Onsra: A novel

Chapter Three: Fireflies in a Bottle

"And it's funny how the time it flies,

And the people how they change…"

- Crushing Grief (No Remedy) by Neck Deep

I know my uttered apologies are never enough, without him here, without his warmth.

I can still remember how I made him feel how I hate him so much—blamed him.

"Hey, I think you need to rest, you've been up for how many nights and days, I'm worried about you." She is eyeing me critically, as if I'm one of those specimen she's observing in biology class. Meanwhile, I'm here, unfazed by her coaxes of me to have my rest. No, I will never leave Mama's side, even when she left me. I'm on my own now.

I shake my head to say that I won't. No, I'm staying here.

"Xia, this habbit of yours is dangerous! You should at least have ample rest. Come now, please?" her voice soothes my already aching limbs from sitting here, it's as if, her voice sounds like mother's.

Mama.

My tears are on its way again with just the thought of Mama. I miss my Mama's voice, her warmth, her homemade dishes, her laugh.

Is there any Time Machine to ride on to move backwards when Mama was still alive? I wanna live there my whole life and not move forward at all.

I wish my past is like those fireflies—that I'm willing to catch and put in a bottle, to stare at it until I go blind. If only fireflies are my past, I'd willingly catch one.

"Don't worry, I saw your father awhile ago. I'm sure, he'll be the one to replace you in guarding your mother. Take a rest." The words she add do not give any comfort to me (although, I know that's what she wants me to feel), but no, comfort is not what I feel with him being here. Anger. Anger is what I'm feeling towards him. How dare he step in here and attend my Mama's wake?

"Where is he?" in a determined voice, that is how I asked Raela. She is shocked by my sudden change of mood. Surely, how I spoke those words gives off my mood, with him being here.

"I saw him with the elders not long ago, I'm not sure if he's still there though…" Before she can ask me my problem, I stand up to look for my bastard father.

I successfully find him outside, sitting on one of the garden benches, his eyes are shut and his face facing the darkened clouds eating the pure ones into nothingness—just like how as I'm staring at him now with his eyes closed: my love, my adoration, and my respect for him, has been all eaten by my hate for him.

Hate. A four-lettered word, when rolled in the tongue sounds empty, especially when it's not even meant; if it weren't for him, the word "hate" surely weighs nothing. Until I see him now in the flesh, the word hate weighs more than 80 kilos, it's immeasurable, but it surely is heavy to the point that my heart cannot take it.

I just stand near him, immobile and not creating any sound that will surely interrupt his moment.

"It will rain soon, Dear. Go back inside." I am taken aback by his sudden words. Did I create a sound while I'm on my way here? My heels surely did. I don't know.

"Why are you here?" is the only question that I ask him. Less words spilled, less mistakes. I have already faced him the first day of Mama's wake, and he knows why I'm like this.

His position never change: eyes closed, and his face still faced the now totally dark nimbus clouds—the clouds will cry soon, seems like the clouds are in mourning for my mother's death too.

With no further adieu, the clouds cry. The raindrops resemble with my mother's beads in her favorite sunday's dress—crystal white, that when the sun's rays give their attention to it, it sparkles, as if to boast its divine allure, and show that to give their attention to her will never be a waste of time.

"Please, Xia. Please let me be with her for the last time," his voice broke as he said the word "last".

We are both soaking wet from the rain's lament, but we still remain in our positions.

"I know what I did will never be forgiven, I myself couldn't forgive myself for doing such deed, and I will surely bring it with me as I die. But please, let me be with her for the last time. She is the only great love that I have. Please." He face me with those eyes that of a man with a broken soul within, that even witchcraft could not fix. 

I have so many things to say to him. Of how a terrible human being he is for doing this to me and my mama.

"But you killed  Mama," I say in a tiny voice. His face does not indicate about hearing my words while facing me, and if he did hear the words, I do not care anymore, as I turn my back to him and go back inside the Hall where mama is placed.

I let him be: admit to the people who attends Mama's wake, and guard her on her remaining nights; in effect, I am not sleep deprived anymore, but most people still give remarks about me looking older as time passes by.

What do they expect of me, I who mourns for my most beloved mother's death? Do they expect, loud music, booze, Jack Daniels, body shots, and anything akin to celebration and debauchery?

I realize that a person's age is not the reason why he looks old, nor does the time's soul brushing through his face, causing it to be wrinkled; it is about the Fates and their winds that has him placed in the mountain top where he now stands, its just where he is destined to be—whether the Fates' winds cause agony or bliss.

I thought… that today will be a rainy day of July the thirteenth, that maybe God himself is in tears to have my mother too early than he expected—but no, the sun's vermilion rays is casting down upon us in this solacing sea of dark green bermuda grass, as if insinuating that my mother is an Angel that needs to return to her real home, wherever that is.

It is just a short ceremony before we give our goodbyes for my mother—I am trying to keep my composure as the ceremony is going on; no, I won't let them see me weak, I am not weak. That is my mama's words when she was still alive.

"Do not let them see you on your knees, people take advantage with your weaknesses."

"Let them see how indestructible you are. Do not let them abuse you. Do not be manipulated."

"You don't need a knight in his white horse to be saved, be the knight yourself; because in this world where everything needs saving, you save yourself headfirst, for no one will be brave enough to do that in your behalf."

It is a chaos free trip for mama while we take her for her last trip: the afterlife. Well, except for his husband's wailings as if—nevermind. Good thing that this will be the last time that I will be able to see him, I just cannot afford to look at him and talk to him, he doesn't deserve any of my attention!

Raela once chastised me for acknowledging him as my mama's husband, and not my dad—although he is. I mean, his not my bastard dad, but his whole personality sure is. I didn't give a f**k with how they winced whenever I approached him, even their middle fingers' shake from shame of my words—if middle fingers just have ears.

He deserved to be treated that way.

The burial is over, then he comes closer to me, hopeful that he will be able to talk to me after all that has happened and how his selfishness led us into this hole trap where escaping is never an option.  Day by day, my rage for him intensifies, that being close to him suffocates me—especially now.

Both of us are the only people left; Raela and her family, and all the others already left. As much as I want to stay with mama, with him here, I just cannot. I cannot stand knowing that he is near—that the air he exhales are mine to inhale.

"Saxia, my dear, uh, I just want you to know that after all these, my house is open for you to stay at. Especially when you miss your ma-"

"How can you say such tomfoolery after all the things you have done? I cannot believe this! You're more of a thick-faced bastard now than I have ever thought of you!" I cut his sugar coating lies of comfort, with mine. He wants to show me his words made out of cotton candies? I am fire, and I can turn his into ashes in just seconds.

With my combust lash, I see him turning red. I don't know, probably from shame. I hope that's that.

"I just want to help you. I know this is hard, and I am in pain too. Of all people who knows your pain, it is I. Please, honey, I can't lose you too. Your mother's death tears half of my heart, and if I lose you, I don't know if I will have my heart returned again. I don't own my heart anymore, sweetheart, this heart of mine is already owned by both you and your mother the moment you stepped into my doorstep," his voice boomed in the open field.

"Really? Nice drama, Sandro Quaraine! Is that how you caught Xiandra's heart? I am no actress, but I know good drama when I see one. You're so fake. I can't believe you could spit words like that, and in front of Mama's grave! Cut the crappy acting, we both know you have your fair share of women against Mama's back when she was still alive!" My tears fall, and I let them. I'll let my tears be the seeds to grow a tree, right in this spot where mama lay, that will soon harvest Sandro's karma.

"You killed her," I say in a hushed voice, keeping my shouts sealed shut in its iron box. His head drooped and his breathing become heavy as if he is catching his breath. I will never be guilty of saying the words I just said. He deserve it all.

"I will never forgive you!" is the last words I say before leaving him.

I live in the family house that both my mother and father once dreamed to have when they were still dating that came true with Sandro's perseverance. It has been two years after Mama's death, and I already accept my fate—to live in isolation. The first year had been so rough for me, it was like hell ascended to delight in my suffering, and to top the cake with something sweet, Sandro called more often, he was more persuasive compared to my suitors, which I hate.

Last year was the year when my demons got the better of me. Thoughts of being worthless, and that all failures were all my fault, were whispered in a laughed and sobbed manner by whom I don't know. It was like, I was sucked by the black hole deep within my heart, and it was so scary that even when I get to remember it all now, It still send chills down my spine; I know that he's just somewhere deep within me—waiting to strike me at my lowest. It is a miracle that I am still alive now.

It was Raela who forced me, to have appointments and sessions with a psychiatrist. As much as I don't want to admit it, Raela is the kind of person that is just silently rooting for you to heal from everything. I don't even consider her as a bestfriend, for Pete's sake! I don't have friends, and I don't want to have one. Nevertheless, she is there when I need someone—even when I don't admit it to myself nor with anyone; disappointingly, she can see past through me as if she knows my soul all too well, and even pushing her away is futile!

Right now, I am waiting for a confirmation call to the publishers I have sent my novels to—I realize that my passion for writing never really disappear even when I had cross the Bermuda Triangle's trials, nearly dead.

My phone rings, in haste, I do not know who calls me and I did not check the caller ID.

"Hello?" I am drumming my fingers against the wooden dining table.

"Oh God! Good thing you answered my call, Honey!" And, it was Sandro. I was about to turn it off but then…

"Hold up! Please, I am not calling to disturb you. I just need to ask for help. Meet me at Starbucks. I don't know who to call, and then I remember you. Please, honey," his voice is begging me to say yes.

I want to say no.

But I can hear Raela's voice in my head—reprimanding me. Wait. She's now my conscience? This is ridiculous!

But then, Sandro is still my father. My heart is not made of stone, no matter how others see it and I see it, he is still my father and I am still his daughter. Because of my guilt (that was really Raela's voice whispering in my ear), I ask him the time to meet him and in Starbucks—where?

Right after he called me, my phone rings again, and I checked who just called…it was an unregistered number! I answered it, and guess who? It's one of the Publishing Company I passed my manuscript with saying, my novel is approved for publish! We will talk about the process of it and contract signingnow! Like really now, at this instant! Finally!

It is raining, but nothing can kill my mood! I am so happy when I am on my way to my house even when the rain makes me all wet, when suddenly, I see Sandro outside, shivering, all wet, and coughing! Oh well, it is his fault why he is in his condition right now anyway. Why did he let the rain catch him anyway? And the hell I care!

Without any word, I unlocked the door, and let him in; this is his house too anyway, I don't even have any contribution when they were on the process of making this house, he has more rights than I am, for I am just a mere daughter.

I turn on the heater before changing in my room with a warm plaid sweater in pink and blue matched with my cerulean blue pyjamas that resembles me of sea.

"You can change in your room with Mama. I did not touch anything there!"

Before going home, I bought my dinner in  my Pizza House. Good thing that I bought many than the usual—I am about to celebrate the biggest achievement that I have reached my entire life: to become a published writer.

And, I am hell sure my father has not eaten any dinner yet, so I coldly invite him over to eat.

We silently eat the six boxes of Spicy Italian Beef Pizza, the only sound audible is how I munch my pizzas, never caring how little my father has eaten; I won't allow anyone—even him, to ruin this moment of mine.

"I was waiting in Starbucks since 1 pm, and yet you did not show up…"

I pause from eating, and realize that I really did ditch him, but it was unintentional! I forgot about that! It was never my intention to make him wait there for hours like a lunatic waiting for God to come down from heaven and have him be dated with some hot chick!

Guilt creeps into my system, until flashes of him ditching family days' for a multiple times for who-knows-what-reasons-and-excuses make me feel not guilty anymore. And now that I'm staring at his visage, eyes that are glassy melancholic; the loathe I had for him for two years that I tried to dug a grave for it to have its rest, now comes back and elevates above the surface, as if a zombie starving—not for brains nor hearts, but for Sandro's misery, as if seeing him in such state suffices the hunger.

"That's why I came here, only to find out you were out—"

"You said, you have a problem. Don't ask questions to me now acting as if you really are a father material, because you honestly are not, even before—you look trying hard to be one. Just beat around the bush!"

After snapping at him, I continue eating, not looking at him, just at my pizza. And so, he shared me his problem…

"What can I do? This house is not mine. It's yours. I don't have any right to own this as mine. Just act as if I don't exist, you can even bring your women here to satiate your manly needs, I don't care. Do your own business for I too, will do mine," I said with finality in my voice.

The pizza now tastes bland to me, my stomach feels cold, and I can't bear to swallow another slice of pizza with him in front of me, so I stand up without saying anything; I cry my heart out in my room—the things inside are the only witness of my attempts to envelop wholly Hades's darkness, and the silent cries of help to be saved from everything. If these things inside my room be given a chance to live life and remember this life they have with me now, all they can surely tell are my sufferings, for that's the sole state that they see me every time.

"You know what? This is just an advice, it's either you take it or not, it's your choice. But aren't you too cruel with your father? People commit mistakes and as how I see it, he is now a changed man. Wouldn't you give him another chance to enter your life?" I am in this newly opened café with Raela, talking about my father and him moving to our house.

"No. I will never forgive him of what he had done with my mother. It was all his fault why Mama died," I said the words with so much conviction that Raela moved his head sidewards—insinuating that she is disppointed with the answer she received from me.

"Someday, Xia, something will happen that will surely make you swallow all the spiteful words you have given to him on his back and on his front. I just hope, it's not too late for you."

And we drink our coffee, and move on from the topic about Sandro. Raela surely has lots of gossips to share. 

For months of having my father here, he surely knows how to distance himself with me, he eats breakfast earlier or later, after I eat mine. There are no bickerings and violence, but it surely doesn't feel like there's peace—the air seems distant and cold as if the only season the house give off is winter in the second of November.

He knows that my job is a novelist in a Publishing Company, and most of the time I hear of his disapproval in this career that I engage myself with, I just ignore him though, his opinions of my life doesn't weigh heavy to me anymore—I will never be that same teen girl whose life depends with his father's decisions, I will not let him toy me on the top of his palm: be an honor student; pass your College Entrance Exams in that University, that's where you will study; don't give too much efforts doing that, that's of no use; Be an engineer, or an architect, or a lawyer, or a doctor, that's the only choices I can give you. Bullshit! High expectations from a low person like him, makes me want to roll over and over on the ground from laughing!

He seems to be tired from all his indirect litanies about writing as a "hopeless person's career", or maybe he already accepts it?  Good, he can just mind his business and watch his favorite television shows and laugh his ass out that even the neighbors on the next street can hear, I don't care!

The only solution really is to not give a f**k about the things he give a f**k about. A piece of cake.

I wake up groggily, hair in a messy bun, and a creased pyjama top, I pick up my phone while still lying down my bed, I tapped answer with my eyes closed and put it on my left ear…

"Happy birthday, Saxia!" Raela's shout is even audible without the loudspeaker on! My sleepy soul is awake now from her greeting! I was planning to get back to sleep after answering this phone call, that is now spoiled, I can't go back to sleeping when I'm fully awake!

"I didn't contact you nor talk to you since I want to surprise you! Are you surprised? Do you miss me?" Her high pitched voice really irritates the hell out of me!

"The only gift I can give you, is my self, my friendship, my honesty, and loyalty. I hope you consider these as gifts and I hope you accept them. Happy birthday, Saxia!"

"No, I don't. Thanks. Bye." I end the call and try to get back to sleep, but as expected I can't sleep anymore! So much for giving me your gifts, Raela!

I am shocked. When I open my room's door to have my breakfast, my father is there, preparing. I am about to turn back…

"No! Honey, come join me for breakfast! I prepared your favorite french toast for you!" he sound so happy while motioning me to come over the dinner's table, but I am reluctant to come over.

After that pizza dinner I had with him on a rainy night—the night where he was homeless and had nowhere to go but here, we never tried to eat together, it just happens that he tried reaching me out to have breakfast with him now…

I think I idled too much, for I am shocked that he's now on my back, his hands are on my shoulders, pushing me towards the table where the "fancy" breakfasts are placed. I just stand there, and I don't know where he went, he disappeared.

"Happy birthday to you, my one and only daughter! You are now twenty-five, a fully grown woman," his soft voice while saying the words move me, it is too soft and sweet than his usual commanding voice that of a military General. I am too shocked to even utter words—even a thank you!

"I hope you accept this gift of mine. For my exemplary writer daughter. Papa is so proud you have reached this far, continue following your passion." He's reaching for my right hand and hands  me…  quill and ink! My left hand fly to my mouth to cover my shock!

Does this mean, he accepts my writing career? And, the quill and ink is so beautiful! The feathers of the quill are darker that of night's horizon, studded with golden dots of glitter as if representing the stars—against the morning light, it shimmers and dances; the ink's bottle is pure gold, and its cap is made of wood varnished in black . The quill and ink, complements each other, as if from the very start, they are made for each other. The quill and ink's beauty is too much for such a normal writer as I, it's as if the Gods and Goddesses themselves made it with their blood and breath and promises.

My breakfast with my father, go smoothly. He makes small talks as if trying to make me comfortable.

For the first time after two years, my birthday feels so special. It's not about the gifts, it's about who remembers me and who cares. No one knows my birthday and I don't tell it to anyone, even Raela, and eversince she tried to befriend me wayback college days, I was shocked that she knows, and that until now she remembers.

It's a gloomy Thursday and I'm having a meeting with my editor for the next novel that I'll write and its deadline here in Starbucks when suddenly, my phone rings, it's an unknown number.

I don't really answer unknown phone calls thinking that maybe it's just a random dialed prank call? Altough there are only few people whom I give and entrust my phone number with, when they contact me I warn them that they must introduce themselves first through text before calling me, especially when their phone numbers are not registered in my phone yet.

Instead of tapping the decline button, there's something that tells me to pick it up, and so I did. I just hope that I don't regret answering this after…

"Where is Sandro Quaraine in?" I asked the nurse in the Hospital desk, a telephone is on hear ear. I am all sweaty from all the running I made to come in this place as soon as possible.

The nurse says bye to the one she just called, and without any words, she just typed on the computer in front of her, and said the words that will haunt me forever, "He is on the way towards the Morgue."

"No, I think you heard the name wrong. Let me repeat it. His name, is Sandro Quaraine, and where is he? In what ward is he in?"

"Miss, that's the name I heard. And he's on his way to the Morgue. I bet, he's now already there."

It is as if, I become deaf. The nurse's words reach my ears but not towards my mind and heart. No, it's impossible. Yesterday, we just ate breakfast solemnly. No.

I am trying myself to be brave. Slowly and slowly, I make my feet take steps no matter how slow they are.

I can't feel my legs anymore as I'm nearing the morgue, like I am floating away, away, away, off towards space.

Inside the morgue, feels eerily cold, as if its mere existence shouts of dead, dead, dead, that make me numb—not from fear no, but from regrets, pain, and remorse from all the wasted time and anger.

A diener, comes to me and asks, I whispered his name as an answer, and he guides me towards where he is…

I can't believe it, he is covered in a white cloth—head to toe. So much for wasting all the time with him with my loathe.

For the very first time, I let my guard down, I cried for the anger I feel for myself, I cried for the wasted time, I cried for my corrupted heart.

The worlds collisioned, and I am the center with them all crashing against each other; they crumble to pieces together with my heart that is now undistinguished with how small it is. I am on my knees as I beg the heavens to take my father back with me alive, as if through my kneel, it compensates the words I have said that had me stab him straight through the heart.

And I remembered Raela's words.

I am too late.