Smile

1

July 10th

I was born on a rainy day during a thunderstorm. My mom used to tell me that that's why she loved the rain so much—because it reminded her of the day I was born—she used to tell me with a smile how she listened to the thunder and lighting fight amongst the sky. Her eyes lit up as she reminisced of the sound of the rain against the roof of her and dads old rundown apartment that smelled of mildew and had some form of hole every few feet.

She told me that she didn't feel anything when she was giving birth to me and she said it was just as quick as it was easy. She used to brag to her friends about how quiet I was as a baby; how I was peaceful. She spoke of me as if I was her prized possession, as if she had won a contest and I was the highly sought after reward.

As I got older, that didn't change but now, it felt like the prize wasn't good enough. After dad got a better job when I was 7 and we moved out of the ruins we called home, my mothers bragging only got worse. She switched my school against mine and dads wishes so that I could go to a private school. She said it was so that I could have a better education; so that I could be better than her and dad.

I spent the rest of my elementary and half of my middle school career striving to be nothing but the best. And I was. To me, it was worth it if my mom loved me. I didn't know any other form of love from my mother and I didn't think I needed to know.

But dad was a different story; a better story. When I would ask my dad about the day I was born he wouldn't give me a detailed response about the weather or how the rain sounded against the roof of our rundown home. He would tell me about how quiet I looked when I came out and how peacefully I rested in his arms. He always told me that I was all of the best types of quiet in one. He told me about how my eyes were as big as the moon yet so much darker but still not a single spark left out. That's why they named me Celestia.

As I got older while my mother trained me to be the best athlete and scholar I could be while grooming me to be the finest doll baby she could've ever hoped for, my dad taught me how to swim. And how to dance without a single hint of rhythm in my steps. He taught me how to laugh wholeheartedly without being ashamed of snorting or tears dribbling down my cheeks. He taught me how to succeed in being alive and happy as he believed everybody deserved to be.

The best parts of me were buried deep within both of my parents. So deep that when my dad died when I was 12 I tried to claw each and every piece of myself away from him. I kicked and scratched and hammered away at every memory and moment I spent with my father until I forgot to stop and I ended up tearing every bit of myself to shreds.

I spent the rest of my school career with nothing but a body clinging to half of a soul that was dwindling down to nothing.

I don't know if I've made it to nothing yet but as I watch her—my mother who used to dwell on the subject of my birth—lie on the wet gravel, her hair clinging to her skin and her complexion washed away, I don't think she even remembers the day I was born.

The rain splashed against her face, her body not even flinching. Even through the earthy scent of wet dirt and humid air I could still smell the liquor.

I know we were being judged. I know I probably should've moved her inside by now and dried her off before putting her to bed and waiting to find out if she'd wake up or not. I know all of these things but...I'm tired. I was working all day and I was closing til 1 am. I was hoping to come home and sleep for a couple of hours but I missed my grace period and she was already drunk.

We had been arguing all night. I don't even remember what about...all I know is I'm exhausted and I'm tired of dragging the body of my mother around.

But I have to, she is the last half of my dwindling soul I have left.

My soaked clothes clung to my body as I drug my feet toward my mother. I stared down at her limp body before arching my back and grabbing her floppy arms.

For the first time all morning she showed sighs of life. She lightly and painfully groaned in my ear as I shifted my legs under my body, preparing to lift her over my shoulder.

"Eri...Erin." Slurred mutters of my dads name fell from her liquor and rain washed lips.

I did exactly what I said I wouldn't do and I dried her off with as much love as I could give her and I wrapped her robe around her before lying her down in our shared twin-sized bed.

I watched her blankly as she slept. I'm not sure how much love is in my eyes for my mom anymore but I know there's something and I'm praying I can hold on to it a little longer.

...

"Cel." I blinked as Rosie stared at me blankly. Her blue eyes never could hide their emotions and you could tell this emotion was confusion. "What's wrong with you?" Her tone was blunt and worried.

"Nothing...I'm fine."

I straightened out and continued to sweep up the coffee grounds and all of the toppings that come with them from the ground. Rosie's slightly annoyed stare burning the side of my face.

It's not that I lied. It's just that I didn't have much to say. In my opinion, I was fine. And there wasn't anything specifically wrong with me. At least not anything that was unusually wrong.

"Can't ever tell if you're lying or not," I glanced up at her as she walked around me, disappearing behind my back but her perfume that now mixed with the smell of the dozen espressos being made never leaving. "You always have that blank stare. Like there's nothing going on back there." She poked the middle of my forehead gently, a soft smile on her face as she leaned in and let out a chuckle.

I hummed and she folded in her lips, her eyes flashing with worry before she turned around to take orders.

I stared at her and the many customers shuffling around in the background. She glanced up at me a few more times with the same confused expression, each time her glances getting more curious. I've known Rosie for awhile. I've worked here a while and so has she so of course I've become decently close with her. Rosie is probably my only friend, if I could even consider her that. I don't mind it, I've never thought about it but now that I do, I know that she is my only possible friend.

The day was spent with Rosie throwing worried glances my way and my glances evading hers with ease. Her occasional questioning of whether I was ok and my brief and simple response of "yea, I'm fine." Are all I really remember from today.

Now I'm closing, alone, once again.