Chapter 32
Chapter
Thirty-Two
“Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.”
― Haruki Murakami
Sofiya
Many, many years ago.
I looked at the black dress again and frowned.
The dress was all dark and plain, like the night sky without any stars.
It had scratchy stuff around the neck and sleeves that made my skin feel itchy .
It went down to my knees, and there were tiny buttons running all the way down the back, like little soldiers standing in a line.
“Papa, I don’t like it. I want to wear the pink one!”
He chuckled softly. “Angelochek, we’re going to church, so we have to wear black or brown. Besides, you can’t wear your Aurora costume. Father Pasha wouldn’t appreciate it.”
I crossed my arms defiantly and plopped down on my bed. “But you promised I could wear it whenever I wanted!”
He sighed and knelt down, gently holding my hands. “Sofiya, you’re only four years old. At your age, it’s important to learn to follow rules, even when we really want something. Sometimes, no matter how much we pray or hope for it, things won’t happen the way we want them to. That’s just a part of growing up and learning about life.”
I pouted, my lower lip trembling as I looked up at him with big, watery eyes. “But why, Papa? Aurora’s costume is so pretty, and I want to wear it to church. Why can’t I?”
I wanted to show it off to my friends.
He sighed again, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. “Because church is a special place where we show respect and honor. We wear certain clothes to show that respect.”
I sniffled, not fully understanding but wanting desperately to make him see my point. “But it’s not fair, Papa. I don’t want to wear boring black or brown. I want to wear something beautiful, like Aurora’s costume.”
He smiled softly, his eyes twinkling with patience and love. “I know, Sofiya. You love your Aurora’s costume. How about this? After church, we can play dress-up together, and you can wear it then. Would you like that?”
My face lit up at the idea, my tears drying instantly. “Yes, Papa! I want to play dress-up with you! ”
He hugged me tightly. “Good. Now let’s get ready for church, okay?”
I nodded eagerly, not fully understanding why Papa couldn’t see things my way, but I knew he loved me and wanted the best for me. The way his eyes softened when he looked at me made me feel warm inside, like everything would be okay as long as he was there.
Even when he said no to wearing Aurora’s costume to church, I knew it wasn’t because he didn’t care about what I wanted.
Papa always knew how to make things better.
His smile was like sunshine breaking through clouds, and his hugs were like wrapping up in a cozy blanket on a chilly day.
After Papa helped me into the black dress he had chosen, we descended the stairs together.
Mama was waiting by the door, her face adorned with a gentle smile as she watched us approach.
She wore a long, velvet black dress with sleeves that reached all the way down to her wrists. She had on her pearl necklace that Papa had given her on their anniversary and her shiny black heels that clicked on the stone floor.
Papa wore his black suit, the one he said was for special occasions, with a crisp white shirt underneath.
Mama reached out to straighten my dress, ensuring everything was just right.
Papa stood beside me, his hand resting on my shoulder, his face glowing with pride as he looked down at me.
With Mama’s hand in mine and Papa by my side, we walked out the door and into the crisp September morning.
The church bells rang softly in the distance, signaling the start of the service.
Together, we made our way to the car, Papa holding the door open for Mama and me .
As we drove to the church, the streets were quiet and bathed in the golden light of early morning.
We parked near the church and Papa helped us out of the car.
I held his hand as we walked up the steps.
Inside, the church was quiet and smelled like candles.
We walked to the front row and sat down.
Father Pasha started talking, and I tried to listen, but I kept thinking about playing dress-up later.
Sometimes Papa would squeeze my shoulder to help me pay attention.
Father Pasha started his sermon. “Today, we remember Judas, who betrayed Jesus with a kiss,” he began, his voice deep and serious. “Judas was one of Jesus’s twelve disciples, trusted by Him. He was like his brother. But for thirty pieces of silver, Judas agreed to betray Jesus.”
I watched Father Pasha, trying to understand.
He continued, “in the Garden of Gethsemane, Judas led soldiers to Jesus and kissed Him on the cheek, a sign of betrayal. Imagine the pain Jesus felt, knowing one of His closest friends had turned against Him.”
My attention was drawn to Papa’s hand, where I traced circles on the tattoo of a raven.
I had always admired that tattoo and often told myself that when I got older, I’d get one just like it.
My fingers continued to follow the lines of Papa’s tattoo, but soon I grew bored.
The words of Father Pasha’s sermon began to blur together, and my eyelids grew heavy.
I leaned my head against Papa’s arm, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
His warmth was comforting, and before I knew it, I drifted off to sleep .
After what felt like hours, I woke up with my head pressed against the cool window of the car.
Looking around, I realized we were back in the car, parked in the familiar silence of our driveway.
I had fallen asleep in the church, but now we were home.
Blinking away the sleep, I realized my parents were arguing in whispers.
Papa’s voice was low and angry.
“I don’t want you to ever say her fucking name ever again,” he said.
Mama sighed deeply. “I just wanted to pray for her soul.”
Confused and a little scared, I stayed quiet, pretending to still be asleep.
I didn’t understand what they were talking about, but the tension in the car was thick.
I pressed my face harder against the window, trying to make sense of their words.
“Victoria was nothing but a whore. Don’t let any stupid guilt you may have in you destroy our family.”
Feeling suddenly scared, I called out for Mama, which made both of them jump.
The tense feeling in the car started to go away, like my cry had made everything better.
Papa’s face got softer, and he looked at me with kind eyes that weren’t angry anymore.
“Hey, Angelochek,” he said gently, his voice all warm now. “Want to play dress-up now?”
Mama reached over and took my hand, holding it tight.
“And while you two play, I’ll bake some cookies just for you,” she whispered, her voice as soft as a bedtime story.
Their sudden change in how they acted calmed me down, making me feel safe again.
I nodded eagerly, relieved that everything seemed okay again .
Papa and I played for hours, pretending to be kings and queens.
Mama joined us just for teatime, serving warm chocolate chip cookies as we imagined ourselves as Princess Cinderella and Aladdin.
That day felt perfect, like a dream where we laughed and played together.
It was also the first and last time I had ever heard them argue.