HYBRID

A great man once said, to appreciate life, to truly appreciate it, we must experience, even if only for a brief moment, death.

He claimed that the impact will be so powerful that it is the only true way of being thankful for the gift that is life, to make even the insignificant moments feel significant.

For most of my life, I wanted to die, I wished I could take the initiative to end it all but I was a coward and what’s worse than a coward, a coward with an unrequited love, no, she loved me, at one point, not anymore though.

Why? Because I wasn’t him but I looked like him, he was haunting her through me and she resented me for it.

She tried, she really did, I promise she did. She would force a smile, but the deep hollowness in her hazel eyes would tell me it was a lie, even being just twelve I could see it.

She would try to be good, as difficult as it had become to be kind to me, but a slight change in tone, a small frown and dad’s belt would come out of the closet, drifting between reality and delusion, she would ask, “Why can’t you be good?”, then she’d ask, “Why did you leave?” I wonder if when I cried, pleaded, she heard his voice instead of mine.

She would try new methods, the needle marks were proof enough of that, she was doing this for me right? She wouldn’t have the energy to hit me if she could barely move, it wasn’t hard, really I learned really fast to cook and to clean and to help her to bed, I learned to be good for her, because maybe, she’ll think about loving me again, right?But then there are those moments when she’s ‘awake’, when she’d remember, when his belt would come out of the closet.

But it wasn’t so bad, it didn’t hurt as much when I closed my eyes, I could pretend that wasn’t my mother, just a women that had her frizzy black hair, that had the same hatred burning in her eyes, yeah, it wasn’t bad if I crawled back to my room slowly, if I took care of the bruises properly, if I went to bed, holding Max’s soft but tattered body and pretend he responds when I say goodnight, if I just went to sleep and dreamed good dreams, it wouldn’t be so bad.

But then I’d wake up, and I'd be paranoid to leave my room, I’d be silent, it was better to say nothing than to risk saying the wrong things yet I’d still get hit, I thought of dying my hair black, like hers, she’d be happy right? If I didn’t have dad’s brown hair, or his dull gray eyes, maybe if I could change the fact I had his lisp, maybe If I throw away Max…NO.

I couldn't, he's the only thing I have left of my dad, I couldn't throw that away, I wasn't being selfish, I was protecting my dad's memory, that's it. That's why I had to hide him, it was easy, she didn't come into my room, she couldn't stand anything related to me, I was nothing but a damned thing she had said, she didn't want to end up like dad after all she justified .

I was more afraid I would be the one to end up like him, but somehow I convinced myself otherwise, something I held onto hope every time I could fall asleep with Max in my arms, brushing his lovely dark brown fur, tracing the heart shaped patterns on his paws, inhaling his scent, lavender, and best of all looking into his dark brown button eyes and finding comfort in them.

But hope is a funny thing, hope is a small candle in a dark windy void, suffering to stay lit.

Slap! Love isn't always what we want it to be, and this is my mother's version of love, pain. I cower holding my cheek, my lips trembling as she holds back tears, hatred burns through my mother's eyes, eyes hollow with only the memory of her husband's death replaying over and over and over, memories that spread rage and cautiousness, memories that affects each and everyone of her movements and words.

"Eden, why did you hide this from me?" There was something off about her tone, it was too calm, too coherent, "I don't know," I whisper tired, defeated.

"Throw it away," mother whispers pained, "Throw it away for me, you need to let him go," this strange state of normalcy didn't phase me, it was all a lie, this happened occasionally, this wasn't my mother, my mother was beneath all that hatred and rage, "I can't," she returns, tightly holding the stuffed toy to her chest, "Eden," the warning in my mother's tone made me quiver, stepping back slightly as her eyes began to water, "Mama," the older woman lunged at me, I crash to the floor, thrashing and screaming as my mother tries to wrestle the bear out of my tight grasp, "Let him go," she screeches, her fist slamming into my jaw, I cry out in pain, refusing to let go.

I struggle, thrashing and kicking, seeing a chance to escape, I rush off the floor, pulling the bear's threads as I scrambles off the floor, almost crashing into the wall when bolting to the living room, trails of Max's stuffing falling to the ground.

I heads toward the door, barely grasping the handle before she was pulled back by her hair, I grunt, saliva and blood flying as my face hits a wall, my vision blacking out for a brief second that felt like an eternity, I chokes out a agonizing scream, blood spewing from my mouth, my ears ringing and my body unsteady, several duplicates of my mother holding the bear appear in her vision, I stretch out my hand, wondering when my mother took the bear.

Crashing unsteadily onto the floor, I could do nothing but watch helplessly as the world keeps moving and my mother drops the teddy bear out the window. And that was it, the candle light extinguishing. Hope fading, the feeling of the abyss swallowing me whole.