Through Your Eyes

Five: A Stroll Down Memory Lane

-Brielle’s P.O.V.-

Mother went ballistic when she saw my bandaged hands.

“What happened to your hands, anak?” my mom asked while we were eating dinner.

Hahaha :)

A little overreacting, maybe? She started on about how Dad’s idea of getting a guide dog was a bad idea and how maybe the next time I’ll be coming home all fractured.

“Nothing much” I said, “just some accident, but I’m alright.”, not wanting to tell her how I got my head bitten off by some Irish stranger, judging by the accent.

I suddenly remember a series of events that happened not too long ago, I guess I was in the sixth grade.

It was a busy-yet-late Saturday evening in the highlands, somewhere around midnight. My family and I were on the way home from an exhibit, I couldn’t sleep, I guess. Too hyped up and blown away by the beauty of the stuff I’ve seen. Everything was going well and I couldn’t stop talking about how amazed I was until...

Out of the blue…

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech!!!!!!!!!!

Beep beep beeeeeeeeeeeeep!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Then, before I could look away from the window, BOOM!

A cherry red sports car just crashed into the side of the car where I was seated.

The last thing I ever saw was the shards of the window’s glass, flying while cascading down like beautiful water, and then I blacked out.

I woke up a week after the terrible accident. Everything was just so dark, a thick layer of gauze strips covered my eyes.

“You can’t be serious, Doctor. Sigurado po ba kayong wala nang magagawa para sa anak ko (Are you sure there’s nothing you can do to heal my daughter)?” Mom’s voice was shaky, I could tell she was on the verge of tears.

“ I’m sorry, Misis. There was too much damage done to her eyes, as of this time being, we cannot risk performing an eye surgery. I’m sorry, I have to go.” I hear a steady voice of an old man.

There was this eerie, awkward silence, with a matching tragic aura to the room.

“Anong nangyari (what happened)? Bakit may nakatakip sa mata ko(why are my eyes covered)? Mom? Dad? Anybody?” I sat up and asked frantically once the doctor left, holding on to the two bars of my hospital bed.

“Brielle, there’s something we have to tell you.” Mother spoke in a gentle yet pained tone. Dad held both of my hands, and then there’s the sensation of small drops of liquid, plopping on my hands.

“Anak.” dad choked out, still holding on. I could hear my mother’s sniffling, and the held-back tears. The two of them huddled around me, I could feel a few tears run down on my cheeks.

I have this belief that once your parents have started to cry, you have to stand strong for them. After all, their tears are already bad enough, why worsen the situation?

“We’ll get by, don’t you guys get your hopes down.” And I just held them, not wanting to let them know that I, myself, feel like a broken mirror, helpless.

Reality began to sink into me when my mother asked me if I didn’t like the dish she prepared, and she started clucking on about how maybe she overcooked the pasta, burned the chicken, and drowned the salad in balsamic vinegar, which made me laugh in my thoughts because the food was divine, nothing could possibly be wrong with this dinner.

“Mom” I told her, “it’s nothing, I’m just a bit worn out from the flight” and I could hear Dad failing at his attempt to suppress a laugh, setting the roasted chicken back on the table from Mother’s paranoid oven mitts. To help her calm down, I tried to skewer all of the remaining shell pasta (that’s what she said) on my plate and ate it up in one huge mouthful, this made her laugh in relief.