Dad, go bring her back. I’m sleepy.” I nudged my Dad forward, stifling a yawn.
Dad didn’t move. His eyes were raking the room with uncertainty as he gripped my hand harder, leading me out of the room, and slowly closing the door after him.
“Dad, bring Mom!” I whined.
“Let her be in your room for tonight. You’ll come with me.” He spoke, his body stiff.
Confused, I followed him, without a word uttered. Dad soon threw the covers over me, as I cradled towards his chest, my arms wrapped around his waist. I felt my dad’s grip tighten around me as he held me close, as though afraid to let me go. Soon, I drifted back into my leftover slumber, with Dad’s warmth comforting me.
The next day, Dad brought me to the doctor. Dr. Phillip was a really fun doctor, and he was Dad’s friend. I was placed in an observation room, as Dr. Phillip and my Dad engaged in a conversation in a chamber just outside the room. The nurse came in and ran a few tests on me, which I completely did not understand. Dad said it was good for young girls like me to get checked up on my health at least once a month, therefore here I was. As the door opened and closed, I caught a little of their conversation such as “worried”, “every date and time of the month” and “everything”. I couldn’t quite string them together, as I twiddled with the tiny globe on the desk, waiting for Dad to come and take me back home. The room was freezing, and I was quite annoyed with the number of times the nurse flitted in and out of the room.
Dad finally came in after a good long ten minutes. I said bye to Dr. Phillip, as he gave me a bar of chocolate, praising me on my good behavior. Dad and I left the hospital, and he drove to the nearest florist to get a bunch of white roses.
“Are those for Mom?” I asked.
He stiffened, but regained composure. Smiling down at me, he said “Yes. Pretty aren’t they?”
I nodded, smiling back. Mom loves white roses. She even made me a white rose crown before and I wore it proudly to school once until my teacher said that it wasn’t allowed. I didn’t like that teacher much after that.
We continued driving down a winding lane, not exchanging many words in that due course. Dad finally parked off a street, where a beautiful countryside meadow was sprawling down the horizon. It was already evening, as the sun’s warm glow illuminated the place, making it look like the whole place was slowly blazing with warm flames. Stone crosses dotted the plains here and there, as birds swooped overhead, with honeysuckle and grass pushing the earth apart at every step we took. We walked along the different stone crosses until we stopped at a white one. It was sunken into a freshly dug hearth, for the sand was still red, and the cross wasn’t chipped unlike a few others around the corner. A golden plaque glistened on it under the warm sun rays.
I grasped Dad’s arm, as a swooping feeling of dread and despair took over me. Silently, he pressed the bouquet of white roses into my palms, as I moved forward in a glacial pace, placing them just right above the grave, directly below the golden plaque. I stepped back and held his arm once more, as he engulfed me into a hug. We stood there until the sun was three quarters sunk into the horizon and a pink ribbon was slowly spreading across the sky. Slowly, we turned back and walked past the crosses again towards the car. We got into the toasty interiors of the car, as Dad revved up the engine.
“Those roses were pretty, Dad.”
He smiled wryly. “That’s because it was hers.”
