That's My Spotlight | ✔

ii. numb little bug

IT FELT LIKE ALL THE AIR had been sucked out of Alexander Choi's house with a vacuum the moment he walked in. It wasn't anything that was oddly unfamiliar to him, however. It was how the Choi's residence had been for the past several years, nothing other than quiet and dull. By now, you'd figure he'd be used to it. The harsh reality was that he is, but that didn't particularly mean that he liked it, though. 

Without muttering out a single word, Alexander slipped off his new, twenty-five-dollar sneakers from TJ Maxx and placed them in the nearest shoe closet. He stood his backpack up at the side of the stairwell before entering the small restroom at the side of the lobby's corridor to wash his hands. Everything he's done since he entered his home were all for sanitary reasons, as no one in the house tolerated germs from elsewhere getting into the house. Even inside the washroom, where Alexander was thoroughly scrubbing his hands, was cleaned with a mix of citrus-scented cleaning products and Clorox bleach, which stung the hairs of his nose. 

For his relief, he could also smell the sweet, yet spicy aroma of Korean-style fried chicken leftovers warming from the stove a mile a minute. After he was finished in the restroom, he followed the scent to the kitchen, where his father, Jason, and younger sister, Constance were sitting at the small kitchen table tucked away to the side, eating food of their own on individual glass plates. Well technically, Constance was the only one eating. Jason was just staring at a bunch of folded papers from envelopes, possibly bills that were piling up.

"Hey, I'm back," Alexander greeted before retrieving a glass plate from a cabinet.

"Alexander, how was your first day?" The boy's father questioned as he looked up at his son.

"It was good, yours?" Alexander said blandly before sitting down at the round kitchen table. His plate was filled with the rest of the fried chicken leftovers, alongside steamed vegetables for extra flavor. Even if he was about to eat leftovers, they sure were an upgrade from a bag of potato chips and a turkey sub sandwich he ate at school that day. Getting home was always a relief. Pretty much only for his hunger, at least. 

"I'm about to head out to work," Jason informed before getting up to put a clear, glass cup into the sink, which was crammed with dirty dishes. "Can you please wash the dishes when you're finished eating?"

Alexander nodded without looking up from his emptying plate. "Okay, Dad, I will." He didn't want to wash the dishes, but he had to. It was one of his household responsibilities, which he had so much of. It wasn't for no reason, either. The truth was that his dad was completely behind on paying bills as he is trying his best to provide for his children. His salary was decent for him alone. Except it wasn't. He had two kids who depended on him for just about everything.

To worsen his situation, he didn't exactly have a wife by his side to help with his children. Technically, he did, but she wasn't alive. His wife and mother of his children, Ara, passed away seven years prior to the present, shortly after giving birth to her second daughter, Constance. Times were tough, but deep down in his wife's heart, she chose the newborn over herself. It was a big decision to make, but Ara wasn't hesitant. She'd always choose her loved ones over herself, like any decent mother would. The rest of the Choi family wished that Ara was still alive so she could watch both of her children grow right in front of her face, but they all knew that she was in heaven above, watching accordingly.

Whenever it was the young bundle of joy's birthday, both Alexander and his father couldn't help but think about what went down the night she was born. It saddened them how a loved one could go so quickly, but that was part of the cycle of life. Unfortunate events happen, regardless of if it is wanted or not. 

With the death of Ara, Jason and his son, as well as Constance have learned it the hard way. Hence this, it saddened them to the point where their household was quiet, quieter than it should have been. They all missed Ara very much, and frankly, it was quiet without her.