Chapter 78
Mireya
Past
Play - Someday I’ll get it by Alek Olsen
Bright and small creature
After my mother died, the people around me started telling me how strong I was. Funny because I didn’t feel like that at all. I felt as if I was on the verge of breaking.
It’s strange to hear that everywhere; at school, from teachers, from my friends, from people at local stores; that I’m strong.
It’s as if I’d decided to be that way. As if I’d woken up and convinced myself that I could handle more than others.
But no one asked me if I wanted to be that way or if I was tired.
They saw the girl who kept going to school, who wasn’t sleeping anymore but still had the strength to make meals for her little brother when her dad was working too much or drinking too much. The girl who had no bruises, no scars, because her sleeves were long enough. And they called that courage.
I got home a little later than planned today because I spent some time with Hayzel and Ethan. She had to leave before us to help Edna make dinner.
I didn’t stay too long after that, I came back home after Ethan left me a small plastic bag that sat inside my pencil case in my backpack and cooked dinner. Milo had eaten, the cleaning was done, and finally, I could just sit back and relax without having to pretend I was okay.
Dad isn't due home for a few days now.
Apparently he’s working too much but I think he’s a liar. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. Before that event, the house was never quiet. It was filled with loud voices, screams, and slamming doors. Filled with tears and sobs, with excuses that never came after fights.
After that, nothing was left. And I was slowly falling apart.
I know I’m supposed to miss her, and I do.
But I also miss the person I could’ve been before I lost her.
I’m still trying to understand how to grieve both of us.
I wonder if something is wrong with me. Everyone else is grieving my mother, and all I’m trying to do is find a way to stop feeling anything at all.
I sit on the rooftop, letting the cold soak into me.
Here, no one asks if I’m okay, no one says that I’m brave and strong.
No one reminds me of what it feels like to miss someone so much you don’t feel like yourself anymore.
Here I don’t think about what pushed her to end it. Because nothing makes sense of that.
Ethan’s bag is now in my hand and I can hear him say the same thing over and over again. You look dead Mireya, take this and try it, it’ll help.
He said it helped him when his mom died. That he knew what it felt like to keep living when a part of yourself is still stuck at the funerals.
And it was exactly what I needed, to stop thinking. To not re-live things I can’t change, and stop asking myself why it happened that way. Sometimes pain and grief have no reason to coexist. Overthinking it doesn’t change the outcome of it.
I’m exhausted, and I think when someone is really tired, there’s no searching for a solution that is good for them. As long as it hurts less, it’s enough.
A small stupid laugh escapes my lips. This is not me. I’m a big sister, I can’t be doing this.
Ethan did it so many times in front of me, it almost became normal. We’re fourteen, we shouldn't be doing that…
Next thing I know, a white line is sitting on my thigh.
My fingers were shaking a bit, so the line is all weird but it’s here.
I stop thinking, closing my eyes for a second, pushing all the memories away to breathe one last time.
The disgust, the fear, the rage, everything disappears the moment my head leans closer to it.
A sniff. A strange warmth flowing in my veins. My shoulders relax as I rub my hands on my face. Everything feels faster and meaner around me.
In a second I’m standing up, walking on the rooftop, dancing almost. The city’s lights look brighter, the waves crashing against stone sound louder, everything feels more alive.
My thoughts raced, they came all at once, mixing up together, then they all slipped away.
Even though my fear felt different, it was distant from me now.
I moved closer and closer to the edge without realizing it.
Then a tear slid down my cheek. I don’t know if it’s because I’m sad, or if I’m happy or if a part of me still knows something is wrong with me.
But I wipe it away with my fingertips, angry at it.
Even in a moment when everything is a blur, something inside me still cries.
That’s when a tiny light landed on my hand. A firefly again. I stand there, motionless, watching that tiny spark against my scars.
“You’re so small, how are you so bright?” I whisper softly, another tear falling down my cheek.