December 18, 2000
A full month had passed since I was hospitalized. The push cart was in front of me as I traversed the grocery aisle for some flour. My mother and I had decided to bake our favorite moist chocolate, the sweetest sin on Earth, which happened to be our specialty. It’s actually hers, but she had taught me the recipe, so it’s ours now technically.
To be honest, I was glad to be admitted to the hospital. It paved a way for us to become closer, and we did. We got better and did our best to move on - a new beginning, another start. Just the two of us. I could never forget her blood-drained face upon finding me in the ward, which only got paler the moment the doctor told her about the drugs.
“Is this what you want in life? To be a junkie?” I remembered her ask.
She was furious, but I knew her too well to be sure that she never resorted to violence. Even as a kid, there wasn’t an instance when she made use of a belt to discipline me. That was my father’s style, not hers. I couldn’t find the words to calm her down. And of all the possible responses I could give that would lessen my mom’s boiling temper, I picked the wrong one.
“I don’t think I even want to live anymore.” I tactlessly said.
Opposed to what I thought back then, she didn’t slap me. Instead, the anger that dwelt inside of her was replaced by horror. The fear of losing was suddenly written all over her face. I found myself caught in her loving arms as she cried like never before.
“Tell me, baby girl,” she sniffed, “I failed you, didn’t I?” She whispered under a sob as she held me close. At that very moment, I felt loved. That was the closest we got to each other ever since dad died.
Only then did I notice the change in my mother’s appearance. I had been fucking myself over drugs and vices that I hadn’t paid attention that my mother had aged a lot. It was as if I didn’t live under the same roof as hers. She was still a stunner despite being in her late thirties, but at that time did I actually see the wrinkles and bags beneath her eyes, as well as her formerly lustrous strands of hair, now partially white.
My mother suffered just as I was. I was disheartened at the sight, and I hugged her back, as if to tell her that I loved her too telepathically. I wanted to wash the sadness in her eyes away.
“I…I love you mom,” I actually said it, knowing that I seldom did. Never even. And then it occurred to me - I hadn’t told her how much I loved her since time immemorial.
She must have been shocked by what I just muttered, judging by the surprised expression she wore.
“Did…did you hit your head somewhere?” she chuckled, the tears she wiped being replaced with a rare smile. “I love you too.” her hand caressed my hair, planting a kiss on my forehead.
An abrupt blast of a motorcycle horn reeled me back to reality. I searched the surroundings, sensing that the honk was intended for me, and I saw the driver frantically waving at me. I examined the person as she got closer; gasping as I almost didn’t recognize her. It wasn’t due to the fact that it had been ages (only a month. I know. I’m just exaggerating) since I last saw her, but because she looked weird not being in her usual outfit – more often than not, black was her motif, but today, she replaced those with a pair of faded jeans topped with a pink shirt.
Her hair was wrapped in a ponytail and gone was her make-up.
I was stumped. It was Rain.
“Jane? Jane!” Her eyes widened upon verifying that it was really me that was in front of her, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when you were in the hospital. I’m really, really sorry Jane.” She apologized.
