Chapter 11 The Ghost Child
607 Words
I don't know how long it was, but slowly the pain in my body started to fade, and my mind got clearer.
"Mommy, look — my foot doesn't hurt anymore." I wanted to tell Mommy the good news.
But when I looked up, Daddy was holding my body.
My body?!
That scared me. "How can there be two of me?"
I looked at the other "me" strange, but Daddy was carefully cleaning that body.
All the smelly places were gone. I was a clean baby again.
Watching Daddy's gentle movements, I didn't understand.
Daddy had never been this gentle to me before.
He'd only look at me mean, say I was a bad kid, say I had no manners.
I went over to Daddy, wanted to tug his sleeve, tell him — Emma's right here, Daddy, hug Emma too, okay?
But the second my hand reached for him, it passed right through.
I stared at my hand, frozen. "Daddy, why can't I touch you? Is it because I'm still sick?"
But then I saw — my body was a little see-through, not like before at all.
I remembered a story Mommy told me a long time ago.
She said when the Little Mermaid leaves this world, her body turns into sea foam, and she stays with her family as foam.
Even though her family can't see her, they still love her.
Foam is see-through. And right now, I'm a little see-through too.
So does that mean my family can't see me anymore?
Looking at "me" still lying there with eyes closed, I thought about Mommy when she was sick.
Mommy was like that too, not moving.
Me and Mommy have the same sickness.
I want to see Mommy.
I ran into the bedroom, and there was Mommy, still lying on the bed, not moving.
But Mommy looks dirty now, with lots of new wounds on her.
I want to wipe Mommy off, but then I remember — I can't touch her.
"Mommy." I called her, voice choking.
Footsteps outside the door, heavy and dull. Daddy was carrying my body back in.
He laid my body next to Mommy, gently, and just looked at us.
Daddy looked really sad.
Just like... Mommy used to look.
On all those days Daddy wasn't around, Mommy would get this look on her face sometimes.
Sometimes I'd ask Mommy what was wrong.
She'd pull me onto her lap and tell me, "No matter what happens in the future, you have to know — Mommy will always love you."
I wanted to ask what "future" meant, and what would happen in the future.
But Mommy was so sad, I could only hold her and tell her I love her too, forever.
Mommy also said maybe one day she wouldn't be able to hold me like this anymore. She told me to learn to take care of myself, to be strong.
Back then I'd pouted at Mommy: "I don't want you to leave. I want to be with you forever."
Mommy just stroked my head in silence, didn't answer.
Maybe Mommy was a fairy godmother. She knew she'd get sick one day, so she taught me to be brave ahead of time.
So much went through my head. I felt like I was about to fall asleep.
I whispered, "Mommy, Emma's being really brave now."
"So Mommy doesn't have to worry."
Even knowing I couldn't touch Mommy, I did what she used to do to me — I patted her body, gently.
And I said the words she used to say to me.
"Go to sleep. Go to sleep, and everything will be okay."
- Writer
