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chien_rouge525(Christmas Day, 5:00 pm...)
“Happiness is useless. It’s fickle. Anyone can affect it; anyone can give it; anyone can take it away. It’s the worst thing in the world.”
I stared at the phrase and felt the tears well up in the corner of my eyes.
My mother’s funeral had just ended and I was left alone in the attic of the small bungalow house that used to be full of joy and heavenly aromas enveloping it.
I was reluctant to come back. I sat, silently staring out the window during the ride back, the back of my head starting to form means of escape so as to avoid reaching our destination.
Part of me told myself that that place no longer held any significance to anything anymore and would rather see it turn to rubble.
But that was just me dismissing the fact that I just didn’t want to bask in the memories that seemed to linger in every corner.
But here I was. Downtrodden enough not to notice the December chills passing through holes on the ceiling or my stomach complaining and going through my mother’s Chest of Joy, or so she called it.
I would never forget that giant chest. Two years ago, I ventured into the attic alone to look for books for donation when I stumbled upon it. I was young and believed in pirates and treasure chests. Intrigued, I tried to pry it open, but was stopped when my mother suddenly came trudging my way and gave me a good scolding. I nearly cried at the thought of all that gold just sitting there waiting for a young wannabe pirate to open it up and swim in it.
But I didn’t. As she flashed her smile, forgave me and led me downstairs, where my father waited with delicious egg omelettes. That was the last time the house was truly happy.
But as always, my mother, she wouldn’t let up.
Forgiving easily, believing in others. Always beaming with the biggest smile and spreading happiness, no matter how lonely she was.
Even when she was abandoned by her family.
Even when the man she thought truly loved her left her for someone else.
At night, before tucking me to bed she would tell me, “Happiness is the best thing in the world!”
Again and again, until she died, that’s all I ever heard from her.
I looked at the words scribbled on the dark leather notebook.
While the words were opposite to what she believed in, I had understood its purpose.
I put back the notebook inside the chest, closed the chest and left the attic.
Wearing the biggest smile a 7-year old could muster.
(2 Days Before Christmas, 9 years Later)
“...ba. Aiba. Aiba!”
I slowly opened my eyes breaking the connection between me and my dreamscape as my name echoed in my ears like an early rooster.
It’s that time of year, huh?
“You’ll get sick lying there.”
“Then get sick with me.” I patted the space to my right. “There’s still space to go around.”
“Maybe I should.” He moved closer and positioned himself beside me and let out a sigh. “Prof. Terror getting to you?”
“How dare that nutjob, just because he’s the same age as us. What did I do to deserve Sakurai Terror Prof? Someone kill me now.”
“But I like him. To think someone our age has become a college professor. He must be a genius.”
“Can we not press the subject? Moreover, who’s side are you on?!”
I chuckled lightly. “Sorry sorry.”
“Anyway, are you sure you want to do this today? You look beat, so we should reschedule. I have time next week. Or at least I think I do.”
I jerked upwards. “No way! We’ve been planning Mario Cart for months~! Don’t back out on me now!”
Nino looked at me in contemplation and heaved a sigh of defeat. “Just where do you get your energy from?”
Thinking my eyes would betray me at the words he spoke, I flashed the biggest smile I could. “Aha~! I have my means.” We both stood up and started walking home.
Nino and I have been friends since high school and we’ve done so much together. Sports, clubs, hobbies, you name it; all the way to college, we were inseparable. He knows me like the back of his hand.
He knows how I’m the joke of the party, the temperature riser. He knew how effortlessly air-headed I could be and how I can’t stand 2 seconds without tripping myself. He knows how much trouble I’d get myself into without him around.
What he doesn’t know is how ten-faced I am. How everyone falls for every mask I put on every single time.
And he also doesn’t know how tired I was trying to desperately deceive the person who sees through my every lie.
“Happiness is useless. It’s fickle. Anyone can affect it; anyone can give it; anyone can take it away. It’s the worst thing in the world.”
I stared at the phrase and felt the tears well up in the corner of my eyes.
My mother’s funeral had just ended and I was left alone in the attic of the small bungalow house that used to be full of joy and heavenly aromas enveloping it.
I was reluctant to come back. I sat, silently staring out the window during the ride back, the back of my head starting to form means of escape so as to avoid reaching our destination.
Part of me told myself that that place no longer held any significance to anything anymore and would rather see it turn to rubble.
But that was just me dismissing the fact that I just didn’t want to bask in the memories that seemed to linger in every corner.
But here I was. Downtrodden enough not to notice the December chills passing through holes on the ceiling or my stomach complaining and going through my mother’s Chest of Joy, or so she called it.
I would never forget that giant chest. Two years ago, I ventured into the attic alone to look for books for donation when I stumbled upon it. I was young and believed in pirates and treasure chests. Intrigued, I tried to pry it open, but was stopped when my mother suddenly came trudging my way and gave me a good scolding. I nearly cried at the thought of all that gold just sitting there waiting for a young wannabe pirate to open it up and swim in it.
But I didn’t. As she flashed her smile, forgave me and led me downstairs, where my father waited with delicious egg omelettes. That was the last time the house was truly happy.
But as always, my mother, she wouldn’t let up.
Forgiving easily, believing in others. Always beaming with the biggest smile and spreading happiness, no matter how lonely she was.
Even when she was abandoned by her family.
Even when the man she thought truly loved her left her for someone else.
At night, before tucking me to bed she would tell me, “Happiness is the best thing in the world!”
Again and again, until she died, that’s all I ever heard from her.
I looked at the words scribbled on the dark leather notebook.
While the words were opposite to what she believed in, I had understood its purpose.
I put back the notebook inside the chest, closed the chest and left the attic.
Wearing the biggest smile a 7-year old could muster.
(2 Days Before Christmas, 9 years Later)
“...ba. Aiba. Aiba!”
I slowly opened my eyes breaking the connection between me and my dreamscape as my name echoed in my ears like an early rooster.
It’s that time of year, huh?
“You’ll get sick lying there.”
“Then get sick with me.” I patted the space to my right. “There’s still space to go around.”
“Maybe I should.” He moved closer and positioned himself beside me and let out a sigh. “Prof. Terror getting to you?”
“How dare that nutjob, just because he’s the same age as us. What did I do to deserve Sakurai Terror Prof? Someone kill me now.”
“But I like him. To think someone our age has become a college professor. He must be a genius.”
“Can we not press the subject? Moreover, who’s side are you on?!”
I chuckled lightly. “Sorry sorry.”
“Anyway, are you sure you want to do this today? You look beat, so we should reschedule. I have time next week. Or at least I think I do.”
I jerked upwards. “No way! We’ve been planning Mario Cart for months~! Don’t back out on me now!”
Nino looked at me in contemplation and heaved a sigh of defeat. “Just where do you get your energy from?”
Thinking my eyes would betray me at the words he spoke, I flashed the biggest smile I could. “Aha~! I have my means.” We both stood up and started walking home.
Nino and I have been friends since high school and we’ve done so much together. Sports, clubs, hobbies, you name it; all the way to college, we were inseparable. He knows me like the back of his hand.
He knows how I’m the joke of the party, the temperature riser. He knew how effortlessly air-headed I could be and how I can’t stand 2 seconds without tripping myself. He knows how much trouble I’d get myself into without him around.
What he doesn’t know is how ten-faced I am. How everyone falls for every mask I put on every single time.
And he also doesn’t know how tired I was trying to desperately deceive the person who sees through my every lie.