—-
It was a tranquil afternoon, the kind where time seems to stretch into eternity. We lay on the grass, the warmth of the sun mingling with the gentle breeze. Above us, the sky was an endless canvas of soft blues and wispy clouds, drifting lazily as if they had no place to be. The world felt quiet, almost reverent, as if holding its breath in a serene pause.
I remember that day vividly, not just because of its calm beauty, but because it was in those moments of peace that I began to understand how quickly everything could change. As we gazed upward, lost in the simplicity of the moment, none of us could have foreseen the storm that was brewing just beyond the horizon, waiting to upend our world.
"is it love?" I asked myself, lost in the chaos of what was forgettable but ultimately unforgettable.
"Hey, what are you thinking about?" Her voice pulled me back to the present.
Regaining my composure, I looked at her. She was beautiful, reminding me of the good that can emerge from the bad.
"Do you remember when you used to tell luna and me stories every night? I'll soon have to head back, so before I go, please tell me a story."
As I sat down beside her, her simple request brought a rush of emotion I hadn't anticipated. Her eyes sparkled, making my heart swell and ache all at once. She looked up at me, her voice soft but insistent. "Tell me a story, please."
The simplicity of the request struck me deeply. In that moment, the world outside seemed to fall away, leaving only the warmth of her presence and the quiet urgency of her request. "A story about what?" I asked, my thoughts momentarily drifting. "You were just a little girl, your favorite were princesses and all."
"Love," she responded.
The shock hit me like a bolt of lightning, freezing me in place. My breath caught in my throat, and I stared wide-eyed, trying to process the gravity of what I'd just heard. My heart raced, each beat echoing louder than the last, as disbelief clouded my thoughts. The world seemed to blur around the edges, leaving me rooted in stunned silence, grappling with the sudden upheaval.
"Love? What do you know about love?" I finally managed to ask.
"Nothing… yet. But I want to hear a story about it. Your stories always teach us lessons, and I want to learn."
"Once upon a time," I began, "there was a girl named Blair. She had long dark hair, dark eyes, and a shy personality. One day, she met a guy with short curly hair, blue eyes, and a complexion that was neither too pale nor too tan."
"Whoa, look! You're defining the perfect guy," she chuckled.
"If only…"
—-
Seventeen years ago
"Blair! Go buy me a beer now."
Again and again, it's the same thing: "Blair, go do this. Blair, go buy me cigarettes. Blair, go buy me fast food." She has changed so much that I don't even recognize her anymore. My dear mother, who used to be a strong and beautiful woman, has become someone who doesn't even know her worth anymore. She smokes every day and doesn't go out anymore. It's become normal. She looks awful.
I use my own money—yes, my own money—because,since I'm living in her house, I am the one using my money. She has spent hers on cigarettes and beer.
I am about to turn 18 in two weeks, and then I will leave the house and live my best life, as I've said with excitement.
I love Mom, really. I hate to see her living like this and, especially, I hate the idea of her staying alone in that house. But what can I do? I've tried everything I could to help her overcome her depression. I don't even understand why she can be so bad off because of a man. Yes, that man is my father, but I don't consider him a father. He's just a sperm donor to me. He doesn't care about me at all and has other children with another woman. You might be wondering why. Well, my mom was that other woman. Unfortunately, she stayed with a man who didn't love her, and she was so blinded by love for him that she didn't see his flaws.
I went to neighborhood nosh a super market next to my mom's house and bought the beer for her.
When I arrived home, he was there—the donor—looking at me with disdain when all this happened because of him.
"Can I know what you're doing here, Paul?" I asked.
He laughed a little before his face changed to an annoyed expression. "Remember, this is my house. I have the right to come whenever I please."
She Was so furious she was about to argue when her mother came out of her room. She really looked awful, which broke Blair's heart. She appeared disheveled and unkempt, with unwashed hair and wrinkled clothes suggesting a lack of attention to personal grooming. Her fatigued expression and distant, vacant eyes replaced the once lively sparkle in her gaze with a subdued, almost hollow look. Her posture was slouched, reflecting an overall sense of defeat or exhaustion.
"Paul…?"
"Nina, it seems you're looking your best," he said in a sarcastic tone.
Blair's face was a fierce tableau of fury, her eyes flashing with an intensity that could have set the room ablaze. Her hands clenched into fists, knuckles white and trembling, as she struggled to contain the storm raging within her. When she spoke, her voice was a sharp, jagged edge, slicing through the air with each word laced with venom.
"You son of a bitch! How dare you! How dare you say this to her?!"
"Blair—" said her mom, but Blair interrupted.
"No, Nina, this is… I don't even have the words to describe the frustration I'm feeling for you. How can you let a shitty man like him treat you like this? How?! He just came here to mock you, and you are saying nothing? Are you some kind of pet who obeys its master? Why—"
"Shut up!" The sudden, sharp crack of her palm meeting Blair's cheek resonated through the room, like the snap of a whip. The force of the slap sent Blair's head whipping to the side, leaving a stinging red mark in its wake. The audible sting of the contact hung in the air, a stark punctuation to the volatile silence that followed. Her hand, momentarily frozen in the air, trembled with the intensity of her emotion, as the echoes of the strike reverberated through the tense space between them.
Blair looked shocked, not knowing where to look. She was used to being slapped by her dad, but never by her mom. Her mom had just slapped her because of a man who didn't care about them.
"Blair he's your father don't talk to him like that …"
Her rage burned like an uncontrollable wildfire, consuming every inch of her being. It was as though the very air crackled with her anger, each breath a stinging reminder of the injustice she felt. Her eyes were blazing coals, Her hands trembled with the force of her fury.
But beneath the fury was a deep, gnawing disappointment, like a cold, heavy weight dragging at her chest. It was a profound sadness that contrasted sharply with her outward rage, a quiet despair that seemed to whisper of shattered expectations. The realization that everything she had hoped for wasn't her reality. She felt as though she had been betrayed by the very ideals she once held dear, and the weight of that disillusionment pressed heavily on her heart, mingling with her seething anger into a complex, painful ache.
"next time you better watch your mouth young lady" said her father while he walked off from the apartment.
Her tears fell in silent, aching rivulets, tracing the contours of her face like sorrowful streams. Each drop seemed to carry a weight of unspoken anguish, cascading slowly from her eyes, which were now pools of glistening sadness. Her shoulders shook with the quiet intensity of her weeping, each tremor a testament to the depth of her despair. The room felt charged with the weight of her emotion, yet profoundly telling, moments of grief.
"I'm sorry mother …i'm sorry You've become a shadow of who you used to be, all because you've allowed this man to consume your every thought and emotion.You've sacrificed so much—your happiness, your well-being, and even your own sense of self—just for a man who clearly doesn't love you in return.I'm angry because I've watched you slip away into this painful obsession, and it's not just painful to see—it's enraging. It feels like you're trapped in this cycle of longing and disappointment, and no matter how many times he lets you down, you keep going back for more It's as if you're so blinded by love that you've lost sight of your own worth."
Nina's face betrayed no hint of concern, remaining as indifferent as a still lake.
"Where's my beer?" she asked, her voice edged with irritation.
Blair handed her the beer and retreated to her room, frustration simmering within her. She was consumed by one thought: her eighteenth birthday, which she had anticipated for so long.
Two weeks later, following the day her mother had slapped her for the first time, Blair had not left the house or her room. She was still grappling with the events, trying to make sense of what had happened. Nina, her mother, had never been nurturing, especially after Paul left them. Although Nina had ignored Blair and only spoke to her when she needed beer or cigarettes, she had never been physically abusive. Blair acknowledged that she hadn't always been respectful, but did her father truly deserve such treatment? The constant overthinking was becoming suffocating.
Blair decided to take a long, soothing bath and then applied a touch of makeup—a new ritual in preparation for the day meant to celebrate her. She had never worn makeup before and wasn't sure how to apply it. She carefully layered mascara on her lashes, added a delicate blush to enhance her features without overwhelming them, and applied pink lip gloss to make her lips glow.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror, uncertain of her appearance. Was she pretty? Her father had often called her ugly.
"Happy birthday, Blair Martinez. I know you've spent eight years of your life unhappy, but I promise you, if they can't make you happy, I will," she whispered to her reflection, feeling a small, proud smile curve her lips as she admired the polished, confident image before her.
As she left her room to go to the supermarket, she saw her mother. Her goal was to ignore her, but it proved futile.
"Why are you wearing makeup?" her mother asked.
Pull yourself together. Pull yourself together, Blair repeated in her mind.
"What's the matter, Mother? Can't I make myself pretty?" Blair replied, glancing at her mother's scrutinizing gaze. She wore a short, form-fitting summer dress that accentuated her curves.
"Why are you wearing such a dress?"
Her mother's frustration was evident in the tight set of her jaw and the exasperated way she rubbed her temples, as if trying to erase her irritation.
"Can I even call you my mother? A mother who doesn't remember her own child's birthday?" Blair tried to control her tears.
Her mother sighed. "I remember. Take this; it's my gift."
She handed Blair a small bracelet and necklace adorned with pearls, reminiscent of the ones they used to collect together from the river. Blair, emotionally overwhelmed, looked at her mother and said, "I thought you threw it away…"
Her mother smiled, a rare sight after eight years of absence. "I could never. I know these were your favorites." She gently placed the bracelet on Blair's wrist, then passed behind to place it on her neck. "Now, wherever you are, you'll remember me when you look at this."
Blair was confused by her mother's cryptic words.
"Take this money," her mother said, handing her a wad of cash sufficient for a month's expenses. "Keep it safely."
The money in Blair's hand felt like a cryptic puzzle, each bill a silent enigma. It was as if a shadow had whispered an invitation to decipher its meaning, leaving her to ponder the hidden motives behind this unexpected act of generosity.
"Mother… why?" Blair asked.
Her mother simply smiled and retreated back to her room.
Blair considered that perhaps it was just a prank and that her mother would retrieve the money later. Regardless, she decided to use some of it to buy herself a gift.
She stepped into Neighborhood Nosh, welcomed by its warm, bustling atmosphere. The scent of freshly baked bread mingled with ripe produce, promising comfort and quality.
"Hey Blair, where have you been? I haven't seen you around for weeks. Don't tell me you've found a new spot?" Ella, who worked at Neighborhood Nosh and was Blair's only female friend in the city, greeted her.
"Ella, you know I could never. I've just been busy. And is this how you welcome me on my birthday?"
"It's your birthday? Wow, sorry Blair! What do you want? My treat."
—-