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Chapter 59: Maya

The snow. Winter.

Everything is so perfectly white. So beautiful, so fragile, so innocent, like angels dancing down from the heavens forming their own unique rhythm pattern as they descend towards us before quickly melting away in the dirt and impurity of our palms.

There my father stands, underneath me, hauling me upwards as he makes me rest on his shoulders and I am 10 times higher than ever before. I can see the sky, the universe. I can see everything.

I hug my fathers head which is warm and soothing even through my three layers which my mother demanded I wore if I wanted to leave the house at all.

We're already on our way back, Darren holding onto Daddy's hand confidently as I gaze down at him with admiration.

"Daddy, put Maya down too!" I squirm wanting to show off to both Darren and him that I can equally walk by their sides.

"What's the magic word?"

"Pleeaaseeeee!" I chant as he lifts me up higher to get my body over his head before bringing me back down to the ground.

The view was much better up there.

I hold Daddy's hand too, trying harder to be in front of him so I can beat Darren. I see our house is close by and I let go of his hand to sprint towards it.

"Careful Maya! Don't trip!"

That when I do exactly that, I trip and fall head first into the thick snow which acts like a cushion. But that is short-lived as the bitter cold starts to bite into my skin and I lift myself up again.

I won't cry. I can't cry. After all, happy girls don't cry!

The door opens revealing my mother with a gleeful smile as she welcomes us in.

"Oh Maya!" She giggles before picking me up from the floor and placing me on her hip.

"Mama!" I exclaim, hugging her tightly.

"Ooh! Your face is cold!" She says with surprise and I laugh in response.

She puts me down again and kisses my father as he walks in, his blonde hair getting darker during winter as always. We all hurry to the dinner table and my mom lifts me up to put me in my highchair, placing a warm feathery kiss on my cheek.

As I eat my mom's cooking, I feel warm and happy, my face unable to rub off the smile on it.

Then I'm not the 5-year-old me anymore, but the normal me, the 16-year-old me, watching my family eat as I stand there. I'm a silhouette, an observing, watching the scenes develop from the outside. Watching my mom and dad stare at themselves lovingly, placing the occasional kiss here and there, but they were happy. And I was happy. And we were a family.

The warmness that was previously in the chest of my 5-year-old self is gone with nothing but coldness. A void.

Emptiness.

Now my dad's dead and my mother loathes me. Now, I'm no longer loved and I'm no longer surrounded by familial bonds. No. Now, I'm alone and cold.