< the lost soul >
"Jess, I'll go now. I think it's going to rain."
That was the last thing she heard from her mother on that day.
Her mom hates the rain because she doesn't like getting wet.
She's always a well-dressed woman , Jessica thought. From sole to crown, you can say that her mother's always got her chin up high, always proud of how she looked.
Her father, on the other hand, was the exact opposite.
He was simple, and he loved getting wet. They used to soak in the rain when Jess was young, and her angry mom would always scold him, "Wilbert, you really want her to be sick!" But he ignored the scolding, and she ignored it too. They both loved the rain. Jessica always treasured every moment of his dad playing and running with her under the rain. Sometimes, she would wish, unlike her friends' parents, that they'll always be a family, and one day her mom would join their blissful moments under the rain.
Until the day her parents got divorced. She lost hope.
The memory's still fresh in her mind, like everything that happened years ago just happened yesterday. . . how her parents would raise voices on each other, how her mom would throw everything inside her dad's office, how her dad would always sit in a chair. . . arms crossed with his head lowered, eyes closed.
Families often walked outside the streets on a summer afternoon. "They're all happy," a fourteen year-old said in a whisper. She was busy looking outside the living room window, not bothering to hold a pen and write essays. Jessica McDowell doesn't have a grudge in writing essays, but those always-famous topics about the government and the society makes her procrastinate like how she would in her math homeworks.
They're arguing again. She looked at her Minnie Mouse glowing wristwatch. Four Fifty-eight PM. She knows she can finish the essay half an hour, so she didn't bother to make it now. She was bothered by the noise on the room to her left. She imagined the mess inside that room. Then she saw her dad went out of the room, walked towards the door, and left. My mom followed, but instead of heading for the front door, she looked at me, with tears running down her eyes, and went upstairs.
Her dad didn't come back.
In an instant, I lost someone I love. She hated her father after, without knowing the reason behind what happened that time. But she didn't even bother to know,
I hate him. I wish he wasn't my father in the first place. But when every time rain pours down, the thoughts she have always treasured with her father. . . anger turns into a deafening pain in her heart, that she can't do nothing but cry.
The days without him was miserable.
I want to see him, hug him, and tell him everything that happened to me after he left us; my gold medal in high school, my first dance with my crush, my first sweetheart, my first love letter, my first date. . . everything.
Days, months, years. . . I finished high school, studied at a university, got into a varsity team, graduated with honors, got a letter from a company that I longed to work in, saying that they want me in. Then I got my job as an executive supervisor in one of the famous and most trusted companies in the world. I bought my own house and my own car. . . both with my own money. My friends in high school would tell me they're envious of my status now, saying I live a carefree, happy life. . . an accomplished person. But still, a part of me was still broken.
My father wasn't here to rejoice with everything I've accomplished. She walked her path of life like a lost soul.
But something knows it wouldn't last for long.
