fifteen
Make It Count
15.
The faint sound of birds chirping fills the sky, and the rhythm of my hair and dress flows behind obeys the colours of the wind – making the moment feels like a fairy tale. I look around and a park in which its trees have mostly turn to red-brownish with no people around comes to my sight. And just by that view, I know what is coming up next. Just as my prediction, a series of steps of someone, signified by the sound of dried leaves cracking almost quietly approaches from behind.
And though I was not looking, I know that person draws closer towards me, whether pouting or frowning because I did not care to turn to take a look at him.
Well, no wonder this happen again.
It’s almost the time of the year. The 10th anniversary of the darkest day in my life is coming.
“Would you at least look at me?”
There he is. The person that I long for the most, the voice that I wish I could hear again and again hitting my eardrums. And just by those seven words, I could feel my heart trembles from its spot, as if it could fall off my body anytime soon. However the warm liquid that is filling up at the corner of my eyes, the b tears, or whatever ones would call it – I hold it in.
“You look like you’re about to cry anytime soon,” he speaks as soon as we take our seat on the ground right by the empty field. Each eyes look far ahead, to the wide scenery that unrealistically doesn’t have an end. “Life’s hard, huh?”
Hearing that, I roll my eyes, pretentiously bitter for the question, “Thanks to you not being there, so yeah, it is.” He clucks his tongue as I chuckle faintly then shrugs, “But you know me. Cry? I don’t do those.”
“Because crying is for the weak?”
My head pivot to him with a look of fascination before my lips turn down in an approval frown, “You could guess what’s in my mind?”
“You said I know you well,” he brags then cheekily hisses, “But it’s not that you’re one who’s hard to read in the first place.”
“Dad…!”
“I’m so done talking to you,” he huffs, reminding me of the good old days. That is the exact sentence he has been giving me for the rest of my life. “But now seriously, who’s the punk that teaches you ‘crying is for the weak’?”
“Some antagonists in dramas, perhaps.”
“This kid, really.” He squints, annoyed, “Stop making those excuses, there are a lot more books or quotes that tell you otherwise. I’m more than sure that you knew it already.” I flinch as soon as he raise his knuckles to hit my head, then he sighs heavily before putting it down again, “You’re afraid that you’ll worry her, right?”
I nod a few times as I know by saying ‘her’, he means Mom.
And Dad disagrees with my answer right away as he tells, “You don’t have to. It’s not your job to stay tough for everyone,” he looks up at the sky, “Your mother is a lot stronger that you’d ever know, Eul. She’s the person I respect the most, and her strength is one of the whys.” I turn to peek at the man’s smile as he talks of the love of his life – a love that anchors even after death, the eternal kind of love. Dad takes in a deep breath before leans his body to the other side so that we are facing each other. “Besides, crying doesn’t make you any less strong. Sometimes we need to wash these eyes so that we could view life clearer than before.”
I blow a raspberry, cringing as I wonder where the heck that he got that kind of saying from.
He knows very well that I am mocking him, and so Dad stands up from where he was sitting. The man huffs, “Make fun of me all you want, kid. This might be the last time we’re meeting, anyway.”
Upon that, my laughter dies. The lips drop back to its place, my expression changes rather quickly into a sullen one, eyes almost glaring in disbelief, in dissatisfaction, “No way. Don’t say that.”
“My little girl has grown up so much, isn’t she? You used to be a cry baby back then.” He chuckles, raising his hand to pat my head but strongly, I back off.
“Dad, stop it.”
“I’m sorry that I left early. And I’m sorry that you’ve been hiding all your scars alone, just to keep your mom and brother. You shouldn’t do that though, you deserve to express your feelings too. They’ll surely understand, and at least, they’d know that it’s time to hold your hand instead of you holding theirs.” I swallow upon those words, they hit like a bullet on my chest. “I really wish I could spend more time with you. But I’ve done it all, I’d already say almost all of things I wished to tell you. You’re not going to need me anymore.”
I frown, I could veins popping in my eyes as I hold in the anger and resentment of the long sorrow, “Who told you so? I never say that. No one ever say that.” My throat hurts, choking up, “Why are you leaving again?”
“There are a lot of people who’s willing to take care of you. To stick by your side. You shouldn’t push them
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