Two Sides of One Coin

Jamie Evelyn Prell

I sat there for a long time. Just watching them argue. Actually, I don't think I'd call it arguing. My father was too quiet to resort to that kind of thing. It was more of my mother angrily talking rapidly while he nodded and patiently waited until she was done, occasionally interrupting her to quietly make a point. I think this angered Mama far more than if he'd just argued back. And I also think that her anger was hiding sadness. Finally, my mother sighed, spun on her heel with stunning grace, and went upstairs. Papa slumped over in his chair and put his head in his hands. I slowly rose from the nest of blanket I'd made on the floor (couches are uncomfortable, too big) and sat on his lap. He smiled sadly and stroked my dark brown curls with his long fingers.

Although I was only six, I could read emotions pretty well, even Papa's on good days. I recognized that he needed comfort that day. He need it far more than Mama. She was strong, while Papa, although so clever and smart, was as fragile as one of the brittle, yellowing pages in his old research books. Both physically and emotionally.

My papa had been a thin, tall man who bruised easily. He wore round little glasses, usually a loose, button-up shirt, and mismatch socks. He did it on a regular basis after finding out that I found it extremely amusing after he once did it on accident. Anyway, as I said, Papa was quite fragile. He had a lots of allergies, asthma, and was pale as a ghost. He so gracefully passed on the latter two problems to me, along with his bad eyesight and hyposmia. His messy, blonde hair got its first few streaks of grey at only the age of twenty-nine. Despite all of this, he had an attitude and composure that would win him the upper hand in any situation. Papa sat straight, talked quietly, but with persuasive authority, never yelled, never showed any sign if his weaknesses, and he'd turn the tables with one look of his magnificent

emerald green eyes.

I saw through this act. Emotionally, Papa didn't know how to act. That's why all of his feelings were kept hidden inside himself. I tried to help by showing affection, praising his work, helping him with his projects. He seemed very pleased when I did this even though I, myself, was not a big fan of giving or receiving affection. I knew when he was pleased because u would see a smile play on his lips, wondering if it should show itself or not, and he would also start humming.

On the other hand, my mother was a daring, independent woman. She was tall and graceful, and to this day, I wonder why she chose my father out of all the men who's attention she had captured. For, surely, she had done so since she was beautiful- ocean blue eyes, dark brown ringlets that cascaded down her shoulders in a kind of effortless elegance, and a face that could be compared with that of Aphrodite herself. I guess the saying is true- opposites do attract. Her and Papa, I mean. Mama had read me stories before bed and taught me how to cool pasta (tried to, anyway,) and braided my hair with flowers, and danced around the kitchen with me.

But Mama soon became agitated, jumpy, and far-off. On top of that, she disliked alchemy, my father's favorite science, saying that a person should do what they can without the help of some magic circles. I could not agree with her. Alchemy fascinated me. Mama also had the tendency to randomly wander off for a few days at a time with no warning and then come back and forget where she'd been. She had some sort of mental illness, and her occasional drinking did not help.

So, the day after my mother had had that quiet one-sided arguing with Papa, she left. For good.

Right before she left, Mama bent down, kissed my forehead, and said softly, "Mon cheri, do not n think ill of me. I love you." She then turned to Papa. "Thank you, Dmitri, for letting me go. Papa wrapped her in his arms for a long time which surprised me more than watching we sob into his shoulder. Mama never cried. She quickly wiped her tears away, pulled from Papa, and turned back to me. "Jamie Evelyn Prell," she teased, "You watch your father. Make sure he makes enough time for eating and sleeping."