Piecing Me Together Again

Mrs. Turner was consoling my mother, saying, "It's okay. She's just a child. She'll become better as she grows up."

"Bringing that up makes me even angrier! It's my birthday today, but she's nowhere to be seen!"

Mom's cutleries scraped against the table, letting out a noise that grated on the ears. Just then, her phone rang.

I silently floated closer and took a look. It was from my class teacher, Ms. Reed. It seemed she had realized I hadn't turned up for school today.

However, Mom didn't save her number. The phone rang on and on. Finally, Mom's patience wore out, and she answered it.

"What? How dare she play hooky!" Her furious voice rang throughout the hall.

I heard Ms. Reed explaining urgently, "No, it's not that, Ms. Allen. I'm saying she hasn't come to school today."

To Mom, it was the same.

She roared in anger for some time before ringing my number furiously. "She never lets me have a peace of mind. She never tells me where she's going. What have I done to deserve this?"

Mrs. Turner had to remind her, "Hey, I remember you changed your number. Maybe she's afraid to answer a call from an unknown number."

My heart went cold. It turned out that Mom had changed her number.

After the truck had run me over, I dialed her number with my last breath. Now, it seemed the number I had dialed was a number that would never be picked up.

My heart ached so much that even my spirit trembled.

I'd reached out for my phone with every last bit of energy left and dialed her number.

As blood trickled out of my body, the truck driver reversed in fear and drove over me repeatedly. Not one part of my body was spared.

Before I died, I had been wondering if Mom would get mad at me for forgetting to wish her a happy birthday.

Tears rolled down my cheeks. I wanted to question her. However, her gaze fell past me and on a little girl who was running toward her.

She called out in a gentle tone, "Tiffany! Come here!"

I stared as that adorable girl leaped into Mom's arms. She snuggled against Mom affectionately.

Beaming, she held an award over her head proudly.

"Look, Maria! See how smart I am. I'm smarter than Xenia!"

Again. I knew what Mom would say before she did.

"Of course! You're the smartest child on earth! Xenia can never compare to you!"

But, Mom, I'd always scored full marks when I was at her age.

My teachers had praised me for being a genius. My classmates would always come to me after class so I could explain the topic to them.

Still, how would she know all that?

When I came running home excitedly with my certificates, she'd use them as table risers.

When I won first place, and she was to give a speech, she would rather take photos of Tiffany to record her schooldays.

She used to say, "So what if you're good at studies, Xenia Hudson? You're rotten from within!"

I would always be left alone with a forced smile, surrounded by other parents.

I'd say, "My mom is busy with work. She'll come next time."

My heart was filled with bitterness. Why would my heart ache when I'd already died?

Meanwhile, Tiffany managed to bring a smile to Mom's face. She was Mrs. Turner's daughter. When she first learned about Mom's occupation, she darted to Mom in awe.

She had exclaimed, "Your job is so cool!"

Right after she said that, Mom's tense look softened. She then put on the gold bracelet my grandmother had given me for Tiffany.

I had pursed my mouth, feeling the urge to cry. However, Mom shoved my hand aside and hugged Tiffany instead. She sang to her the lullaby I'd only heard once.

I couldn't stay a second longer, but an invisible force bound me to Mom. Still, I felt no remorse from her.

I was starving, but they were celebrating the moment merrily. Mom called Tiffany her sweetheart and kissed her affectionately.

When they'd finally finished dinner, Mom pulled a thick envelope from her purse and gave it to Tiffany.

It was a special ritual they both shared.

Mom didn't get paid much, but she would save more for Tiffany by cutting my allowances instead.

After all, as she once said, "Tiffany should've been my daughter instead of you, you ungrateful child."

She was most probably thinking of buying new clothes for her dear goddaughter, Tiffany Turner, when she broke my piggy bank.

I was forced to follow Mom home.

We passed through streets and alleys, even passing by the junction where my accident had happened.

The police had closed off the area with yellow tape. When we neared, there was still the smell of blood in the air.

Mom didn't pause. She seemed frustrated for some reason. Her frustration peaked when she returned home and realized I wasn't back.

"Xenia Hudson! The audacity!"