The locket glimmers crimson as
rays of morning light reflected from its smooth surface. I held it in my hands
and felt its coolness sting my skin. The front was a mezzo-tinted rose gold
metal, and when I flipped it open, I nearly saw a reflection of myself. The
minuscule photograph with its colours fading lies buried in between the frames
of the locket, showing an image of a middle aged woman. Her shoulder length
hair in the shade of chestnut brown was combed neatly, complementing the colour
of her hazel droopy almond shaped eyes. Her angular jawline was lined
symmetrically to the curve of her plump lower lip as she shows off her sweet
grin. I squinted and focused my sight on her long, narrow neck and spotted a
piece of carcanet that was embellished with colourful gemstones. I noticed how
small her figure was, and how it contradicts the size of her huge jewelry. She
looked like as if she was trying hard to straighten her back as she carries a
huge chained boulder that was hung around her neck. Her image alone showed me
the face of a poor, depressed woman who lived lamentably. My late mother was
never happy; Callahan Davenport was the cause of her everlasting grief.
I shut my eyes tight and laid on
the lush trimmed grass that tickles my elbow. Bloomed daffodils surrounded my
body as the cold breeze rushed through my splayed fingers that I raised in the
dewy air. I tried to catch each blow of wind that passed, but my grip can never
be strong enough to catch the wind. I recalled the olden times when I was
little. If I could just hold on to those times, I might claim myself to be the
happiest girl ever alive. But time ticks by, and nobody could hold on to it.
Life is a roller coaster ride, anyway. What more can you expect? One moment
you’re on top of the world being as cheerful as ever, and the next moment you
find yourself drowning in the abyss. My mother, Margaret was a widow in my
memories. She once told me that my father passed away when I was 2, and I grew
up without one. Margaret was the greatest woman alive, the best mother anyone
could have. My life as a child was nearly perfect, until I turned 15. We were
running out of the money father left for us, and my mom had no other choice but
to make use of her dancing talents and went out to dance as a coryphee, to earn
for a living. Her moves were flawless, I still remembered how she stood up on
her toes as if she weighs nothing, and how graceful she sways and spins around.
As a little girl, I thought being a ballerina was a great occupation. I thought
that my mother had her dreams coming true. Mother started to leave our house
earlier than usual, and came back home when I have already fallen asleep.
Strangers started to come over, and every time when they did, mother always
told me to go back into my room and stay silent. As naive as I was, I thought
that the strangers who pop in and out of my house were mother’s business
partners, great people. I had also thought about mother marrying one of them so
that I could have a father who will watch me grow. But all those thoughts that
appears in my mind were imaginations, all those hopes that I have for mother to
marry a man were deceptions. Mother ended up choosing the wrong path in life
and married a wealthy man who is no other than Sir C. Davenport.
I heard wedding bells chime in
the patio as velvety rose petals rained over my brand new faux fur petticoat, a
gift from Callahan. It was the wedding of Callahan and Margaret, the most
blessed day of their lives as they start a new chapter in life with me as their
daughter. Catastrophically, it turned out to be a tragedy that should never
have happened. Callahan turned out to be cold inside out, his beating heart as
hard as rock. He rebuked at the slightest mistake i make, and tormented
Margaret by beating her. His mouth spoke foul words and his soul was tinted
black with sin. I used to think that being a daughter of a wealthy man would
completely change my life into an incredible, majestic one. But it turned out
otherwise. Mother was accused of theft when Callahan’s objects that was
missing, and she was tortured by slavery. The whole village would shoot her
sinister looks of disgust, and their eyes would glare at my mom as if she was guilty.
The nasty, repulsive rumors that were spoken behind her back would always
puncture through my heart, and i will always ask myself in disbelief, ”Why
would they say such horrible things?”.
My life as a child was wretched,
and July was the last time I saw Margaret. Her sickly body laid on the bed as
she breathed her last breath away. She looked like a rose bud that blushes pink
and withers at the same moment. My mother was the only one who would do
anything for my own good; the only one out there who was strong enough to
withstand all those pressure she had and still was able to hold back her tears
in front of me. I clutched the pendant she gave me in my trembling hands, as
tears started to roll down my cheeks. Strands of my hair got carried along with
the wind and brushed my wet cheeks. Here I laid in the backyard of where i used
to grow up in, stuck in dilemma. In my palms I held a piece of jewelry that
carries both dolefulness and blessedness, both the blissful and ravaged past of
mine, both the memoir that i want to preserve forevermore and the ones I want
to destroy with my abhorrence.
Using my bare fingers I dredged
the fertile soil of this place, digging a hole deep enough to contain my
burden. Dropping the locket in, I closed my teary eyes and whispered softly to
the skies above for one last time, ”Mother, I keep you in my heart.” I swept
the loose earth that piles up beside, and covered my remorse eternally. In this
place I buried the bad, and inside my heart I cherished the good.
sumber : Cerpenmu.com
