1-Letter

'What is love?' was the question that boggled my mind as I answered once more the slam book my friend asked me to. I turned the previous pages of the small notebook to read the other girls' answers to the question. There was the clichéd "Love is blind," or the idealistic "Sparks and butterflies in your tummy." Nothing seemed a perfect fit however. I wanted to write something unique, something I could call mine, but it felt like my mind shut down and refused to think. So instead on scribbling down my words, I left it blank and went to the next question.

***

I shut the notebook close having one single space left unanswered still. I had to give it back to Bea tomorrow and still I refused to answer that question. Sighing, I pushed the notebook to the edge of my desk before I stood up and walked to my bed. I laid on my back with eyes trained on the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling. It was arranged to be like the Andromeda constellation. What is love? It hadn't left my mind since I came across it an hour ago. As a young curious explorer, I had tried to seek out for answers in books, through media, and sometimes through sitting and observing people. I still hadn't made definite conclusions yet, all because it confused the hell out of me. How will you make one ending to a question when said question had a gazillion answers to start with?

A younger version of me would say with confidence that she knew what love was. I've seen love. Wasn't it supposed to be the feeling when you're in married relationship? And I've been around one. In fact, I'm still suffering in one. No, I'm not a married woman; I'm sixteen for goodness sake. I'm suffering by watching one.

Through the silence of the night, I heard sobs. It vaguely registered to me when I first heard it, six months ago. At first, I thought it was from the television. But then again, who in their right minds would watch TV at 12:30 in the morning? I'm certain everyone in the house had their hinges intact. So I confidently crossed it out.

I went to investigate one night. I crept out of my room and tiptoed towards where the sound was louder. Doppler Effect, I think was what it was called. And to my surprise it came from my parents’ room. I opened the door slightly, and I saw her. I saw my mom shaking as she lay down on her side and wiped her eyes harshly. I safely assumed it was tears she was wiping. Questions had formed in my mind that night. Slowly and silently, I crept to my room. There I allowed to ask myself of the small question; why?

Things became clearer to me as the time passed by. I began to observe my parents while they interact with each other. To the untrained eye, nothing would look different in their conversations or their actions, but to me, an expert, I've seen past through their facades.

My mother spent less and less time doing her hobbies at home. Instead, she tired herself out in her job. She'll go to work before I did, leaving a small note to me for breakfast, and then she'll go home after dinner. My father did the exact opposite. He had a job, part-time so to speak. But he still wasn't a constant figure in the house in the past. However, in those six months, he stayed every day, leaving the house after dinner and going home in the wee hours in the morning. Less time were spent in their banter, a concrete proof that something was wrong. And whenever they met at home, they'll talk in harsh hushed tones.

I wasn't an idiot. I knew of these things because of observing and in fact, a few firsthand experiences. Still they refused to talk to me about it. The clock chimed and I glanced at it. It was two in the morning. I sometimes think it was their biological clock that stopped the sobbing and made that small click of the door announcing his retreat. The walls of this house weren’t as thick as they liked to think. In fact, it was the thinnest thing ever. Silence once again took over the place. 'At last' was the last thought in my mind before it went completely shut.

***

The rays of sun passed through the small slits of the closed dark pink curtains on the East side of my room. It reached my eyes causing it to adjust to the sudden change in lighting. I looked at the clock on my left. Three hours of sleep that was all I got in the past six months.

Grudgingly, I stood up from my bed, shaking off the remnants of sleep. I heard soft clinking of kitchen wares downstairs. She must have been late today. I opened my door and started my way down to the kitchen. My mom flitted in her kingdom- the kitchen. She was in her element, something I definitely missed for the past six months.

"Where's dad?" I asked. And like the rare moments I caught her in the morning, she replied, "Good morning, dear." She didn't even bother to answer my question. It was either he was still asleep, or he's spent his night away. But since I heard their door shut last night, it meant that he's upstairs, snoring his way to dreamland. How lucky can he get?

I tucked in at the eggs and bacon my mother laid in front of me as she left her sanctuary with one swift kiss on the forehead. Sighing, my eyes followed the weary steps she took until she was completely out of sight. Something's wrong. My heart began to pace, but my brain immediately stopped it. Nothing's wrong. It's just how life was.

***

Boring was the understatement of the year. As the last months of school passed, the sudden decrease of school works and the increase of practices for commencement exercises came for the senior students. In between the rare academic work and often practices laid the indefinite amount of free time when everyone else seemed to shut off the others and mind their own worlds.

Today was full of that free time. I found myself stuck at one corner of our classroom. The four corners had been divided into four factions; from the cheering and jeering boys, to the giggling and squealing girls, to the sleeping and snoring mix, and to the reading and writing club. I was part of the fourth group. The room was filled with noise, something you'll grow used to as the time passed; something you'll miss after the graduation.

In the midst of the sea of noises, a soft clicking sound of heels on cold cemented floor entered the mix, almost inaudible to the novice. The clicking stopped, and Miss Cabrera cleared her throat. As if on cue, all in the mixture of noise stopped and all heads turned to look at her. "Will you minimize your noise class?" No one answered. It was the unwritten rule of the students. 'Thou shall not answer if thou shall not follow.' Stupid, yes, but logical. "Practice will start in fifteen minutes, I expect you to behave like the mature young adults that you are." She sent each group a glare before the class broke into their own noises again.

I refused to go back on my work until she had completely left the room. However, she remained at the door, oblivious to the ruckus my classmates made through their sounds. She looked at me in the eye before she opened her lips. "Miss Montano, if you please come with me for a moment." Her voice droned out the noise that filled the air. With a hesitant nod, I shut down my laptop and put it in the bag. I quickly turned to my classmate to ask a favor if she could please look out for it while I'm gone. I didn't bother to wait for her response as I paced from my corner to the door and ultimately followed Miss Cabrera.

Questions began to formulate in my mind. I was rarely called out from my room, unless it was too important. Like when you fail an exam or your final grade didn't reach the limit. Or it could be that you broke the rules and they had to give you sanction for your infraction. My brain tried to tell me that I was called because I had an award, something they had forgotten to tell me before we started practicing; A last minute award that escaped their notices before. However, my heart was at the opposite of the spectrum. It expected the worst, news that would drastically change my life.

We reached the Guidance Office and Miss Cabrera turned the door knob clockwise. The door opened and revealed a familiar dark-haired figure shaking with quiet sobs. Upon the announcement of our arrival, the figure lifted its head to look at us. Miss Cabrera and the councilor chose that moment to exit with a soft click of the door shutting.

My sister burst into violent cry at that moment. She clung to me tightly as I stood dumbfounded at her figure. I whispered cooing sounds and awkwardly patted her back. We weren't the epitome of best siblings in the world; we didn't even reach the lowest level. But in this rare moment, I suddenly found myself becoming increasingly tensed. What was happening? I had missed something, what it was, was still a mystery.

I led to the couch and she descended into the quiet sobs once more. "What happened? Why are you crying?" I asked, figuring that she'll be more likely to answer me now that she's a bit calm.

Instead of replying however, she thrust a delicately folded letter in my hand. What was this? Who did it come from? The neat penmanship on the right hand corner that wrote my name, however, gave it away. Mom.

I shook as I slowly unfolded the small paper. My eyes passed through a blur of words. It won't register in my mind. By the end, I was crying like my sister. The small piece of paper slipped from my grasp and fell on the floor.

It wrote:

Dear Mira

I couldn't express how sorry I am for you leaving you. I know you are an intelligent and compassionate young woman, I wouldn't put it past to you to know what's happening in our home. I know you noticed the gradual turn of events at the house. You know what's happening. I deluded myself into thinking that you are too young to know all of this. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry for being selfish, my dear. I left this letter on the doorstep of your sister's house, choosing a coward's way of solving the problems. I couldn't take it anymore. I choose to leave you because of it. I know you're not like me. As much as you insist that we're the same, Mira, hija, we aren't. You are your own woman. You grew up independently away from your parents grasp. You had learned to stand up on your own feet. You, unlike me, is brave enough to face life.

It took me months of weighing my options before I finally opted for leaving. The selfish side of me won, and I am very sorry for it. I'll be off somewhere your dad would never look for. I am leaving you in the hopes that you'll never follow our paths. Live your own life, Mira. Love with your heart. You'll understand at the right time why I did this. I'm really sorry Mira, love. Please find it in your heart to forgive an old woman, even if it took years for you to do that.

With all my love,

Mom

I deftly picked up the letter and looked at my sister pleadingly. "Please tell me this is a joke, a cruel joke. Please." I whispered, desperation dripping from my voice. She returned my gaze with the sadness and pity. She shook her head and wrapped her arms on me, successfully enveloping me into a hug as I took my turn to shake violently as I cry. "I'm so sorry Mira. This isn't a joke. This is life."