A Perfect Distraction

47. Saudade

A/N: Saudade is a word for a sad state of intense longing for someone or something that is absent. Saudade comes from Portuguese culture, and it is often expressed in its literature and music. Saudade is described as a kind of melancholy yearning.

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"Daddy, look I'm flying." Five-year-old me cried out in joy as my ice skate glided on the ice surface. I straighten my hands in a horizontal way, like wings of a bird.
"Good job, princess!" Daddy encouraged me as he skated in my direction effortlessly like a professional. But before he could reach me, I lost my balance and fell down on the cold hard surface. I let out a screech as I felt a stab of pain in my left shoulder and palm.
"Shit." Daddy cursed before he bends down to my level. His eyes softened as he took in my red face, tears falling down from my eyes nonstop.
"It hurts daddy." I hiccupped, sniffing loudly.
"I'm sorry, daddy couldn't reach you soon, princess," he said, wiping my tears with his large thumb. He then helped me to stand up straight.
"Oh, my baby." Mommy rushed to us as fast as she could with her skates. She isn't professional like daddy, but she's learning just like me. Mommy engulfed me in her warm hug, peppering my face with her kisses.
"Does it hurt?" She asked as she inspected my palms. I nodded my head sadly. She kissed my both palms.
"The pain will disappear after some time, don't worry. Let's go and take rest." She suggested, smiling at me.
"But I wanna skate" I whined, tears again filling my eyes. Mom was about to protest, but dad placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Then let's skate together," he said and a smile broke out on my face. Dad took my left hand and mom took my right hand and we started skating slowly.
"Smile," uncle Micah, our family friend and dad's business partner, shouted from a distance as he held a camera in our direction. We smiled, posing for the photo and he captured the beautiful moment.

I traced the photo with my shaky fingers. Tears ran down my cheeks as I stared at the photograph with a longing. A longing to have a time machine so that I could return back to my colorful childhood days. Return back to my parents' arms. The reality hurts. It hurts like a bitch. Mom and dad are no longer with me, but in another world, taking a part of my happiness away with them.

Tears were running down my cheeks and weren't stopping. Last year, on this same day I lost my parents. A day that was supposed to be a happy one turned drastically to a grieving day. I was sitting on my bed, looking through the photo album that my mom loved to treasure. When uncle sheriff got this album from my burnt house without much damage, he gave it to me along with my mom's diary in the hope of consoling me. But I never opened it and took this with me when I came to New York. I kept it safely in my cupboard, treasuring it as my mom did. I didn't have the strength to open this then and it took me one whole year to do it. And now, it is just as painful as I thought it would be. Mom loved taking pictures of us and storing them in her precious album. I flipped the pages and looked at the photos with sadness. My baby pictures, my first day of school, my junior year, my prom day,....

"So you're the lucky guy who's taking my girl to the prom, huh?" Dad said, studying Noah, my English class friend.
"Yes sir" Noah smiled at him politely. He tried to act confident in front of dad, but there was a bit of uncertainty in his eyes. Can't blame him though. Dad can be pretty intimidating at times.
"Okay, there are some rules," Dad said and I stared at him in disbelief. Mom just shook her head.
"Dad, No," I said, embarrassed. Dad ignored me and looked straight into Noah's eyes.
"No alcohol, keep her safe, bring her back before, an important one. Keep your hands to yourself." Dad ordered and I looked at mom in help. She shrugged her shoulders.
"Uh, yes sir," Noah said, getting uncomfortable under his sharp gaze.
"Picture time" Mom yelled and I finally let out a sigh of relief. We stood in front of the camera and Noah's hand went around my waist.
"Hey young man. What did I say about keeping your hands to yourself?" Dad yelled from the couch.