Future Me, Future Her
Dramatic fiction: she had two paths to choose from, and she took one.
“In the long run, we shape our lives, and we shape ourselves. The process never ends until we die. And the choices we make are ultimately our own responsibility.”
Eleanor Roosevelt
I raise my arm, my hippie wooden bracelets clattering, and hold her closely in my embrace. I whisper in her ear,
“I love you!”
Her blond plaits jump up and down her small, round shoulders like excited babies on springboards. She flashes a white smile at me and runs.
Runs, and runs, and runs.
She reaches the playground, opens the small wooden door with dexterous fingers, and sneaks in. She closes and locks the door behind her. She is only six but so diligent. She doesn’t want any child to go out that door and get lost in the nothingness.
A minute later, the swing is flying her to the sky and the sun and the planets, and I turn my gaze to the sea.
I’m happy.
Until I’m not.
Suddenly, I realize I can’t hear her laugh anymore. I turn sharply around to see an empty swing.
My eyes dart toward the slide and the climbing frames. They are full of crawling and screaming kids, but she is not among them.
The snake of panic bites my heart, and its slow venom starts flowing in my veins. I find myself in the center of the playground, crying, “Vera! Vera!” my eyes scanning the entire universe.
Vera is nowhere to be seen. Vera is not. Vera is a fading dream of mine.
Some parents come to assist me in the search. “Yes, I saw her; she was right there on the swing… She must be playing hide and seek with you; my son did that to me once… don’t worry, we’ll find her…”
We cover the entire neighborhood. Half of the town. Half of the country. By the time someone calls the police, I barely exist either.
They come. They ask questions. I sit on a bench? A chair? A bed? The ground? I give answers I forget the second I utter them. My body can’t stop shaking. My tears can’t stop streaming down my face.
“We’ll take it from here, madam. You go home.”
Home? Where is home? Vera is my home. Without her, I’m an atom in the vacuum of Space.
Days pass. Weeks. Months.
Years.
I survive my two suicide attempts. Why?
I finally find a man I could love — a man who is content to sit and be a witness to my madness without trying to put a method to it. A man who puts new kids in me. Two new kids. Twins. Boys.
Vera’s father was a teenage love of mine. An eighteen-year-old scum who took advantage of my feelings and left me pregnant and alone. Being parentless, I barely managed to get by, looking after her and keeping a job as a waitress. But I did. I did everything for her.
I’m a different person now. I’m married, and my husband provides for us. I got a college degree, and when my sons start school, I’ll find a job as a nurse.
It has been my dream job all along.
My dreams…
…are full of Vera.
Vera.
Vera.
“I love you!” I hear myself whispering in her ear. I blink and stare at her. She stands before me, a six-year-old girl with blond plaits, a dazzling smile, and enormous blue eyes. A copy of me. My second me. My better me. My unrealized me.
I look at my arm. Thinner. Young. Several wooden hippie bracelets clatter as I lift my wrist to hold my daughter tighter.
“I’m going to the playground, Mommy!” I hear her say. Her voice is like the morning bells of our neighborhood church — loud, but soothing. “Are you coming with me, Mommy?”
Instead of saying, “No, I’ll stay here and watch the sea a bit, honey, you go play on your own!” I flash a Big Bang smile at her and shout,
“I’m coming! I’m coming with you, love, and I won’t leave your side! I’ll be with you every step of the way! All your life!”
Some passers-by turn to stare at me. I start laughing.
Vera runs toward the playground, and I follow.
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I just adore this magical realism story
The emotion here is so tangible!