2- Frame

I ran and left the office after she said those words. This wasn't life. The life I grew up was the life I knew and wanted. It was the life with both my parents bringing me to the park and pushing my swing as our merry laughter filled the air. It was the life that had me filled up with knowledge through the guidance of them both. It was the life that even their simple smiles reassured me that everything's going to be okay.

Where did that life go? I wanted it back, back in my grasp, back in my heart. It was lost. My sister was mistaken. This wasn't life, this was hell. I stopped under the largest tree at the center of the park five blocks away from school. I had a hand leaning on the trunk of tree and the other on my chest as I tried to catch up with my breath. I still cried, though it was reduced to dry sniffing.

What happened back there was a dream, something I wouldn't want to relive again. I slumped down on the grassy ground and hugged my knees to my chest. I leaned my forehead on my knees, and shut my eyes. I wished it was dream- something that would vanish when I opened my eyes.

I waited painstakingly for minutes to pass by before I opened my eyes. It felt like a few minutes since I closed them, but the truth was, hours had already gone. I must have fell asleep under the tree. Disoriented, I rubbed the nape of my neck with my left hand, trying to work out the kinks that formed at my awkward position. I had to go home. As much as I hated to admit it, that home was now only a house.

***

I watched the view changed from the house to house, from establishment to establishment as I rode the jeepney. It was a quick ride but enough for me to know that it hadn't been a dream. If it was, I'm sure they've gone out to call a search for me. But they didn't. And I know that nobody cared for me in that house.

"Hija, bumaba ka na, paparada na ko (Miss, you need to get off now. I'm going to park this now),"  a gruffly looking man, the driver, announced. I nodded meekly at him before I gave him the fare and got off the vehicle. Three more blocks before I stepped in my 'home'. I felt the wind started to pick up and blew a few strands of my hair that escaped my bun. I paid no heed to it as I continued to walk with head downcast and watched my feet.

I suddenly wished I was back at the park, paying no mind at the time. Now, I grudgingly willed myself to step forward every minute. It was difficult, both frightening and lonely. The turmoil in my chest seemed to increase as I took every step closer to my house. Was I ready to face him? Was I prepared to enter the house that had been once filled with happiness? Was I ready?

The question hang mid-air as I suddenly found myself stepping a foot on the neatly trimmed lawn of our property. I lifted my head to look at the white-washed painted two-storey house in front of me. The assorted flowers seemed to mock me with their happy glow at the front of the house under the moonlight. This wasn't the home I grew up with.

Physically, it was still the same. However, it lacked the warmth that had been slowly diminishing in the past six months. Now, it was completely gone. It had left its confines and followed her. "Selfish," I mumbled with bitterness.

The lights at the living room was opened. He must have been here. Unusual, seeing as he left the house every night. He was as selfish as her, I decided. Was he waiting for mom to arrive and serve him food? How very unfortunate of you, dad. Sarcasm dripped in my thoughts. A scowl formed itself on my face as I turned the knob of the door opened.

"Where have you been?" he asked dimly. He was at the couch, with a half-full bottle of beer on one hand. The television flashed images without sound. He must have been anticipating my arrival. The smell of alcohol and smoke lingered in the air and I forced my face not to show any emotion.

"Somewhere," was my quick reply. I shrugged off my shoes and pushed it at the back of the door as I closed it. I didn't dare to look at him, but I could feel his eyes burning the back of my head.

"Where is she?" He continued, his voice slightly slurred. My shoulders tensed for a moment but I still didn't look at him. I turned about face and walked to the stairs. The stairway forced me to face his direction and for once, I willed myself to shot him an indifferent look. "I don't know." I said with a shrug, and I continued my climb to my room.

***

I shut my door with a soft click and stood leaning on it. I strained my ears to listen to his actions downstairs. The telly was now shut, the clink of the bottle on the kitchen counter ruined the otherwise complete silence in the house. I stood there listening for any hint of movement, until I heard the door opened and closed. I moved away from my door to my windows. I pushed back the dark pink curtains slightly, and saw his figure walked on the lawn and out of the property towards his mysterious destination.

I sighed as I let hand fall on my side. He's different. He wasn't the man I knew before. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the life I knew before was a lie, an illusion. And hell was the reality. I looked around at my dim room. The light of the moon passing through the narrow slits of the curtains was the only thing that gave my room a bit of lit. It directly shone on the pictures on my study table across the room, particularly at one.

It was the picture taken when I was seven. We were at the park and my father pushed the swing I was sat on back and forth while the both of us laughed at the whoosh of the wind every time I rise. My mother shot it, successfully capturing the moment.

"Where did you go dad?" I mumbled as I strutted the small distance to the table and grabbed the picture in my hands. I traced his laughing features lightly as I let the tears flow freely on my cheeks.

***

He was a different man now. Gone were the smiles, replaced by the sneers. He had slowly left us a long time ago. Maybe that was what pushed my mom to go and leave me, us, behind. However, my brain told me differently. I was only fooling myself by believing that it was the sole reason.

I was the witness of the other reason. The night, that confirmed my suspicions consequently confused my mind, had been enough reason for her leaving. She probably knew. Maybe I wasn't the only witness. Maybe...

***

My eyes clouded with images of that night. It was as if I was transported back that chilly December night. I heard sounds, something different from the usual sobbing. Curiosity filled my mind and I silently sneaked my way towards the source of the sound.

Each step became heavy as I realized what the sound was. Guttural sounds, moans and groans. My eyes began to widen each time I lifted my foot to near the room. I wasn't a kid anymore. I wasn't five who was too innocent to know what those sounds mean. Those were moans of pleasure. But my heart told me to confirm it before concluding.

The knob turned silently, thankful that another moan muffled the creaking sound of the door. I pushed it open slightly, my eyes were short of budging out of the sockets. Two figures were on the bed, lost in the thrill of passion. I would have made a small interruption if they were my parents. However, my sharp eyes recognized the woman to be a stranger at my home.

This time, disgust filled my gut as they both emitted another moan of pleasure. I was in short of throwing up the remnants of my dinner. Despite my fear of being caught, I didn't shut the door as quietly as I had opened it. I didn't bother covering up my footfalls as I rushed to the loo. I threw up the contents of my stomach as I continue to hear their sounds as if they didn't notice the noise I made. Tears fell from my eyes as I hugged my knees to my chest and rocked by body back and forth on the cold tiled floor of the loo.

***

I threw picture frame I was holding across the room. It hit the wall and the glass broke down into pieces on the floor. My father had a mistress. He's a cheater and he was to blame. I exited my room to go to the bathroom. The disgust I felt that night wasn't in the least different from the disgust I right now. I threw up the contents of my empty stomach.

I wiped my lips with the back of my hand and stood to look at my reflection on the mirror. The person who looked at me was nothing like the Mira I knew. She had lost the warmth and glee in her black orbs, her lashes drenched in tears, and her lips pursed on a thin line. I focused on her eyes. It seemed to talk to me. Her eyes were filled with swirling clouds of regret. What am I regretting? It clicked. I was regretting about not telling dad that I knew his secret. It was my fault.

Tears fell down on my cheeks once more as I watched the girl in the mirror. That girl seemed to mock me more with her tears. And I felt more guilty at the passing seconds, for I, Miranda Montano was to blame.