Misrouted Whim (Misery's Advent Series 1)

Chapter 7

Clíodhna

It was a faint memory of mine when I had my trip to the kitchen—nauseous and lightheaded. My body was shivering and my head felt muzzy from my nap. It was seventeen years ago when my body was still frail. And a child like me still doesn't know how to care for herself. "Momma?" I called for her name, legs wobbly as I tried to tread on the kitchen floor.

My hands were on the counter, eyes peering beyond what it was capable of.

I was looking at the kitchen cabinet, hoping that somehow my eyes could gain some superpowers to seek for a bottle of medicine. Funny enough that that term only existed in my vocabulary when I turned to an adult.

Back then, I never knew sick people should be staying all day.

"Momma? I don't feel good." Louder it was this time. I packed every strength I had to exit the place, not when I stopped and heard my mother's footsteps from afar. It wasn't hard to guess which is which and who is who. Momma's footsteps were calculating and knew where it strides. As if it had a map of its own, it knew where she should be led to me.

Her footsteps seemed to lighten, then it was only a tiny stomp on the floor.

"Clío? Hindi ba dapat nagpapahinga ka?" she whispered, mellow and discreet. I was confused back then why she would do this in her voice. It was different when she spoke the language I was native to. Never it came to my mind to ask questions. Momma seems to come back from the chores back at the garden.

It was time for another banquet so she's doing everything she could, double the time as I wasn't there to fill my presence alongside her, and now she looks awfully pale.

Mahaba ang dress na suot niya noon sa pagkakatanda ko—mapa-araw man o gabi. Hindi katulad ngayon na isusuot lang kapag lalabas ka at may pupuntahan. Nagtataka ako 'non at bakit pare-parehas ang suot ng mga nakakatandang mga babae sa lugar namin. Parang pinag-usapan. Parang pinag-planuhan. Nakalugay ang isang naligaw na mga buhok sa kanyang noo. Lumuhod siya sa harap ko, sabay hawak sa aking mga kamay.

Kita ko sa mga mata niya ang pagod—ang lungkot sa likod ng mga namumuti niyang mga labi.

Naaalala ko pa noon kung paano ko naisip na mas kailangan niya ng paghinga kesa sa'kin.

"I don't feel good, Momma. Everything's spinning," sumbong ko sa kanya, nangingilid ang mga luha. Napausli ang mga labi ko habang inaanalisa ang kanyang ekspresyon. Kasabay nang muli niyang pag-ngiti ay niyakap niya ako. Ang lamig ng katawan niya 'non. Namamawis din ang kanyang leeg. "Next time, stay inside your room, okay? Paano kung bumagsak ang katawan mo diyan at hindi ko alam? I'll be really worried, Clío," she murmured, voice almost cracking.

Life already made its awareness that ours wasn't easy and wealthy. But my mother's love has always given me the richness that filled the gaps of my little heart. Even if she did it in ways that my mind wasn't able to comprehend. Something in a way made me question her existence and identity. That night, Momma laid beside me, a wet towel resting on my forehead while I held her dearly.

I was at peace, with her heartbeat thumping on my ears. I felt closer to her in times like this.

"I'm sorry, Clío. I know time will come and the answers will finally find you. Sana kapag dumating iyon—mapatawad mo ako, Anak. Hindi dapat sa ganitong daan tatawid ang buhay mo."

Until now, I still didn't know what she meant to say by that. And then on, after I left California without letting her acknowledge my desire to leave, the world has never felt this cold before.

"Hinaan mo nga ang boses mo, Misha! Aba'y magigising si Clío sa pahinga niya kaka-asaran niyo diyan!"

"Sorry, 'La. Parang gago kasi 'tong si Aznar—sabi niya sasapakin niya daw si Benjamin para pambawi. 'Eh muscles pa nga lang ng panget na 'yon, baka hindi na kayanin ng isang 'to."