Dairy Of Ellen

Black Alley Meeting (3)

Father was the one most disturbed by my mother's absence.

Someone from mother's work came by the house, and father just shouted and cried, refusing to talk. The coworker ended up pacifying father instead, then left.
Father, crumpled on the ground in tears as if praying to God, seemed like he wouldn't even allow me time to mourn.
Her disappearance had been very sudden.
She left no letter, said nothing, left all her belongings. She didn't take so much as a hair clip from the house.
I wasn't "sad," but rather, part of my body was consumed with a sense of emptiness.
...Surely, one would call this feeling despair.
My throat was dry, and I couldn't sleep. I had no energy to get up, or to eat anything.

But as this went on for two or three days, I considered something.
Maybe mother was just a little tired.
Maybe she just needed a break from her exhausting life with me.
Once she got some rest, she'd remember me and father who she'd deserted and hurry back home.

Because I was her dear Ellen. Because surely, I was too precious to leave behind.
That dim idea gradually became a conviction, calming me. Imagining mother coming home, I could sleep peacefully.
Of course mother will return. She'll regret ever leaving, apologize, and hug me. And wrapped up in her aroma, I would smile and forgive my mother.

That's right.
I pulled away the blanket and got out of bed.
For that, I would have to be a non-time-consuming child.
For several days, I changed my own bandages, as I'd been neglecting to do. I even endured the pain in my legs to pump water. Copying what I'd seen, I prepared my own meals.
I imagined the best child mother could want, and would accept, and began to play that role.

Though father and I lived together, we still never said a word to each other. He would talk to objects, but he never talked to me. Perhaps he found it eerie how I didn't cry and took it calmly.
Perhaps I should have cried like a child, and said selfish things.
But I couldn't do that then.
Too used to the situation between father and I, I couldn't break the silence myself. I was immobilized by fear that if I used tears to have his concern, I would be increasingly ignored.
Having already made my mistake, I was terribly timid.

Father was constantly at home. Perhaps he had been fired from his job.
Soon, a man I didn't know came to visit him.
Father received something from the man and paid him money. Once he had it in hand, he seemed restless and went into the other room, and would not come out for a while.
As this kept happening, father came out of the room less and less.
The sweet smell wafting from the other room seemed to get stronger by the day.

I earnestly waited for mother's return.
I fell asleep imagining her coming home, and woke up praying that she would be stroking my cheek.
Sometimes I would wake up thinking she was there, but it was only the wind on my cheek.
The doll which I'd thrown to the wall tilted her head and looked at me.
I felt a chill. Before I could hear her laughing, I dove under the covers and covered my ears.

Once I started pumping my own water, it seemed to make my legs worse.
My hands became rough like I saw mother's hands.
I wasn't able to tie my hair very well.
We only had a few bandages and medicines left.

...Eventually, father stopped coming out of the room