LIVING

Sunny Saturday morning, all were packed for our family outing. As usual Mom is at her best waking us up. I heard her on the first time that she called my name but my body is too heavy to get out of the bed.

“Get off that bed or we will leave you in 5 minutes!”

So, I found myself inside the car in my pajamas. I think my father’s car is too small for the four of us, plus our one year old golden retriever. They pack a lot of things for this summer outing, poor car he must carry us all with a lot of luggage. My sister who is six years old was busy talking to her Barbie dolls. My father who is usually the happiest of all is singing Barney’s song.

“Dad! Can you just play a song?” and he sings even louder, while my mother accompanies him with a dance. I plug my ear phone and pretend not to hear them.

“Sing with us Harold!” and they are now singing so loud that even if my iPod is at its highest tune I can still hear them. I guess I fell asleep in anger of their song, the last thing I heard is a scream and as I try to open my eyes, a blinding light were covering us. I am trying to keep my eyes on focus as it gets clearer I could see a face of a woman. With deep blue eyes and a rosy white face, her lips were like cherry and she shine so bright then I lose sight. The next time I open my eyes I was in the hospital.

I was in comma for three weeks, long enough to have them buried my father and mother. They said our car fell of the cliff. My sister is suffering from severe bone damage, but unlike me, she is conscious from the very first day we’ve been at the hospital. We have no other family here in Canada since we had just migrated here three years ago. The doctors are trying to locate any relatives that we may have, but they fail to find one. I neither know if we had at least one. My parents were traveler; they went from country to countries. They said we are mixed British-American-Asian. I never ask them of where does our ancestors came from. I don’t care about them not until this day, I regret that I never asked them if I ever had some grandparents.

We were transferred to an orphanage after we got recovered, my sister has her physical therapy to make her legs work again. She’s crying every night missing my parents, I was trying to hide my tears and hug her till she gets tired and sleep. After all I am five years older that her, I could somehow understand things, things like “fate had made us both orphans”. I never want to get to any therapy; I feel fine by myself. It’s just that some of the elder thinks that I am not fine, so every Friday, I sit with the other kids in trauma for a psychological therapy. 

“Hi Harold” with their voice in chorus

“Would you like to share something about yourself?” a sweet and lovely voice from the head therapist.

“I don’t have things to share” my very cold answer, all their faces were in surprise of those words

“Well, let’s give Harold sometime for that kids…” and the session went on. Impressive; she has the ability to quickly change the mood inside the room.

I survived the three months’ session with these people and were able to pretend that it helped me. Days were running so fast; it’s been a year and I found myself inside the office of the head owner of the orphanage we are living with. He with his lovely wife, they were trying to put things smooth so that they can hide the hurtful reality that they had found a family who will adopt my sister. I am not that dumb not to understand it, I know that they cannot take us both and no one might be able to adopt me since I am a full-grown boy. Some families love to adopt a toddler or a seven years old kid like Hannah.

“I understand it Mr. and Mrs Marcus, when will she be leaving?” they are more surprise to hear that from me.

It’s been a tough day for us, Hannah cries even louder and was hugging me tight. I look at the family whose about to be her new family, I think they are nice. I asked them for a minute with my sister and we went back to our room.

“Stop crying Hannah, be happy because finally you can be out of this place, remember what you told me before?” she is sobbing and wiping her tears “You said you see a lot of monster here, well in your new place there will be none.”

“Why aren’t you coming?” her words pained me

“I can’t, they only need one kid.” But the truth is no one will ever like a 12-year-old boy like me

“You said you will never leave me…” and she started crying again

“Sh…I will do that, when you are with them I can still pay you a visit”

“Mr. Marcus won’t allow you to get out”

“I will make a way. I will get you when I get a little bit taller and gain some muscles and could earn a bit of living for us.” She looks at me with believing eyes “I promise, so you be patient and wait for that time. I will find you.” I took on my pocket the antique compass necklace my mother owns, I put it on her neck. “I will recognize you with this.” Those words comfort her.

And I watched her leave the place in that black Ferrari. That was the last time that I see my sister, I try hard to connect to her but the last time I heard they move to Europe. Before I turn fifteen I manage to run out of the orphanage, I live with homeless people on the street and met some good people who helped me earn money. I learn the hard way of surviving day after day, I took a part time job and pay my own schooling until college. Life is very cruel to me, but I am a tough man, as what my father always tells me.

Thirteen years had passed, I am a full-grown man now, with enough money to buy me anything a man at my age want. But there’s nothing worthy than finding my sister. I never change my name, where on earth is she that she doesn’t know that there is a social media where she can search people… her brother… me. My face is all over the magazine, I work hard to make a name so it won’t be too hard for her to find me, she can g****e me and find me. But I never got a message or email from her. My assistant called me early this morning and gave me an address she got from one of the detectives that we hired, and now I am running to check if it is my sister.

I took a quick shower and was looking outside the glass mirror from my bath room facing the seaside of the city. I personally choose this location to build this building and place my Loft at the very top floor so I can have a clear view of the sea on my window.

“I hope this is you, Hannah.” For years of searching there had been hundredth of wrong person we thought was her, but today I had a good feeling about this. The eyes and the face though it changed a lot, I could see my little sister on that picture they sent me.

I went down to the parking area and pick my favorite car for today’s ride, my old dark blue 2010 Lamborghini. My heart is pounding hard, I am always like this every time I came to meet personally the lady we thought was my sister, but I have a good feeling today. I have a good feeling. I pull in and was hitting the road of California. I could not think of a word I will tell her, or could I even speak a word? She’s 20 years old by now, surely she is a beautiful lady… same as my mother.

My head is too occupied that I missed to see the traffic light changed into red, before I realized A sixteen-wheeler truck smash the left side of my car, like a lightning. I bounced many times and a blinding light covers me.

There are people around me, a woman with a cherry lip and a figure of a man.  I’ve been here before; I saw this before. That’s what my mind is telling me. I am trying to regain my consciousness as I try to figure out who is this woman holding me, or is there even a woman… am I dead? Who are they, they are speaking but my ears cannot hear. I try to be conscious but my eyes were heavy... I cannot die, I must see my sister first. I am trying to tell them those words. “I cannot die…please help me”