5. Elis journal
Eli's journal
While the specifics are fuzzy, I have a recollection of my mother’s cheerful nature. A frown rarely marked her expression.
Trips to the park. Playing in the back yard, or in the pool. Building a fort together out of pillows and blankets…
All of this came back to me last night when I couldn’t sleep.
All at once.
And soon after, in our life, sadness set in.
The kind that squeezes your heart and won’t let go.
It started simply. Mom said she was exhausted. She insisted rest would resolve everything.
But she didn’t work like everyone else. She didn’t need to.
In a few days, it seemed she was feeling better because the smile returned to her face. And then it vanished again.
The next excuse was the stress she was under because of the foundation she ran.
She was helping the sick on the other side of the world.
The foundation was vital to her, and she devoted quite a lot of time and energy to it. I grasped it wasn’t the best of times.
So, I waited for whatever was supposed to happen with her charity to happen. My favorite smile also returned for a fleeting instant.
Now I know that was the start of a rollercoaster none of us noticed. Up, down, up, down… and so on and so on.
The issue was a growing level of sadness and a diminishing sense of joy in our lives. Everything seemed the same as before, yet it was different.
I felt as if that thing were stealing her away from me.
She was right there. Yet, it felt as though she wasn’t.
Something strange and bad took her away from me.
And a void grew inside.
I tried to fight it, to cheer her up. It didn’t help.
The awareness dawned on me: I had to be good, well-behaved, patient, and study hard.
My fear was that the responsibility lay with me. Mom wouldn’t be happy because of me.
But it was all in vain. All my efforts amounted to nothing.
Mom was still sad. Sad in the morning, sad in the evening. Sad with me and sad without me.
I couldn’t understand what was happening or how to fix it.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and called Dad, who was abroad. He was working a lot back then. I wouldn’t see him for weeks, sometimes even longer.
He came back two days later. The sound of the front door opening brought immense relief. I felt lighter. My legs moved to welcome him, yet his facial expression caused me to freeze. Something was wrong.
For the first time in my life, I saw fear on his face. Restless eyes looked at me, though they seemed distant. He didn’t smile either; he didn’t welcome me. After setting his suitcase down near the coffee table, he was at my side in an instant.
“Where is she?” My father’s voice was hoarse.
“Upstairs,” I answered. She hadn’t left the bedroom for five days in a row. Or at least I hadn’t seen her.
My father nodded, ruffled my hair, and headed toward the stairs.
A stony silence echoed where a greeting should have been, leaving me adrift in his unspoken indifference. I was like a ghost.
I shuffled after him but stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Something was holding me back from going upstairs. Maybe it was fear, or maybe something else entirely. Resting on the bottom stair, I waited.
And I didn’t move an inch.
A quarter of an hour later, footsteps reached me, first in the hall, then on the stairs.
I couldn’t turn around. I didn’t want to. My heart was pounding, ears ringing.
Then his face appeared. He blinked a few times, thinking. With a sigh, he finally said, “You did the right thing.”
The phone in his pocket vibrated, and he snatched it out. After turning, he replied to the incoming call. “Dr. Reeves, I need an immediate consultation.”
Once again, I ceased to exist.