Seasonal Ink

She was eighteen, maybe younger. Some said she was only sixteen, a fierce young lady with strawberry blond hair and piercing aqua eyes. Her cheeks were always flushed, her hands always seeking. Seeking for money. Seeking for men. Seeking for drinks. Seeking for help. Seeking for love. When her parents heaved their last sigh and the house was taken away, she roamed from one house to another - homes of men who have waiting spouses, men who have a little extra money in their pockets, men who favour young beauties so whole and innocent-looking like her. On nights when she was left on her own, she returned to the humble abode of her brother. It was a shabby apartment with cheap rent because the pipes constantly leaked and the lights go off very often. It was all that her brother could afford for shelter.

This sister of his wasn’t something that he could afford. Afford to live with, afford to share his life with, afford to protect, afford to shelter, afford to bring up, afford to support. Came one night when she tapped on his door at six in the morning and said that she was pregnant, and he went down on his knees and begged her to abort the baby, because no men in that area would want to be responsible for a bastard child. He cried and told her to be sensible, but she held her grounds and said that she was going to have the baby. What do you know about bringing up babies, Shelly? What do you know about having to wake up to the cries of a child and feed him when you do not have enough to feed yourself, Shelly? Because all those years when your Papa and Mama were out gambling their lives away, it was I who fed you, it was I who carried you on my back and sang you to sleep, it was I who had to work late nights to allow you to live a little longer, Shelly. You are not going to have a baby and come to my door and ask for help. You are on your own, Shelly.

And Shelly just stood there by the door, staring at her brother and said not a word. David could not know what Shelly was thinking. He did not understand why she insisted on keeping the child when she knew that it would soon become a burden for everyone. She knew that the child wasn’t going to make it in the world. She knew that she would not be able to give the best to the child. And so she left. She left her brother weeping for her. She left the men who had betrayed their spouses and one of them now has a bastard child. She left for nine months. And for nine months David thought his sister had taken her own life.

When the baby’s first cry filled the night, his mother hitched a ride and returned to her hometown. Cheeks as flushed as ever, hair wet and dishevelled, she tapped on the door of her brother’s apartment just like she did nine months ago. No words were exchanged, her eyes rolled and she passed out. David held the child just in time. The baby had a dirty shade of brown curls, and when he opens his eyes, they would tell the world that he was Shelly Maddox’s child. Shelly was laid to bed, the baby in her arms. David spent the night on the couch wondering what was to happen in the future. It didn’t do much to wonder, because the future was something David would never be able to predict and probably something that was not in his power to change.

When his eyes snapped open the next day, she was gone. With the baby in hand, he marched down to the pub, empty and silent but there she was, downing beers. Two things was laid clear to her: David wasn’t going to take care of the baby, and David was most certainly not giving her money to spend. With that said, he thrust the baby in her hands and left the pub.

Shelly stared at her baby. He did not have a name, she couldn’t be bothered. She thought he was a very ugly baby, pink wrinkled skin and hair still tangled and matted with blood. Finishing the last drop of beer, she paid the waitress who had been staring very intently at her baby and went back to the apartment. She bathed and wrapped him in white sheets, fed him warm milk and laid him on the bed.

When David returned home that night, all he could hear was the baby’s cries and his sister was out of sight. Things had been pretty much the same for the next three months, with Shelly disappearing for days every now and then, and sometimes, weeks. David never gave his sister a single cent, but he bought clothes for the baby, changed his diapers and fed him when he cried. How could he not? Eventually he named the boy Luke.

One day, the same waitress who had served Shelly two months ago started telling her about her futile attempts to conceive. She stroked baby Luke’s soft hair and told Shelly what a beautiful child he was, and all Shelly said was, “A pitcher of beer and he’s yours.” The waitress gave her a smile, and went on and served her the pitcher of beer. Perhaps she wasn’t expecting anything, but ten minutes later, Luke was left alone on the bar, and Shelly was gone.

sangria and champagnes
sadness seemed feigned
obsolete is depression
desolation neither and either
laughs and tingles all round
yet tears are still wet inside

“I just thought that maybe you’re better off without me. You’ve done so much for me, but what have I given you? I will only bring you pain and sadness. I keep thinking about how another girl would make you happier, how someone else would have done a better job at being your girlfriend than me. I don’t want to hurt you anymore, I don’t want to see you sad. I don’t want to be selfish and stay with you just because I love you, and to have you suffer because of all the troubles that I would bring.”

“How could you even say that? You’ve hurt me. Please don’t say that again. Never say that again. I love you, and I will not lose you. Nobody can replace you. I don’t want any other girl. I just want you. Please, I’ll do my best to make you happy. Don’t leave me.”

And we wiped our tears, understanding that whatever the future may bring, if we lose each other right now, just now, we would surely break.

One day I saw someone who looked like you. Long hair. Sad eyes. Looking forlorn as always.

You stepped out. I realised it was you. No suits. Just loose T-shirt and jeans. Is it just me or is that an extra piercing on your ear? Your hair is black again. It took some time, but you gave a small smile.

I thought I could burst into tears. I always thought we’d have this dramatic reunion where I will burst into tears and run into your arms and King will be there laughing and being idiotic.

I just stood there. I didn’t want to enter your car. I could see him, the bodyguard whom I can’t even remember his name. I looked around. People were nonchalant, chatting, buying ice-creams, waving goodbyes. Did they know that someone special was there? Did they know that something out of the ordinary is happening?

Why are you here?

Picking you up.

I have a ride home.

I can send you.

Okay.

I said hi to your driver, but I did not remember his name. I pretended I did.

I remember that car.

But I don’t remember a lot of things. I don’t remember where we went. I don’t remember what we did. I don’t remember what you said. Even those times at the stone benches have faded. I tried to recall something, anything, but I don’t remember. I realised that I probably had forgotten how you looked like too.

I remember us sitting on stone benches. We never spoke. I remember watching you swim. You never told me why. I remember being held back in class the day you left, and I wanted badly to forget it…

I forgot. I don’t remember.

When did you come back?

Yesterday.

Why didn’t you call me?

I’m here now.

I want to go home.

Alright.

We missed a few turns, because I didn’t know the way home. But we made it. I didn’t invite you in. I didn’t tell you why I shifted. I didn’t ask what have you been doing, why are you back here. There were no urges, no frustration, no amusement or anger.

The silence. The comfortable silence. It wasn’t the same as before - it wasn’t that we didn’t need to speak. It was that I didn’t want to speak. I had all the questions in my mind, but I didn’t want them answered.

I stayed in the car a bit longer, appreciating the silence. The silence that calmed me. The silence that told me I still belonged.

Goodbye.

Bye.

As I inserted the key into the lock, it dawned on me. I was right all along. And things have changed. Suddenly the weight was lifted. Suddenly I giggled. I heaved a sigh, and I ran to your car. I opened the door. You raised an eyebrow, but I smiled and told you

maybe we should have dinner together. I think you’d like to meet him. Oh, and we can go Lafite too!

In case you have mistaken, I do not produce money.

Ah but you have money. And your accent is getting better, I can understand you better now.

A last grin. Shut of the door. As I laid on my bed I called the familiar number and told my boyfriend about my day.

That day I lost a brother.

Life went on.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to wake up. Every time I go to bed I told myself that I would wake up early in the morning, all fresh and energetic and look at life the positive way. I would clean myself up, clean the house up and bid my husband farewell, and then I would bake fresh orange muffins and bring them to work and apologise to everyone for making them so worried about me. After work I would bring the remaining muffins over to mum’s, and thank her for all her care.

Everything seemed so happy in my head that I couldn’t even wait for the next morning to come. I popped the sleeping pills in my mouth and just slept like a baby with Josh’s shirt in my hands.

The mornings are always the same. I would wake up without feeling the weight of his hands around my waist. I had to face his side of the bed, cold and empty. I would move over and smell his scents on his pillow. The sunlight would be streaming in through the slits of the curtains. Josh always had to open the curtains so that I would sprawl defeated on the bed and promise that I would really be awake in five minutes. Without even wanting to, the tears would come and then I would spend the rest of the day shutting myself at home again.

Sometimes the night was the worse. I always got clingy when the nights come before Josh and I married. It didn’t matter if I was on the couch watching a late night movie or on the bed getting ready to sleep, automatically the man I loved the most would come to mind. Perhaps I wasn’t trying hard enough, but I just couldn’t push the memories aside. Back when he would watch chick flicks with me if only I allowed him to have his friends over on Saturdays night to watch the most-important-football-game-in-history. Back when he would hold my hands on the bed and whispered how much I meant to him and that he would never give up on me even if I ate the last piece of cheesecake in the fridge without asking for his permission first.

How did this happen? How did I end up alone in an empty house? How did Josh and I get married for five days and then it just ended abruptly this way? How did the man of my life turn into memories that I have to hold on to?

How did one random accident on the road end my happiness?

Candlelights and starlights on a cool night, a dinner in the garden. There is a round table draped in a white table cloth, decorated with expensive crockeries and neat cutleries. The gentleman pulls back the heavy wooden chair for his sweetheart, and she thanks him with a graceful smile. It was home, but they had on their best suit and dress, coat and shawl.The music plays softly in the background, one that they had sung together on a night quite like this fifty years ago. Now they are old and frail, white hair and wrinkles defining their age, and they clunk their wine glasses together and wished each other a happy fiftieth anniversary.

Perhaps I was drifting into space for a little bit too long. It was almost as if she could see through me. For a second I panicked, thinking that it was entirely possible for her to be able to hear what I was thinking.

But she couldn’t. I was thinking too much. I was worrying too much. I was guilty. In that one moment I felt like crying, screaming, laughing, hugging her - all at the same time.

Sarah, who was decorating the Christmas tree, suddenly turned and held my hand.

“I’m sorry if my mother was a bit too crude,” she said softly. “We’ve never really been on good terms. I just thought that - since we’re going to be married, it’d be good to let her meet you first before announcing…”

Hesitantly, I patted her yellow locks and kissed her forehead. My lips on her face, it felt so wrong, I felt like I should die right there and then.

“It’s okay, really,” I could hear myself saying. “It’s over, we’re not going to see her for the next two months until our wedding day.” I tried to smile, but I wasn’t sure if it was convincing enough. But it had to be. I cannot hurt Sarah.

“Gosh, just listen to you!” Sarah giggled. “We’re going to wed in two months… Jason, this feels so surreal. It’s like I’m going to wake up one day and find that this all just isn’t happening.”

I tapped a finger on her forehead. “Don’t be silly. You’re going to be my wife, I’m not letting you go even if this is a nightmare,” I slipped my hands around her waist and pulled her down to sit on my lap comfortably. “But what if you do wake up one day and find that everything disappeared?”

It just came. I didn’t know why I said that.

“I will cling to your leg and not let you go. You’re stuck, Jason,” she said.

“You’re really going to be a clingy, bossy wife, you know that?” with that, I gave her a playful slap on her rear and shooed her to continue with her decorations.

As I sat there on the couch I thought about the things that I wanted to tell her. I love you, Sarah. Is it okay if I love another woman the same way that I love you? I love you, Sarah. Is it okay that I am kissing another woman the same way that I kissed you on our first date? I love you, Sarah. Is it okay that I am sleeping with another woman with the same passion that I have when I am with on the bed with you? I love you, Sarah. Is it okay that I brought another woman to the classy restaurant that I brought you to when I asked for your hand in marriage?

I love you, Sarah. Is it okay that every night after our showers I call another woman to tell her that I love her too?

Because, Sarah, I really do love you. But I think that I love her too.

As if on cue, my mobile phone beeped. A text message. A slight smile played on my lips, my body tingled with excitement. I looked at Sarah, beautiful and loyal, decorating the Christmas tree that she and I bought together just a week ago. Right now, I wanted to go. I knew that if I go, I will come back regretting and sad, but I also know that if I go now I will have a fulfilment that can only be met by my other lover.

I got up and took my coat.

“I’m going to meet Jake at the convenient store. Want me to pick up anything?”

“Orange juice, please. Don’t be out too late!” She gave me a peck on the cheek and sent me off.

I hurried my steps, trying to clear my mind. I was cursing myself. I was giving Sarah another silent sorry. I was going through things to say to the person who sent the text message.

And then I was looking at the person who sent the message. She flung her arms around my neck and planted a wet kiss on my lips. I took in the scent of expensive perfume.

“Hello there, honey. Someone told me that she has a surprise for me tonight?”

Sarah has strawberry blond curls. Her blue eyes were very intense, every time I stare at them it was like staring into the eyes of a forty year old. There was something very solemn about her. Did she not like me? Did she know how I was really feeling?

“Do you think we should invite Andrew?” Tim was asking. I took my cup of coffee and mulled over it for a moment.

“Maybe. Why not?”

“We aren’t exactly that close, you know. But I think he’d be glad to meet Sarah,” Tim grinned with a twinkle in his eye. I didn’t remember him being so excited to show me off during our engagement party.

There I was again. Comparing.

Immediately the surge of guilt flooded me again. What was I doing? What kind of a mother am I to be thinking of such things? Again and again I asked myself the same questions. Again and again I blamed myself. Who else was there to point the finger at?

“Are you okay?” Tim turned to me and stroke my hair. I was really glad that he was being so patient, which just adds to the guilt level. “Maybe we should take a break from this party.”

“Of course not,” I smiled. “It’s her first birthday, everything has to be perfect.”

Picking up the pen, my husband gave me a peck on the cheek and turned back to his list. Deep inside I was chiding him silently, wanting him to leave the party plans for just a moment and pamper me for a while. I knew it was wrong of me, but I couldn’t help it. Rubbing his stomach, I sat nearer to him and nuzzled his neck.

“You are perfect,” I whispered, nibbling his ear. He chuckled, slipping his hand under my skirt. He had put down the pen. I had moved to his neck and shoulder when there was a soft sound coming from the playpen.

“Daddy,” she was calling. “Daddy.”

Almost immediately, Tim jumped and in a swift movement had carried Sarah in his arms.

“Look who’s awake!”

I successfully straightened my skirt without rolling my eyes.

“Indeed,” I mumbled. Just right now, I didn’t like looking at my daughter. Just at this moment, my daughter annoys me very much.

“Would Sarah like mummy to carry, hm?” He dropped my baby on my arms. Didn’t I say that just right now I didn’t like looking at my daughter? Right, I didn’t.  I couldn’t.

“Hello, sweetie,” I kissed her silky tresses. “Had a good nap?”

Her eyes were turning red, and she didn’t answer me. Now now, I wonder where she got that attitude from.

“Somebody isn’t feeling happy,” Tim said, taking her back from my arms. I’m not happy too, I wanted to say, why don’t you cheer me up too? Why don’t you give me some attention too?

And then I thought, why was I fighting for attention from my husband - with my daughter?

“Excuse me,” I said with a meek smile. I went to the kitchen for the tablets. The tablets that I’ve been taking ever since Sarah was born.

I love Sarah, but I happened to dislike her very much too. Why can’t I love her like how my mother had loved me? Was bringing her into my life a wrong decision?

There was a sharp intake of breath, and I dropped my pills.

“I thought you weren’t taking them anymore. You said you didn’t need them.”

The floodgates of tears opened.

We were sinking below, deeper and deeper, void of all human contact. Civilisation was like a stranger. The last breath in my lungs was exhaled, I ceased to observe my surroundings to see how many were sinking with me. Before me was pale bodies and floating hair behind a vast canvas of black water. The deep sea. We were sinking into the deep sea. In another few hours our bodies will float and we will be on the front pages of the news, just like the ones we read every day with our cup of hot coffee.

Perhaps I wanted to cry. A big surge of feeling came over me, I was overwhelmed, the idea of death. It was just right there. But I could not struggle anymore. I even tried to push the thoughts out of my mind. What would Papa be doing at home now? Is Mama enjoying her daily routine of soaps on the television? Maybe Rover is still digging in the garden and Papa will get crossed again.

Stop, stop, stop. Silence was pressing hard against my ears.

And that was it, I needed to breath, I needed to breath but all that would go in was water. Air was too high up, I was out of energy already. My head was spinning and this time I was not sure if I really did cry. All of a sudden something grabbed my hand and out of shock I opened my mouth and sucked in water. Fast enough just to look up and see a dark silhouette of a man. I tried to grab his hand, maybe if I held him tight enough he could bring me to air. I needed air. My fingers hit metal. He was wearing Josh’s watch. In a moment I wondered if it could ever be Josh’s hand I was holding, that he was here to save me, that he knew I was on the ship with his best friend. I wondered if he would forgive me if we could get out of here alive.

Splashes, cold air, so very cold. I spluttered and coughed, my ears and nose hurt and my eyes stung. Fear shot through me as I began to sink again. Help! I wanted to scream, I cannot swim! But I couldn’t, I couldn’t scream at all, all I could do was to flung my arms around. The man turned and held me.

“You are the stupidest person in the world, you know?”

Ah, the voice. I was sobbing, heart aching more than anything else right now, laying my head on his chest and holding him tightly, sobbing and sobbing. I could not do anything else.

“Shush honey, shush,” he was saying. He sounded so faraway, I could well be dreaming of this happening. Was Josh on the ship? Did he know? Why didn’t he tell me? “Shush, everything will be all right in a while.” He lifted my head, but I could not face him. “Come on, look at me.”

And he kissed me, a brief one but it was all it took to give me the will I needed to stay alive. To stay alive and stay by Josh, he was a good man. A small wind blew, and he held me closer again.

“OVER HERE!” a distant voice called. “OVER HERE!”

And then there was a hushed voice, chiding the one that was shouting. It was two men and a child, holding on tightly to a safety float.

“Do you want us to sink?” one was asking.

“Do you want them to die?” the other one replied.

The child was white as a sheet, shivering and chattering. I hesitated, but Josh pulled me and swam towards them.

A float. With five people. A sunken ship. Three thousand passengers, dead or alive. Me against my Josh, a shivering wreck. As the waiting continued, suddenly it seemed that being under the water and waiting for death was more inviting than waiting for rescue. It was on our minds all the while, would they come?

Would they come?

Would they come.