By: Rhiana Coomara
Bayview Secondary School

When my eyes closed, the nightmare swiftly surfaced with frightening force. I struggled to break from its imminent trap but, as always, escape eludes me. My mind, inundated with frantic images, encountered the horrific night. The squealing of wheels, screeching of brakes, and shrieking of my own voice harassed me. The last second encompassed the abrupt jolt and blaring white light before darkness. Horrified, I woke up with a hammering heart and enclosed in glistening sweat. Gazing into memory, my eyes filled with burning tears.  

My mother and I adored each other. We were passionate about the same things and spent countless hours slapping art ‘masterpieces’, as she called them, together, trekking to the pool to swim laps together, and creating strings of poetry together. She behaved young, but not in a manner that competed with me. Like me, she was not a stoic and displayed her emotions openly; though, they were very fickle. However, one thing that never changed was her love for me, and though my father loved me equally, he was not as inclined to show it. He, a stern and practical man, observed our attachment and jealously lingered at the sidelines.

Time changed drastically when my mother died a year ago. I was fifteen. With her death, my energy died; as her life slipped away, so did my love of life. What had once been an active, blithe being became a slow, exhausted existence. My happiness became an ephemeral memory; quickly, it was virtually forgotten.

My room seemed to depict misery. It was cluttered with wrinkly black clothing I had worn, miserably cold artwork I had painted, and deliciously depressing poetry I had written.

What rebelled against my room was placed on my bedside table. There I kept my favourite picture of my mother. In it, she stood on the other side of a glass window. She had breathed upon the glass and, in the frost, had drawn a heart with her finger. Looking over the shape, her dark brown eyes smiled warmly at me. She had her head tilted so that her chestnut hair cascaded over her shoulder in elegant waves. Her cheeks were flushed red. Even in the picture, it was clear that she was full of happiness. I often stared longingly at the picture when I felt particularly dejected. I clutched to her memory like a child with a precious toy.

It was an hour shy of the time I was disposed to awaken for school. School and I did not do well together. I didn’t care for the social networks and intrusive teachers who coined me as a ‘depressive’. My teachers’ dislike for me only increased when I handed in an essay titled “School: the True Prison”. I had always thought of school as a government tool to keep society in order. The bright and less intelligent people alike are coerced into conformity with the ‘correct’ system, and all become the same. If I had cared enough, perhaps I would have stirred up a rally against the system to heat up the blood a bit. However, as the existentialists said, I believed life to be completely meaningless. So, I didn’t bother.

I could have not gone to school but that would have gotten me kicked out of the house, and I did not entertain the idea of becoming a homeless, bench-park-sleeping, heroine addict. Therefore, to school I was bound.  

 I stalked through the school halls with an irritable expression on my face. I had recently moved to Pleasantview Heights high school and hated it. My shortcomings with the teachers and disinterest in school society did not help. Sociability did not concern me anymore and my unwelcome demeanor seemed to dissuade new friends. At noon, I sat by myself to eat. I spent my lunch sulking at my locker and flicking pieces of bread from my sandwich at passersby. Halfway through this pastime, a girl separated herself from the crowd and walked over to me. Surprised, I watched her approach slacked-jawed. Without invitation, she nonchalantly sat down next to and looked over at me concerned.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. I was about to snap at her but the weight of her question struck me.

I had wallowed in the deep end of my misery with a fervent glee. It was as though I had been ripped apart with the same feeling as one whose limbs were tied to two different horses that were galloping in opposite directions. In my heart, what remained was an eternal emptiness mixed with the hopeless knowledge that life must continue because it must.

I looked at her and instead of making a sarcastic remark, said sadly, “I’ve been left behind.”

Surprised, she eyed me and said, “Is that all? People leave me all the time. You just gotta cope.” She looked appraisingly at me. I grew uncomfortable.

“Why are you here?” I asked annoyed, “Planning on criticizing someone you don’t know?”

“You’re alone. Nobody should be alone.”



When I got home from school, I went to the kitchen as usual. I made a chicken caesar wrap and was about to eat it when the door banged open. In strolled my dad, home early from work, with some middle-aged woman hanging on his arm. The house was bombarded with their laughing. My father had the nerve to approach me in this pose. I scowled at him resentfully, but he stubbornly refused to catch my mood. He gestured to the creature standing next to him. To this I was supposed to, doglike, obey his unspoken command and greet the woman warmly with welcome and interest. However, I was untrained; instead, I raised my haunches and gave her a gritted teeth nod. My father flashed a quick annoyed look.

“Nicole, I would like you to meet my colleague, Ann,” he said smiling, “Ann, this is my daughter, Nicole.” He raised a heavy eyebrow expectantly at me.

“Hi,” I said shortly. Ann smiled nervously at my nondescript response. I continued rudely, “What are you doing here?”  

“We had to grab a bite to eat before the company party,” father answered. All I heard was the word ‘we’.

“We? You’re going together?”

My father opened his mouth to speak but I turned away. He had already forgotten my mother. How had he given her up so quickly?  

“Hunny, it’s just a company gathering. There’s no need to get your knickers in a twist,” father rushed in exasperated. I knew he was trying to preserve my feelings, but I wasn’t accepting it.

“So you expect me to believe what? That you are just friends?” My mind was starting to churn. I didn’t want it. I couldn’t handle it.  My beautiful mother was being replaced for a tiny-waisted, mousy haired, middle-aged woman named Ann! As if reading my thoughts, Ann looked up at me with surprising confidence and proceeded to speak.

I stir from my contemplative doze. My father and his girlfriend, Ann, left an hour ago. She has come to the house on multiple occasions in the last three months and each time, has left her mark on me. After this last meeting, I am immersed in a steamy tub of sudsy water, distraught. She caught me, that Ann. She ensnared and entangled me. I didn’t see it happening. I was so good at first, so perfectly distanced; I glared at her and haughtily made snide remarks. I hated her with every particle of my being. Yet, I am not good at hating. In these past months, she has worn me down. She is so small, so unassuming, so quietly charming, and so cleverly witty. I didn’t notice myself doing it at first. It had been so long, you would think it would have been a hugely momentous occasion. It was Ann, the catalyst, who pointed it out.

I am watching the glass door of my shower steam up. My mind is racing uncontrollably.

“Mommy. I miss you. I am so alone here. I didn’t want to like her. It’s just too hard. I don’t want to go on without you. But I have to, don’t I? I have to.” There are tears rolling down my face. I can’t recall when that started. “I just… I’m so sorry,” I sob. My vision has blurred. I whisper, “You were my best friend. I’ll never forget.” My voice has died off. I feel free of the vast emptiness, loneliness, and depression that had shadowed me for so long. This whole change began with Ann’s simple statement,

“Nicole, you have a beautiful smile.”

 I can feel my breath heaving in my chest. My head is buzzing. I take a deep breath in, in attempt to clear my senses. As I exhale, a sense of calm overwhelms me. I open my eyes slowly. They become focused on my shower door. A jolt of surprise shivers through me. There on my door, clearly and immaculately drawn in the middle of the foggy glass, is a heart.

© Copyright 2008