♤PACTS♤

Chapter 31 - Emo's tears

Marci Wellington's POV

Frustration and anger.

These two feelings consume my walking being as I slow my steps just outside the playground.

The swing set that used to be bright green calls my name, telling me to sit and watch the show. I follow the call because I have no choice. This year threw my life upside down. I fought tooth and nail to survive, but what happens when the little black girl gets consumed by her own thoughts? Memories that taunt her, remind her of a life she once lived?

I guess we're about to find out.

It was the summer of 2011 when school had finished for the session. This was when my mom's career started climbing. After working from home with my dad since their marriage, she rented out a small shop to start the fashion business. After a long day, she'd pick me up from school and we'd play in this very playground till my dad came to pick us up.

One tear.

The monkey bars were always my favourite. I used my flexibility to its full advantage; doing more stunts than a monkey. She would take pictures of me while I put stunt doubles to shame.

Two tears.

Then she'd push me on the swing while humming a piece written by Mark Knopfler. The wind would blow my hair everywhere and by the time we were done with the swing set, I'd be looking like I just came out of the nuthouse.

She'd walk us to the bench, place me on her lap and brush my hair till I looked like the sweet little daughter she knew. She'd place a kiss on my forehead and allow me to rest my head on her shoulder while we waited for my dad to come and pick us up.

Three tears.

There was a time before that horrible dinner took place. There was a time where she loved me, where she would make sure she was there for me even though she had a passion for fashion..

A fashion designer.

I wanted to be a fashion designer, but if it will put my kid through the shit storm I'm in, I think I'll pass. Maybe I wanted it because I idolised her so much and I wanted to be like her. Maybe I wanted it so much because I thought we'd be closer if both of us could do more things together.

As I sit in the den of darkness and brood over my memories that make tremors run through my body, I allow myself to smile.

My dad is on death's doorstep.

I smile.

My mom's close to losing her mind.

I smile even harder.

Abuelo used to say, "Whenever life throws rocks at you, smile brightly. It'll make the thrower go blind for a minute."

And I do just that. Tears pour from my eyes as I struggle to understand my life. I have no clue what my mom was getting at when she said she had no choice but to not have more kids. She kicked up a fuss when dad wanted more kids and moved out of the mansion. If they were being threatened, then why lie? Why make me believe that I'm not competent enough to take care of my siblings? If we could have just talked about it, I'm sure. We wouldn't be in this situation.

What did she mean by dad's past would come back to bite us in the ass?

The cold spring hair knocks me out of thoughts. The hairs on my skin stand as I shiver on the swing set. I embrace the cold. It's the only thing that has made sense since the year began.

Swallowing down dreams, especially when the dreams were close to materialising is not a simple task. The world has a funny way of telling you the truth and most of the time, it's through pain that you grow. You'd have to burn down everything and maybe you can rebuild what you wanted and make it better. Maybe you could build something entirely different and it won't allow you to lose yourself.