the girl called mystery

• 8 •

I led him to where my parents' bedroom was. I was hesitant about doing so, but I felt compelled to. I opened the bedroom door to a  picturesque version of the room my parents once shared. It looked like the front cover of an Ikea magazine. Somehow the room managed to look even bigger to me now than when I was a kid. All the furniture matched. Not a single item stood out of place. Every surface imaginable was spotless. Weird.

"This was my parents' room. I think I spent more nights in here than in my own room." I confess. I remember always coming in here whenever I had a bad dream. My mom would sing to me as I fell asleep in her arms. No matter how old I was she'd cradle me like her little baby girl.

Colin continues to stand in the doorway. I walk in and look around. Their room isn't much bigger than mine and Kennedi's, but it now looks quite larger. The pictures that once covered the walls were all taken down. Except for one. The picture was of my mom after she had given birth to me. My mom held me in her arms. She was smiling down at me.

I was her baby.
Her first born.
Her pride and joy.

My mom would spoil me more than the rest of my siblings. She loved us all, but I got most of her attention. She would never miss any of my recitals, programs, or award ceremonies. She'd be in the front, cheering me on the whole way. If I had a bad day, she'd get me ice cream and we'd talk about it. She stood by me. My mom was always there for me. Until one day, she wasn't anymore.

One day she was here, and the next she wasn't. Kennedi, Alexander, Andrew, and I were just shipped off to our Aunt's house. I never saw my mom again. I never questioned what happened to her. I felt that I already knew.

Hot tears started to roll down my cheeks. My steady stream of tears quickly turned into a waterfall. I fell to my knees and looked up at the picture of my mother. My beautiful mother. I had begun to throw away the memories I shared with her. As much as I hate to say it, I had almost forgotten what she even looked like. My Aunt tells me that as I grow older I continue to become a splitting image of who my mom once was. But when I looked in the mirror I never saw my mother. I saw a hollow shell of a person. I pushed back my emotions. I had lost the importance of my life.

Nothing could stop me from bawling on the floor. This was the first time I've cried since I was 10. I can't stop the tears from falling. They keep coming.

"Estelle."