The Unmasked (Book One)

Chapter 3- Lost Future

I woke up with a start, panting heavily. I looked around and saw that I had apparently fallen asleep on the couch while studying.

I felt odd, sort of a mixture of elation, confusion, and fear. But I don't know why. My heart was racing and my palms were sweaty. Perhaps I had a strange, scary dream. But now I can't remember what it's about.

My stomach growled softly. The aroma of something spicy and delicious made me stand up and rush to the dining room. In a snap, I forgot my stirred up roller-coaster feelings about the dream I couldn't quite recall.

I took my seat at the dinner table after greeting Mom and Dad. I was eager to eat not just because I was starving, but more so we could get it over and done with immediately and go back to minding our own businesses.

Dinnertime in our house has become quick and quiet ever since my older sister Amy had gone off to college this year. I never realized how much of the conversations she had actually initiated and facilitated.

As you can guess, she is the talkative and bubbly one in our family. With her sociable personality and 'beauty and brains' package, it's no wonder she had always been part of the Somebodies in Ferndale High.

Nevertheless, I didn't envy her. I simply admired her gifts and guts. Belonging to different groups in school and having varying interests never got in the way of our closeness. We grew up as sisters should be.

My parents hardly talk to me these days, much less to each other. Come to think of it. They were never good conversationalists. Don't get me wrong. I know they love me to bits. But let's just say I seem to take after them--- the silent, brooding, introspective type.

And so tonight, dinner was the same as usual.

"Is this a new recipe, Mom?" I asked upon tasting the spicy stew she had cooked. It was my measly attempt at a decent conversation.

"Yes," she answered. "Do you like it?"

"Uh-huh."

"I got it from the cookbook your sister sent last week," she explained with a smile.

"Ah, yes." If Amy were in my place, she probably would have gone off chatting. I racked my brain for something else to say, but came up blank.

Silence again. Just the clinking of silverware.

"Amy called earlier, looking for you," Dad suddenly told me. "Just call her back later."

"I will, Dad."

Then silence followed once more. It's time to get a TV for the dining room, I thought.

It was refreshing to talk to my sister after dinner, even if just on the phone. She went on and on about the campus, her professors, and a new guy she's dating. I listened contentedly. It was more one-way, but that's how we both enjoy our conversations.

Later on, I saw Mom in the den, typing away on her laptop. She's a novelist, by the way. I guess that's how she pours out the things she keeps tucked away in her mind and even the emotions she seems to hold back.

She doesn't know I often read her books. It gives me that feeling of being able to escape with her to another world. It provides me a window to her soul, despite her limited words in real life. Through these stories, I get to know her better. And somehow I've a feeling she has so much of both love and pain hidden inside.

My dad, on the other hand, never pays her much attention. He treats her like a business partner more than a wife. The family is like the business. They have to keep it together.

Tonight I found my dad on our patio, sitting quietly, looking forlorn. He didn't notice me at all. He always seems sad and thoughtful, but a lot more than usual today.

One time, I found some old paintbrushes in the attic, together with a newspaper clipping that showed Dad in his early twenties, proudly holding up his painting award. He had won a nationwide art contest, and he'd looked so happy and relaxed in the photo.

There was also a letter with the clipping, congratulating Dad for winning a prestigious grant to Europe. Unfortunately, he never got to go. Amy told me it's the year of her birthday, so she suspects he got Mom pregnant and thus had to let go of his dreams.

Dad ended up as an ordinary school teacher in Ferndale Elementary. He worked his ass off for many years to earn a living for us while Mom went through her pregnancies and the ins and outs of a full-time homemaker.

Eventually, when we got older, she pursued her dream of becoming a writer. She isn't a bestselling author, but at least the added income made life more comfortable for all of us and also lessened the pressure on Dad.

I think Amy feels a little guilty for being the reason for Dad's "lost future". Maybe that's why she tries so hard to get high grades and get involved in a lot of extra-curricular activities. But I always tell her it's not her fault.

The few times we have talked about our parents' situation, we figured maybe Dad didn't really love Mom. Or he would've still been happy to build a family with her, right? From what we see, he is so focused on what was lost that he is unable to embrace and appreciate the blessings he presently has. If only he could look beyond his apparent failures and escape this trap, maybe he'll realize how beautiful life can still be at present and in the future.

It's just so sad. I feel for Mom, especially since I can tell that she loves her husband unconditionally. I don't want to end up like that, which is why I try my best to forget my feelings for Troy. I don't want to deal with unrequited love. And I certainly don't want to risk losing my best friend.

I started to turn away from the front door which was slightly ajar. But through the tiny opening and in the gentle glow of the light in the porch, I caught sight of a faint mist surrounding Dad. It was a mixture of muddy brown and dark forest green, hardly visible in the night.

I rubbed my eyes and blinked twice. It was still there, this time growing darker, a gloomy raincloud clutching my father's head and then extending to his shoulders and on to his whole torso.

Regret. Insecurity. Anguish. Despair. Melancholy.These words just appeared in my head out of nowhere. I could feel the weight and emotion of each, burdening my heart and making tears form in my eyes.

I couldn't understand why, but in that instance, I felt truly sorry for him and knew I had to do something. Instinct made me go out there and hug him before I could even change my mind.

"Thank you for being a good father," I said sincerely.

To say he was taken aback is an understatement. As you probably figured out, we're not the touchy-feely kind of family. With the exception of Amy, we are certainly not expressive too in words.

But I'm sure glad I did what I did. Instantaneously, I felt lighter.

I saw him smile. And then he thanked me a little awkwardly. But I could sense that he felt much better.

I could no longer see any weird foggy colors around him. Not a hint of anything. Hhmm... Maybe his negative feelings had somehow affected me that I'd imagined the dark veil of swirling green, brown, gray, and black.

Now I'm positive that I don't need an eye doctor. I need to see a shrink. I may just be on the brink of going insane.