The wife of Coach Tariman flowed in dancing as if it were the only way her body actually understood how to communicate. She was cautious verbally, and no matter where she was, she would shrink and sink into the background. On stage, her charisma and sexuality exploded into the most colorful depiction of a beautiful soul. Coach Tariman saw her as she moved to the music that was filling the living room, crackling slightly from the ancient tape player.
Oh, I heard she's a heavy dancer, not to mention. She won a lot of performances when she was young back then. That's what she told me one time.
For the most part, her sole audience was that antiquated music machine, staring at her with its two dusty black eyes. As she turned, her gaze was drawn to him, who was less proficient at concealing in the shadows than she was. He blinked briefly before gazing, his head inclined to one side, and a hopeful smile played across his lips.
When Ben, my father's buddy, heard the music, it was like liquid adrenaline was pumped directly into his bloodstream - not so powerful as to make him panic out, but just enough to make him quiver and start moving his body. He'd never taken a dance lesson, but he and his friends had been jiving to music since their early teens, friendly competition to "up" one another. He was a well-oiled machine on the dance floor now that he was forty. He didn't dance to impress, or to draw attention to himself - but they did. Anyone who could move their limbs like they were half liquid in perfect rhythm while yet seeming powerful was intriguing, to say the least.
My mother's business partner, Katrina, never walked anyplace. Her legs spread like a prima ballerina as she slid from one position to the next, arms held in front, fingertips touching. A moment spent not dancing was a moment squandered in her eyes. Others regarded it as weird, but I saw it as exquisite. Her gift was the expression in movement and seeing her hone it was more awe-inspiring than the first blooms of spring.
Everyone's partying at their best. They really seemed so happy that almost all of them forgot about the time.
It's almost midnight, then the spirit of the party is almost over.
Now that I think about it, where's father?
In addition to these congested regions, our house is rather large, and I couldn't find him anywhere. I believe my father has reached his limit. I saw him drinking not long ago.
Talking about him, when should I give him the belt? Maybe later when he wakes up? It's probably not good to give him this present if he's totally drunk. I bet he'd show his true colors when he sees the golden belt.
He's a belt monster after all.
I took a left and went to our dining table. And there he was, virtually knocked out and unable to move an inch. Along with him were his friends, who were nearly dead as a result of too much drinking.
He looked so wasted. All of them.
He must be really excited for this day to come.
"Well, I should just leave him. I'll just go have some fun while I still have the time."
And thus, I left father on the dining table, sleeping while holding the bottle of beer.
An hour had passed, I decided that it would be preferable to finish everything before past midnight. Gradually, each of the guests began to leave on their own. They all appeared to be so fatigued and drained that they couldn't walk properly to the exit.
My friends started to go home as well with their bodyguards accompanying them. Mother probably called their bodyguards to take them home safely.
"Bye, my champion!" Tyler shouted, drunk as heck as his bodyguard dragged him towards their car. "Bye, father champion! Haha! That was so fun!"
Today was a long day.
Now that everything has wrapped up, all I have to do is bring father to his room.
"Mama, I'm just going to bring father to his room," I informed her in case she'd look for us.
She then nodded, smiling, as she went her way to the living room, drinking still.
"Be careful upon carrying him!"
After then, I started lifting his right arm and put it behind my neck to support him throughout our way to his room.
So heavy.
"Ugh, you reek of alcohol," I complained.
"My precious and gracious son, you've all grown-up," he told me.
His breath stinks.
We stepped up to the staircase since his room is upstairs. Now that we're near to his room, I let my hand do the work upon opening the door.
"I am very sorry, son," he said, snorting, eyes closed and face all red.
Is he dreaming... or not?
If he's not dreaming, is he sorry because of the other day? Father, there's nothing to be sorry for. To be exact, I'm the one who's to blame here.
"I'm the one who should say that, Papa," I whispered.
As the door slowly opened, the first thing I did was turn on the switch. It's so dark inside, I could barely see anything from here.
After then, I carefully placed him on his bed till he laid down. I took the blanket and wrapped it around him. I then took the empty bottle of beer he was holding and placed it away from him. Maybe he'd get an injury from rolling on this.
Father's not a good drinker, but mother's a good one. I wonder why's that. Maybe mother's a heck of partying? The thing about them being couples is that they have a lot of differences from each other. But it's a good thing they get along so well.
As for me, I really don't drink. I mean... I drink sometimes but I'm not like my father who gets drunk easily... like this. He's totally wasted.
I rested my hands on my waist after supporting him all the way here and watched him intently, whispering to himself on his slumber.
"What a heavy drinker," I said, smirking.
Oh, yeah. The belt. I almost forgot.
From now on, the belt is my sole rescue. I'll simply leave the belt in my father's room now that I can't give it to him since he's completely tipsy. I'm sure he'll be surprised to see this first thing in the morning. I'm sure he'd like it.
"Oh yeah, the belt's in my room."
As I hastily went out to my father's room, I forgot about closing the door so I went back to his room to just close the door. Before closing it, I fortuitously saw a corner edge of a paper placed below my father's desk.
If one entered, they would see the bed on the left side of the room, as well as his desk on the left side. So the paper is really visible from my perspective, and it drew my attention.
Now that I think about it, my father's not fond of writing and he hates paper a lot. I even remember the time when he's so used to memorizing everything on his head, rather than taking note of it.
He's a neat person too, a very perfectionist one. So why does a corner edge of paper left hanging below his desk?
Ugh, I must be overthinking it.
Even if it's something important, why would I intervene with it? I shouldn't be nosy, it's just a waste of time.
Following my overthinking, I closed the door, sighing. A son like me should just stop doing something like meddling with someone. It's just a paper so it's not a big deal.
And then I started advancing to my room to get the belt. My room's just beside my father's so it's really not a long walk.
While I'm on my way to get the belt that I placed above the bed, I started thinking about all of the hard works I've done for. The shining gold gleaming on my face, it's a real treasure to have this kind of belt
This belt...
It's worth a penny to me since this showcases my entrance to the world title. My way to the super champion battle. But I love my father more than I do with this belt. The belt is nothing compared to the one that made me want to sport boxing.
I hope father would come back and make a great impact on stage again. I would like to convince him to go back to the ring. That's one of my goals too.
"Zeus!" I heard a call from my mom from the living room.
It felt like it's just the three of us now in this household. Maybe all of the guests went back to their ways back home. Well, can't blame anyone though. Mother doesn't like this house to be slept over, even if it's her friends that would do so.
"Yes, Ma?" I shouted, making her hear my response.
"Have you seen my earrings?"
"I don't know! Maybe you put it somewhere!"
"I don't know too! I think I forgot... where did I put it!"
"Maybe dad has it! I saw you danced with him at the party earlier. Maybe you handed it to him by any chance or what! You sure you checked your room?"
Ugh, here we go with her things getting missing again. And she really has the nerves to ask me about it? Do I look like I wear it?
"Oh, yeah! Thanks! I remember where I put it now!"
Mother's kind of annoying sometimes too. But what can I do though, she's my mother. She's the one my father married. Without her, I'm not here right now, holding this belt.
Right. My mother and I rarely have time for each other. I mean, I don't remember a single memory of her bonding with me. She's pretty preoccupied with her work and I'm busy pursuing my career as well so we really couldn't find some time for each other. We couldn't even build conversation alone.
My mother wanted to become a violinist. I heard that from my father. She's good with music and I can prove that. I once saw her performing alone in her room, gracefully holding that violin of hers while playing a nocturne.
It's just so sad that she couldn't fulfill her dreams because of the work already inherited for her. Great grandfather owned family business and it should be run down in every generation, whether it's a woman or a man. They've been handling the business pretty well and success was already on their fate.
Father once told me that my mother really fought my grandparents because she wanted my dreams to be fulfilled, not to be barred with some business. I knew that, of course. Even though mother and I weren't really that close, I could still feel her love for me. Although I sometimes take it for granted.
She didn't want me to be like her whose dreams were ignored and replaced.
Maybe after this, I will do something for her.
"Ahhhhh!"
A shout came from my father's room. And that scream was from my mother.
I quickly dashed there, clutching the belt in my hand. I discovered the room was closed, so I opened it out of curiosity.
"What's wrong, Ma?"
She couldn't take the pain any longer and collapsed to the floor in an untidy heap as her sadness spilled out in a rush of uncontrollable sobs. Almost out of breath, I found my mother looking so devasted on the floor while holding a piece of paper in her hand.
Now that I remember it... The paper.
Glancing down at my father's desk, I found below his desk opened. And the paper was gone. Maybe the paper my mother's holding was the paper I saw from earlier. Is there any problem with it?
Father was just deeply asleep and I found no problem with him. So, what's wrong? And this is the first time I found my mother crying this hard.
"Something must be going on, right? What is it, Ma?" I came after my mother and heard her sobbing continuously. I gently rubbed her back to at least ease her crying.
Her body trembled violently. Her throat tightened and she took a shallow breath, her body wracked with sobs and tears.
Calming her down, she handed me the paper. There must be something with this paper, so I read it comprehensively.
It's a letter.
A dying letter...
From Papa.