04: A memory that your character cherishes
Send me a number to develop my muse! ( Still Accepting!)
With a life riddled by tragedy, it's easy to figure that finding a single sweet, cherished memory would be the equivalent of finding a needle in a haystack within Rosie’s muddles, disconnected mind -- or rather, in this case, a strand of hay within a mountain of needles.If you’d ask her to pick one, she’d swim through a sea before finding one suitable ; There were plenty of obvious choices that would be sensible to bring up, what would be expected : Her time with Rocky before he was gone. Time with her kids, those pivotal moments where they said their first words or took their first steps.When they were a family of four , when Rosie had the stability in Rocky to be the best woman she could ever hope to be.
Cherished memories of the woman who existed now, formed from the ashes of a girl long forgotten. No one cared for the past -- no one allowed the past to be any sort of shield or blanket to give reason to all the problems and habits she has carried into the now. People didn’t take excuses. But to dig deeper into the enigma of coils that hid her every secret she hoped had burned, it brings to question just that : What did she cherish in those keystone moments of childhood? Was there anything left in the smoldering remains of the past that could be saved?
No one cared about the past, but that didn’t mean she ever forgot any of it. If you ask a child anything they remember, one of the first things they may answer would be a memory of their parents.
Parents.. She was a parent now, she didn’t need to think of her own, after more than half of her life has been without them. Yet she often did ; she used them as reference for herself. What to be and not to be.To think of her parents in memory were the needles she dug her hands through in search of the single straw in the pile, for like the rest of her life, even her childhood was melancholy and disconnected and full of longing. It didn’t mean, however, that she didn’t have some good memories of them.. To be asked to pick a memory, Rosie searches for something not a soul but herself has heard of. Her cherished memories are a seared reel held together just enough to still be recounted.
Her mother.. She’d think of her mother. The face she still sees when she looks in the mirror, when she reasons the source of her every habit and mental instability. But she was the woman that made her understand what it meant to be a parent. Her namesake, a flower before her, albeit it riddled with serrated leaves and decayed petals. Rosie’s memories of Camellia Hidalgo come in flashes, broken up by the seared reels in her mind, purposely ruined for her own safety. Her mother was strong willed, sick but refused to believe it. Abrasive but hard working. She loved, but the flower which she was named after left her fated to a life of longing and mistakes made in the pursuit of that love.
Camellia loved strangely, crookedly, in a fashion warped by her unstable sickness in the brain. But she loved her children, even when it was in the wrong way. Even if, Rosie understood now, she didn’t love herself.She loved in the only way she knew how, and Rosie clutched the faded memory with all that she was -- the only good thing she could cherish in the time she spent with a woman who spent almost every waking moment trying to keep herself together. It plays like a film behind her eyes
They lived in a small apartment then, after her father left. After all the fighting seemed to come to a point, the scar on Rosie’s little forehead was just too much of an unbearable mark to look at. They seemed to lose it all after he left, and now they had to downgrade to something fit for two. Within her mother’s small pay range budget. Just the two of them, she’d like to think. The world, unfortunately, was not easy for a woman. Especially not a Spanish woman without family. It shaped everything that made Camellia who she is, and formed the image that Rosie immortalized her in, despite all the pain. In the passing months and years, everything had changed.
When the door slammed shut well into the night, the shouting having died down and yet another boyfriend shoved out the front door, little Rosie hid behind her door and listened to the spray of curses and Spanish until their house grew quiet with only their two souls. The kitten sat in the darkness of her small bedroom, cradling a worn, faded pooh bear as she huddled into a ball and closed her eyes.
She should be sleeping.. She knows.
Her mama would be upset to catch her awake, but her sensitive ears wouldn’t let her sleep with the shouting.. Internally, her body trembled by instinct and her muscles ached with weakening fear. But at least he was gone..
As an audible sigh bleeds loudly through the thin dry walls, Camellia’s footsteps ring loudly as they trailed.. Then stopped. Old wood groaned under weight. The distinct sound embedded in Rosie’s mind.. When her mother was tired, she sat in her favorite chair by the window. When she sat there, it meant she’d be calm.
Hesitantly, she crawled on her knees til she reached the door and used it as leverage to pull her little body up. The ancient hinges squeaked loudly as she tried her best to quietly open it, as best as a 7 year old could do before timidly peeking out to the hallway. Rosie can remember vividly even now, the unique smell of her childhood apartment. The scent of aged walls and wallpaper dating back for much longer than she’s been alive -- damp and musty with time and water damage no one cares to fix. A warm sort of scent that filled the space, unpleasant in a way, but it made home home. The little kitten listened for any motion. When she found none, Rosie sucked a breath, held her pooh bear tighter, and padded out into the hallway on her tiptoes to dampen the sound of her own steps. The ugly linoleum flooring was cold under her feet.
Down the long way, she stopped at the edge of the living room just before it came to the open space. Their apartment was nothing more than a hallway, two bedrooms, and one big open space that made the living room and the kitchen ; Only thing that divided the space between the kitchen and the living room was the counter top bar, but even then you could look directly into the kitchen. She was always too small to see through it, the chairs too hard for her chubby body to climb.
The only light that filtered through was the dim yellow lamp that stood in the corner, just by the chair. From her corner, she can hear the crooning of the old wooden rocking chair as her mother sat by the window and swayed herself idly to the sound of nothing. Rosie sat there briefly, uncertain, then curiosity got the better of her. She peeked out from the shadow the hallway provided, wide eyed and one ear perked up, straining to see. Few things had been tipped over.. Some broken glass from empty bottles that dropped, the table side stand fell sideways and her nurse cap lay among the rubble. Camellia, transfixed in her rocking and staring into the night, seemed too tired to care. She was still dressed in her nurse uniform, just off her shift, and at this rate Rosie didn’t expect her to change into sleeping clothes. Her mother hardly ever did.. Especially when she came home and fought with a drunk. Rosie’s ears folded back.
Her stomach turned suddenly and Rosie pressed closer against the wall, ears flattening against her skull. From her place, she can hear Camellia’s slow and haggard breathing, a sniffle, then her mother turned to look at her. For a moment, Rosie did debate running back to her room to avoid a scolding, but the heavy, puffy eyes of her mother drew her in. Camellia reached a single arm out towards her, “ Ven aqui, come here mi gatita..”
Rosie moved without question.
With bare feet, she scrutinized the floor and maneuvered carefully around the shards to make her way rather eagerly into Camellia’s open arms. She paused for a minute to try to pick up the fallen side table, but her mother hissed and took hold of Rosie’s little arm, “ Leave it alone.”
Camellia was not intentionally mean, nor did Rosie ever believe her mama wanted to hurt her.. She was just too tired to think about her strength. Her hold was bruising, the hold she used before scolding her in a barrage of English and Spanish, but when she yanked Rosie towards herself, it was merely rough handling. She pulled the chubby little girl into her arms and cradled her tightly like she held her for dear life. Like a child holds her stuffed bear for security.It was up close, Rosie could see the purple bruising blossoming on her mother’s arms and the wet gloss of tears that had stained her cheeks. For a while , she didn’t really look at Rosie. She simply held her and returned to her rocking.
It’s these rare, gentle moments that remained vivid in the deepest parts of Rosie’s memory.. The peace between mania and depression.. The limbo, just before the deep downward spiral into a depressive episode, Rosie understood. The very symptoms she carried in herself now.
In her mama’s arms, not even a night shift at the hospital can wash away the vanilla scent that lingered on Camellia’s skin. In her mind’s eye, she can picture vividly and recall the beautiful shade of her mama’s eyes and the soft texture of her curly hair as the ends brushed up on Rosie’s cheek.. The little kitten curled inward and basked in the security of her mother’s arms and scent -- in a routine fashion, her mother stroked her hair and hummed softly into the warm air of their apartment.
“ Mi Gatita gorda.. You know I love you, right? ” her mama never did look down often.
“ Mhm.. I love you too..” That was the answer Rosie always gave.
Rosie knew better than to look up, pressing her ear to the woman’s chest to listen to the slow beating of her heart. Above her, she felt Camellia shift and turn downward to stare at her with empty, distant eyes. To her bones, Rosie shudders to this day when she looked in the mirror and saw those same glassy eyes. The small child was obedient to wordless demands and met her eyes with her own wide, nervous stare.
“ I’m not crazy, Rosita.. You know that..”
Rosie simply nodded. She closed her eyes as Camellia’s hand trailed away from her hair and traced a claw around Rosie’s puffy little cheeks. All Rosie ever longed for was that touch…
“ You won’t leave me.. And I'll take care of you..Just the two of us..”
Her words echoed, like talking to no one at all. Camellia’s finger swirled around a brown curl, then traced the edge of Rosie’s little nubby ears. Rosie trembled slightly and let her pooh slip away as she took hold of her mother’s hand.
“ I won’t leave, Mama..I promise..”
In the blankness, suddenly Camellia’s lips curled in a small, eye crinkling smile.
“ Pinky promise, my Rosita? ”
Her mama extended a thin pinky out from her hold. Rosie quickly stuck out a tubby finger and wrapped it as best as she could around the much larger finger with an eager nod,
“ I promise Mama.. I always be here..” she mumbled, whimpering as her little voice edged on a plea in search of approval.
Life sparked and danced behind her mother’s golden eyes for a fleeting moment, a satisfied look as if she got exactly what she had wanted. Camellia exhaled softly through her nostrils, closed her eyes, then cradled her daughter closely to her chest. The mother purred deeply, and through the purr she sang a soft melody to rock her baby to sleep..
Please dont take... my sunshine away..
“ My mother used to hold me a lot as a kid.. When it was only the two of us. Before my brother, Alexander, was born ”
From the depths of her memories, at last she’s pulled from the roots back to the surface, conscious enough to answer. Even as, inwardly, she sucked in deep and uneven breaths. Even now she would not tell the whole truth, for lying was the safest route than spilling out your heart to a stranger. No one needed to know the wound that still bleeds and the tears that still threaten to fall when she forces what should have been forgotten to the surface. Rosie tries to smile nonetheless, a strained and painful smile as she holds the edges of a bittersweet memory like a delicate photograph withering slowly.
She tries not to let it get the better of her, to not let the stinging in her eyes give way to tears.
“ Back when it was only us.. She’d hug me like a teddy bear, and we’d sit in one of those rocking chairs that old ladies sit on. Then she’d pet me and sing to me.”
The lullaby she sings now, still ringing in her ears in a phantom voice. Taking a quivering breath, Rosie shrugs her shoulders and offers a humorless chuckle,
“ Don’t have a lot of good memories.. But that was a good one. Ya know, before shit hits the fan and everything changed on me like it always does. I liked when things were simple as a kid.. It's better when you didn’t understand anything at all.”
