Fashionista

Chapter 1

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I woke up panting and sweating. This hasn't happened in a long while, I hadn't dreamt of this since I was fourteen.

I remembered the events vividly. Mom had gone to work that Wednesday morning angry at Dad for not coming home early the previous day. There had been a not so quiet row between them after I was hurled to my room, and before I woke up the morning after Dad was gone. Like always.

I remembered her kissing me goodbye that morning like she always did, filling my brightly coloured cheeks with the scent of lavender and warmth. No matter how angry she felt, she always gave me at least two kisses per day: Good morning, have a great day and Goodnight, sleep well and tight.

After school, Mom's co-worker called Dad and gave him news that she was in an accident. I watched as Dad's face crumpled in shock and worry. At that time, I didn't know what the call was about. I only noticed Dad's face and how he suddenly picked up his keys, told me to be a very good girl and left. I didn't think anything serious was happening.

I remembered when Dad came back with a few of her friends. He didn't talk to me or reply the questions I asked him until I asked about mom.

"Dad what is wrong? Where is Mom?" I asked knowing my mom was usually back before evening.

I saw how he averted his eyes from me for a long time before turning to face me fully. As he reached out to hold my hands as if to steady me, he whispered in a tone I had never heard him use. "Honey, your Mom is in a good place."

I wanted to ask him more questions, but Dad looked so broken and torn like he would cry soon. His eyes were glassy, and he hung his head in his hands. He only raised his head again to ask Aunty Mandy, mom's closest friend to take care of me. She took me to my room and held me till I slept. Somehow, I knew what had happened but I didn't want it to be true.

For the first time in my life, I woke up without the curtains pulled wide open and without Mom. Like any child would, I went looking for my parents and heard the painful words that haunted my dreams for years.

"...we tell her she's dead? It'll be hard on her." I heard someone say.

"Dad, is Mom dead?" I asked my father sitting amongst the same people from the previous day.

Dad wouldn't reply me.

I continued asking until the woman who cuddled me to sleep gently said, "Dear, promise me you'll be alright."

I nodded my head and prompted her to continue. She heaved a sigh, rubbed her forehead and said, "Your Mother is dead."

Suddenly I felt light. The only thing I could hear was Mom is dead, Mom is dead. My eyes started closing, my knees gave way and my last thought as I hit the floor was Mom is gone.

The only thing I remembered after that was the burial which took place weeks later. People came by our house to offer condolences and sympathy, but what did they know? How many of them had lost a mother at twelve? She wouldn't be there to wake me up, or drive me to school, or make my pancakes for lunch, or tuck me into bed whenever Dad was late.

Afterwards, Dad and I moved from Edmonton, Canada to another city Ottawa. We could not stay in the same house and be reminded of the pain and emptiness her absence brought. Mom would always sing or shout if the house was too quiet; now she wasn't here to fill the silence.

Mom is in a better place now. No, she couldn't be, her better place was here with us. With her husband and her daughter. Where else could be better?

I remembered Dad constantly blaming himself for her car crash and I blamed him too. If he had come back, she would not had left feeling so angry and maybe she would have left the road before the truck got to her. He constantly felt bad that her last words to him were in anger, I consoled him and partially myself even though I was just twelve.

No one should lose a mom that young.

As the years went by, Dad became distant and buried himself in his job.

I had dreams, of my life with my mother, of the day she died and of the days after the death. Sometimes, I woke up screaming Mom over and over again. I wouldn't be able to sleep after that.

I was admitted in the hospital and given drugs to help me sleep without dreaming. It worked and the dreams stopped.

By the time I was fifteen, I was living well again. I still missed my mother, but I had gotten used to her not being around. I couldn't say the same for Dad though, he still called mom's name in his sleep. I really wished I could help him and I still do.

I looked at the picture of my mother on the table beside my bed and remembered how her brown eyes sparkled when she saw me or dad. I still miss her a lot.

I checked the time, it was 3am in the morning. Still enough time to sleep, I said to myself as I collapsed on the bed.

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