The drizzle soon became rain. The drops of water making those drumming sounds that I loved. But no love filled my heart at that moment. I laid in my bed, staring at the ceiling. I felt heavy and rigid. I could almost hear my articulations shriek when I tried to move a muscle, so I chose not to.
Unlike others, no “why?” or “how?” crossed my mind when my grandmother called to confirm the horrible news. No, I had learned to accept, I had learned that there is no answer to my suffering, there was no cause to it, no logic behind it; suffering was suffering, and I had to carry it everyday and though accepting it didn’t make it better, it made it easier.
As I let myself be engulfed by grief Oreo slept peacefully by my side. Sharing his warmth as I didn’t even bother to cover me and my animal friend with a blanket. The cold helped in some way, as it cooled down my body temperature, it cooled down the hot mess of my emotions as well.
How will I remember my parents like? As the parents who only cared about their business and forgot about their only daughter? Or, as the parents who gave it all for the business that they started to sustain their beloved daughter? If I choose the first I will be honest, but do I really want to carry that all my life? Do I want to be aware of my ignored presence, of my forgotten existence, of the little girl who waited for her parents every night for a goodnight kiss?
As the dilemma of my parents memory stirred in my brain, tears slowly came out of my eyes, damping the pillow below me. The tears never came while I had a sad face on. They always came on their own, while my demeanor was similar to the one of a potato.
The hours passed, the same question came to my mind every time it could. I entered and exited a sleep full of something similar to nightmares but not quite, they were filled with my own memories. Memories of me in front of a class of laughing children, me arguing with some teacher I hated, me crying in a corner in my room, me with pills in my hand. They were not in vain, after 2 days of temporal lucidity, I made a decision.
I would remember my parents for what they were, because the truth I only knew, and if I forgot, it would be lost in the mountains of hypocritical comments by the people who was once their friends.It was my duty to keep that truth, to let it live as long as I did.
I drew another conclusion. The rest of my life would be a living hell. I was unlucky enough to be born in a respected family. If I wanted to avoid the pity of the community and the comments of how disappointed my dead parents would be of me, I needed to abandon my dreams. I needed to become a social, nice, pretty, studying girl and forget about becoming the artist I craved being. Because God forbid that the only daughter of the Corsica family refused to carry on the legacy, that was a monstrosity this small town should not see.
I knew my parents were going to let me be an artist. They knew I would be useless as something else. But now they are gone. They were too ashamed to tell anyone that I didn’t want to be like them. They were afraid of saying that their daughter despised their form of living. I can’t blame them, who wants to accept they are a failure? Not everyone is strong enough, I am not. I am not strong enough to live.
I was distraught. I couldn’t believe the future that awaited me. Even though I struggled everyday, I always had hope, and now that was gone as well. My already fragile dreams cracked and the debris fell on top of me like broken glass, cutting deep inside. And that was my third conclusion, I was a too ugly truth to stay in this world. And that is what sometimes many forget, that the truth is sometimes not worth living for. Sometimes the truth is the real enemy, the one that only seeks to destroy you.
That day I accepted the fate that my parents’ death meant, therefore I decided to save everyone’s time and rush forward what would eventually come.