Madeline
"Are we there yet?" I asked my mother. She smiled weakly at me. "This is it! This is home." She gestured for me to look at the enormous house that was right in front of me. "This is the house? The house my father grew up in?" I asked my mom. She nodded and looked away.
I looked back at the house. It looked like an old home which had stories in it, but those stories were now forgotten in the past. It was beautiful and looked like a dream come true, but the question was, "Why had Dad never told me of this house of his before?" I didn't realize that I had voiced it out loud. "This place was not home to him. I was. So he left it all for me," she said and moved towards the front door.
I looked at her, assessed her. Her raven hair was as dark as mine. Dad's light blonde hair was something I always asked for, but some wishes are never bound to come true. You can dream of it all, but only have some of it. At the end, you will be asked to pick one, and you should be always prepared to pick where your heart is. This was something my dad, Aaron, told me multiple times when I was growing up.
Mom, Samantha, had her hair wrapped in a bun. Her simple black dress was matching her mood. One look at those hazel eyes and anyone would know that the light which shined in them was gone. Gone forever. She was fumbling with the lock. It took her a moment to get the lock to work—a sure sign of it never being opened in years. When I reached the door, I saw a few drops of tears on the lock. Her hands were shaking. She quickly opened the door and sat on the rocking chair near the entrance. The hurt of losing her husband was clear in her.
Mom was not strong in masking her emotions, but I was. At least I thought I was. I tried my best to hide all of the cries that I have cried at night. I kneeled in front of her and cupped her hands which were shaking. "He loved you and that... that is something nobody can change. He will live in our memories, Mom." I tried my best to comfort her. She hugged me and cried for what felt like hours. We decided to clean the house first and then prepare dinner.
It was almost sunset. I looked at the sea. I knew we were close to the sea because my friends told me all about it. Now, looking at it with my own eyes, it was beautiful. I never knew as to why they always told me that the sea was dangerous—that it could drown me in. But what if I stayed a few steps away from it? "Mad? What are you looking at?" Mom asked me. I shrugged and started cleaning the kitchen, the last room to clean.
The night was upon us soon; the dark night sky could be seen from the window. We lit all the candles around the room to make it visible. Dinner was served and we ate, and now all we both needed to do was go to bed. Did I really want to go to bed? I know Mom has been crying at night when she was all alone in her room. I almost told her that I would sleep with her, but if I did that and she agreed, then I might not get some quiet space for myself, and I would not be free to cry all my emotions out. I knew she was able to hear me crying at night, but she never came to comfort me, leaving me alone with my own grief.
I had no idea how things quickly turned for the worse. One day my dad was there and now he was not. I remembered that day very well. The day I had lost someone I deeply cared for. When breakfast was served and Dad didn't come downstairs, Mom told me to get him and I did. In his room, it all looked normal. Him sleeping on the bed, soundless. That was the first sign for me. Him looking carefree. He was a person who could think and think and stress about little things, like how I turned eighteen and needed to get married soon.
I shook my head and called, "Dad? Wake up! It's morning and breakfast is served." No response. I remember that I found it weird, but I still called out to him again. No reply. That was when I went to his bedside and found his mouth releasing blood. His body had gone pale and he looked lifeless. I screamed. I yelled and cried and fell on the floor. Then I got up and again shook him. He had gone cold—the sign of him already gone.
Why? Why'd he do that to us? When we called the doctor, she said his lungs were filled with water. It was almost like drowning. But the question was, how did it happen? Mom had no idea, and she went into a dark place, not talking to me or doing anything. But then I told her if she was not going to do anything, then she might get into a worse place in her head. It was almost laughable that the person she always told me she would sacrifice her whole life for left her alone. It was not his fault, but looking at her, I now know what real love is like. She really, truly loved Dad.
I was in bed, looking at the ceiling. I looked past the window at the shore. How magical it looked from here. I didn't dare go near it because of all the dark stories my parents told me growing up—of how people would get lost in the sea and then die. Now I was sacred and mesmerized by that deadly sea's beauty, like it had some magic in it. Like it was alive. I had no idea when sleep took over me.
"Madeline! My sweet Madeline? Do you not want to know what I look like up close? Come my child! Come and have a look at me. Come to your source." I jolted up on the bed. What was that? A dream? Perhaps a bad dream. I tried to sleep again, but it never came to me. The question was repeatedly coming in my head: Was the sea really alive? Did it really talk to me, or was it all just a dream?