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I sit
here cross legged on my wooden single bed bobbing my folded legs up and down
holding the glass of water ready for his next cough. Sometimes I sleep on the
beige couch next to his bed still holding the glass of water. My tiny bedroom
is wall to wall with his enormous one, the thin walls allowing sounds to
penetrate through. It seems a lot bigger now that she’s not here. “Ng’e” he
mutters my nickname in his scratchy voice. It takes me back to when she used to
call me that, she still does but I can’t see her radiant face through the phone
or those sixty word letters she loves to send. I sit up ready at his beck and
call. He peels on his top cover and throws it to me. He is used to this and the
shock of finding your ten year old sitting right next to you at three in the
morning, wore after three consecutive fortnights of the same behavior.
I
figure that she did this, she slept next to him every night, and she must have
noticed that he wasn’t okay. He didn’t breathe right when the air got too
stuffy, and that the cold glass of water that I constantly clutched I my hand
saves his life. She never looked tired I the morning, and I lay here wondering
if she stayed up like I do, if she also used a glass of water or whether she
had her own remedy, maybe her presence did it.
I remember playing snake on her phone as
she got on the escalator, heading to the airplane waiting lounge. I glanced up
at her just in time to catch her final wave and the fleeting look that came to
mean much more to me. Her friends had tears in their eyes already declaring how
much they would miss her. My biggest worry at the moment was whether I was
going to keep her phone. I was happy for her, everyone knew that America was
the gateway to success; I could brag to my friends that my mother was in
America.
I remember eating my fifth muffin, that he
frequently bought me, thinking about how she would have opposed it to the last
crumb. So far my mother’s move to America had been the best thing to happen to
my ten year old self.
The first time I heard him cough and
struggle to breathe, was the first time I truly missed her. She would know what
to do. I had been playing Tetris on her phone when I first heard him. He
sounded helpless and in despair. Filling up the glass of water was a natural
instinct that I came to realize I had picked up from her. He had been hunched
over on the side of his bed with sweat trickling down his dark face. I lifted
his chin with my little fingers and placed the glass in his hands. He rapidly
gulped it down as he set his brown eyes on my own, with confusion and gratitude
eloquently displayed.
He
quickly fell back asleep and I sat there staring at him, as hours quickly
passed by. It was then that I had realized that she wasn’t there anymore. I
would have to do what she always did. I would have to be there for him. She
wasn’t there to wake me up when my alarm clock would ring itself to silence, to
remind me that picking out my school clothes the night before was more
efficient than rushing in the morning. She had subtly prepared me for her
departure, knowing the time would come where I would have to pick up all these
responsibilities.
I clutch my sheets tighter as my dad
glances over and whispers goodnight. I would be there for him tonight and the
nights to come. I would wake up early before my alarm goes off and I would put
on my school clothes that I had picked the night before. I would put on my big
girl panties.
