Finding Aster

Fox - Suzannah's Secret

I reread Aster's last diary entry over and over again, imagining her at her desk desperately scribbling down words into her journal, feeling as though she'll never be able to get down her emotions fast enough.

The pages still smell of slight musk; her perfume; a gentle reminder that once she did exist. It's been over a month since she's gone, and as I sit in the Evans' living room; the house is shut off from the world. Blinds closed and curtains drawn, only a faint glimmer of light from the flickering fireplace.

I grip the edges of an old porcelain cup; chipped, battered and bruised like an old apple that's journeyed too far past the fruit bowl and ended up with numerous battle scars. My hands too are scarred and beaten; my knuckles white and fingers numb from the bitter cold. Gently, I purse my cracked and almost bloody lips to the rough rim of the weathered cup, and sip the tea. It's warm and golden. The warmth of the soothing liquid travels down my throat; not too cold no too hot. The perfect temperature, warming my very existence.

I shift closer to the fireplace where Kitty's already sprawled out, lapping up the golden flames of warmth. Suzannah takes a seat on an arm chair, her blonde hair wrapped tightly into an elaborate up do. Even with a missing daughter, she has time for vanity. She's as though she stepped right out of the 60s, her eyes plastered in pale eye shadow with a sharp lime green cut crease. Her lips are doused in layers of lipstick, her eyelashes smeared with too much mascara. She sips out of her mug, blowing on the surface of it, but we all know what she's really drinking doesn't need to be blown on.

It's hard to tell if Suzannah's alcoholic nature began before or after Aster's disappearence. Disappearances of a loved one tend to tear people apart. I for one should know. It rips a gaping hole inside you, that sometimes you wish would just fill up. You try everything to fill the hole but nothing fully fills it. The world plays cruel mind tricks on you; toying on you,  giving you a glimmer of hope that maybe they're still out there, but with sharp, hard facts and realisation, you realise that hope you were clinging to may be pointless after all.

But it's hard to tell, Suzannah Evans was never a closely-guarding mother; no mother that truly cared would let Aster become what she was. Defiant, rule-breaking, trouble-making. Perhaps no mother that cared would let their daughter disappear. Let them attend a string of parties everyday of the holidays staying up until unspeakable hours until they just disappeared.

Mrs. Evans was more the pampering type; spent the days wrapped up in bath robes with cucumber slices on her eyes. It's as though she never wanted children, but when she had them she couldn't care less. Poomfi, her small, curly white poodle was her pride and joy, after all. Small, yappy and with a habit of nibbling toes. I've always thought myself more a cat person anyway.

Suzannah was never the mother helping out at school events, or caring for the girls when they hurt themselves. Aster had to grow up without parental guard and with a large lack of discipline. I guess that's why what happened happened to her.

I guess I can't criticize, my Mom spends her whole day at work. Waking up before the sun reaches it's brilliant rays into the sky, and coming home long after the moon  has taken reign of the sky. After Dad left and found a new family, leaving us behind, we'd struggled.

Without a parent to care, I used to be reckless; to run wild and fill the football guy trope I was assigned to. But I saw the lines grow on Mom's face and her worry. She almost brought up the courage to write to Dad about it. But he wouldn't have cared. I changed my ways for the best, and to make her happy; keeping a close eye on Joey. I don't want him to turn out like I did. You can't erase the past, but you can try to change the future.

Suzannah takes another sip from her cup, and speaks up. "It's been so lovely to have you here, Fox and Kitty. I'm sure Aster would have loved this."

Kitty turns around and eyes Suzannah expectantly, "Oh, of course, and you too, er...Midnight and Eilon."

Midnight and Eilon share a glance. They're used to this. Being ignored and forgotten; looked down upon. It makes me realise just how terrible I was before. I abided by the social rules laid out in front of me. I saw people like them as inferior, because they didn't have as many friends.

I remember the time Joey and I  visited our Dad. The first and last time since he left. With a skinny blonde twenty-something year old hung over his arm and a baby and toddler crawling around the house.

The way she giggled and couldn't understand a thing, but the way his eyes lit up with happiness. He was never like that with us. But now that he had a cheap, trashy new wife and new perfect children he was happy? What couldn't Mum and Joey and I do?

We loved him, but that was never enough for him. Mum worked hard all day and I tried my best and school; Joey was constantly trying to please him. 

That day was hard. It made me so angry and jealous that I've never seen him again. And honestly, I wouldn't ever want to. I can't imagine Midnight and Eilon feeling like that everyday.

Suzannah takes out another photo album, gently stroking the saturated, faded images of Aster growing up. Laughing on the beach, and holding Elsie for the first time. We flick through the pages and Suzannah starts bawling; her hours of make-up streaming down her face like a horror movie. She cries so hard I can't understand a word she's saying. Sniffling and blowing her nose with a rose embroidered handkerchief nearby, she chokes back the tears and speaks up.

"She should have been back by now. She was supposed to be back now."