L

“She died here,” I whispered to the darkness. I reached a shaking hand along the wall and flipped the light switch. The room burst into sharp relief and I winced, expecting to see the rope still swinging from the beam on the ceiling. The room no longer smelled like her, I thought to myself absently. It smelled like dust and neglect rather than death with a hint of lavender. I brought my hand to my forehead and shuddered at the touch of my own skin.

It was here my life had changed forever. Here the epicenter of the quake that had buried my existence in rubble had happened. I stared around the room like waking from a dream to find reality far more nightmarish. I had forgotten her, I thought miserably. My brain had pushed her into a dark corner and covered her memory in cobwebs so thick I couldn’t see her. She had been beautiful, I thought. I couldn’t find her face or figure. The memory of her limp body with her long black hair hanging over her face was all my mind could conjure, like a file written over by something else on a computer. But she had been beautiful, I thought. She must have been.

I finally realized that I’d been holding my breath and let it out with a long sigh, my lungs felt like they were on fire and my head swam. The dust was thick and heavy as I stepped closer to the bed she had slept in. The blankets were rotting and pulled back as if expecting someone at any moment to come and tidy them. Amanda had kept it the way it was the moment she died. A moment of horror left frozen in time like photos I’d seen of wars. This room was a snapshot of an instant which destroyed both of us.

“I’m sorry, mama,” I whispered, running my finger through the dust on the bed frame. “I’m so sorry.” This had been my fault, hadn’t it? I thought, piling more misery onto my shoulders to the point I felt I was sagging under the weight. I slumped slightly, feeling for a long moment like I was going to faint but pulling myself back from the brink. Not yet, I thought. I wasn’t done, yet. It was finally time to talk to Amanda. I glanced down at the jagged scars on my wrists and smiled. I finally knew what I’d been trying to accomplish. Sachi’s smiling face came to mind and I drew strength from it. Even now, even when she was gone she still made me stronger. She was still saving me. I won’t let your hard work go to waste, Sacchan, I promised, smiling to myself. My childhood mysteries finally, at last, resolved in my mind, I turned and made my slow, painful way back toward Amanda’s room.

“What are you doing out of your room, you naughty girl?” Amanda asked me, looking up from the phone in her hand with a smug, though slightly drunk smile. I steadied myself on the doorframe and steeled myself. “Did you like the pictures? Did they motivate you?”

“You loved mama,” I said quietly.

“What?” Amanda demanded.

“You loved her the way I love Sachi,” I said.

“Don’t talk about Midori,” Amanda growled. “You have no right.”

“I have every right. She was my mother,” I replied.

“You killed her!” Amanda screamed, getting to her feet suddenly.

“She hung herself,” I said softly.

“You drove her to it! You were never supposed to exist! You weren’t supposed to happen!” Amanda screamed again, louder.

“You abused me,” I stated simply. “You hurt me physically and mentally and emotionally. Did it help you feel better?”

“You don’t know anything,” Amanda snarled.

“You’re right,” I replied. “I don’t know anything, but I do understand how you felt. You took everything I had. You took my career, my friends, my love and destroyed it. Did it help you? Did it ease the pain to inflict it on me?”