Ella:
Are you done crying? Mary, my step-mom raised one of her sharp eye-brows and taunted me. I looked up to find her staring at me by the door. At 48, she thought she was no less than Elisabeth Taylor. Wearing a slinky pink night suit putting her surgical breast implants on full display, I doubt if any part of her was real.
This was one of the usual days where she would remind me how wretched and unlucky I was for the family, not that she ever had anything nice to say.
But for me today was Cecelia, my mother’s death anniversary, when my world turned upside down exactly 12 years ago in 2007 after she passed away from a long standing battle with cancer. I was only 13 years old, still too young to understand and grasp the reality of the situation.
Wiping my tears off, I wrapped my night robe, got up from the bed and started walking out of the room.
Where do you think you are going? Mary stares at me asking the question as she puts her hands on her hips to emphasize her point.
“I have to go early to the office today”, I replied back without making any eye-contact. It was time for work and I did not want to get into any kind of argument with her.
“Make sure you clean-up the utensils and prepare the food before you leave. I want fresh strawberries, blueberries and mangoes served with zero fat yogurt topped with pumpkin and sunflower seeds for breakfast and chicken Caesar salad for lunch. Ask your sisters what they would like to eat; they leave for college and work at 8 am” she orders me in a threatening tone.
I nod my head and walk out of my tiny room. As I walk down the stairs, I drift back to my childhood. Mamma would come to my beautifully decorated bedroom; kiss and wake me up from bed, dress me up in pretty clothes and tell me that the world was my oyster. There would be my favorite blueberry pancakes for breakfast post which my father would drop me off to school.
On weekends, Daddy would take us on long drives along the coast. We would often go on hiking camps to the Grand Canyon and Yosemite National Park. I have saved all the pictures in a family album safely tucked away from Mary’s clutches. I am afraid that she might destroy any happy memories which did not include her and these pictures were my prized possessions.
My childhood bedroom was taken over by Bridget and Beatrice - my stepsisters and I was moved to a small room where old furniture, used clothes and stock items were piled up.
Over a period of time, I had converted that tiny room into a time-machine. Every time I entered the door, I would travel back in time where baby Ella was safe and protected in her parent’s love.
Sometimes, I wish my father would have thought just a little bit more before he made such a hasty decision.
