For the entirety of the day at school, Colleen could not for the life of her remember what she had written in the text box on that website last night. Everything else was crystal clear, but that one moment where she typed in...something was a missing puzzle piece. She was anxious to check all day at school and had to fight off the urge to visit the website on one of the school's computers. Even when she got home, she had to wait another half hour for the 24 hours to expire before she returned to the page as instructed.
She doubled clicked the text box, and in the drop box was a person's name: Isabel Little.
“Isabel?” She guessed this individual was related to her, but she couldn't conjure the connection. She had no sister, and none of her cousins possessed that name. Nor aunt, nor grandparents, and she was left with one option.
“No, can't be,” she thought at first, but then she realized something: she couldn't remember her mother's name.
She plucked at her lip as she pulled names out of the air.
Tina? No.
Jennifer? That's not it.
Rose? Can't be.
There's no way I'd forget my own mother's name unless...
Colleen exited her room and made a beeline for the living room, where her father laid on the couch after another of his long morning shifts at work. Save for his t-shirt, jeans, and bare feet, the man looked ready to be placed in a coffin.
“Daddy?”
“Mm?” he hummed without opening an eye.
“What's Mom's name?”
He raised a brow, eyes still closed. “You forgot your mom's name?”
“All of a sudden, I can't remember what it is,” she said, a player of amusement, but it was an act she had become adept at the past four months. “I guess I'm too used to calling her mom.”
“It's Isabel, sweetheart.”
“Ah, that's right,” she said, and returned to her desk. “Thanks, Daddy.”
A dreadful cloud hung over Colleen the day she forgot to bring to school an important assignment that, if she failed it, would have set her back a year. But the cloud on that day was gray and short-lived, while today's was a thunderhead coiled in shadows.
How could I forget my own mother's name? she thought with her fingers burrowed into her hair, elbows on her desk. Forgetting her own mother's name was like a bishop forgetting the life that God had bequeathed unto him.
Colleen's mother told her that she had once cradled ambitions of painting works worthy of a museum, and stayed up late most nights because she had lost track of the time while finishing her next piece for a museum. A museum, however, was also where she met Colleen's father, and she was forced to drop her hobby to care for their newborn daughter. Ever since then, they both worked long arduous hours at their day jobs. Her mother expressed a desire to set up a studio and resume her craft, but she hadn't the time nor the money, and she had told Colleen that now she just wanted her to be happy and “more careful.”
Colleen transferred to her bed and lay on it, thunderhead spreading out into a shroud of storm clouds, but she was used to the storms by now. There were no fewer than two each week, and she had grown accustom to the dreary forecasts. Some days she was able to complete her homework and then watch television without a single self-depreciating thought. But on those stormy days, after a long day of acting out the Colleen her friends and classmates knew, she would crash onto her bed. It was here where her mind conceived of every negative comment possible to attack her with.
It's all your fault, her mind said. You're the reason why your parents live so miserably.
No, they're happy, and they want me to be happy, Colleen responded.
You think working overtime every week just to barely pay the bills is called happiness? her mind retorted.
No, but...they want me to avoid their mistakes.
Let me repeat myself: you're the reason they're in this hole. If you had never been born, your mother would still be painting. She might even be famous by now. Rich, even.
Colleen thought nothing for a moment, unable to dispute this fact. But...but if I became rich, then I could relieve my parents of their financial strain.
Don't be so naïve. It's a long way to the top, and do you really have what it takes to make it?
That...that may be true, but...maybe my parents could help me? She bit her quivering lower lip, and a tear climbed over the bridge of her nose.
Your parents don't have time for you. And even if they did, what could they do for you? They're too busy busting their asses just so that you can have a roof to sleep under.
Colleen buried her face in her pillow so that it could mute her crying. “I'm just so tired of it all!” I just wish we would win the lottery. Or if I wasn't so miserable or had a chance, I could do something to help them.
Dream on, her mind said. You're more likely to die on the drive to get the lottery ticket. There's no hope of escape.
“You're right,” Colleen said, lifting her head from her pillow. She could see the blotches where her tears had leaked. “Why bother? I just...”
...wish you were dead? You and me both.
I wish I was dead, Colleen agreed.
So just off yourself already. You have nothing stopping you now. No need to worry about how your parents are going to react once they see that you've blown your brains out or whatever. Hell, you can't even remember your mother's name, so the Erasers will make sure that they'll forget they ever had a daughter. It's a win-win!
“That's right,” Colleen said, crawling across her bed to her chair. “Everything will be better now. For everyone.” She plopped into the chair, brought up the page asking for her name, and typed it.583Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡx8CzuGK4jD
