[ENG] - EYES ON YOU - FREENBECKY

Chapter 2

She remembered that day perfectly.

A vivid memory, even though it belonged to another life, one of those memories too deeply etched to be worn away by time. It had carved itself in too close, too deep for the erosion of years to make it fade.

The freshly washed uniform felt good against her skin, though she had never grown to love the skirt that left her knees exposed and made her movements awkward. Nor her mother, who stubbornly refused to let her wear pants.

But on Ling, it looked perfect.

Well, at least on the girl she thought was called Ling at the time.

The first thing anyone noticed about her were the braids, of course. No one else in class had hair that long, nor a mother who took enough time to make such elaborate hairstyles for her daughter.

Clean, neat, and always smelling faintly of jasmine, for Rebecca, that scent would forever be synonymous with Ling's name.

They had become friends the way children often do—quickly, effortlessly, the same way they sometimes lose each other. Maybe it was over a silly joke, or sharing gum, or copying homework... no, she didn't remember exactly.

Funny how time, that judge, picks its favorites among memories. Or is it cruelty?

Every day, they spent recess together, gossiping and playing games. Rebecca didn't really care much about what they did. She was more interested in Ling's voice, the way she smiled, how good she was at making blades of grass whistle.

Ling would pick just the right leaf—not too thin, not too wide—press it to her lips shaped like a heart, and out came a long, clear whistle.

Sometimes, when they walked home together along the Liffey, Ling would hum between whistles, singing softly in her language. Even then, Rebecca had promised herself she would learn it one day.

She had already picked up a few words, secret phrases they would exchange in front of the class's mean girls, or behind the backs of strict teachers. Ling had the patience to teach her every letter, every sound, and would tell her that on Sundays, her mother gave her lessons in their culture after Mass.

Rebecca found it strange and funny at the same time, especially since the only connection to her own roots was a photograph of her mother on the mantelpiece. A picture of her parents dressed in traditional Thai wedding clothes. But Rebecca had never known anyone else like her.

No, there weren't many Thai people in Dublin, and she was too Irish for them to seek her out, though still too Thai to avoid the occasional childish taunt when she was younger.

That's why she hated the skirt. How are you supposed to swing a hurling stick at a bully with a skirt on?

"My name is Rebecca, and I am honored to meet you, Mrs. Cheng."

That was the phrase Ling was teaching her that day. Rebecca kept stumbling over the syllables, but it didn't matter because her mistakes made Ling laugh, and that was enough.

The van appeared out of nowhere.

Black, no markings, nothing. It pulled up by the roadside, but they were talking and didn't notice it.

Two men stepped out. Rebecca remembered it clearly because she had stopped, confused, unsure of what they wanted.

She hadn't yet learned to trust her instincts.

By the time the men started running toward them, it was too late.

Ling screamed, grabbed Rebecca's hand, and they ran, but there was no chance. They caught her, dragging her away as she shrieked. Rebecca threw herself at the man holding Ling, screaming too, but a deafening slap sent her crashing to the pavement.