As he walks toward his bike, I tear the envelope open, my fingers shaking as my eyes race over Dasha’s handwriting, clinging to every word.
“Malyshka, I had to write to you because every time I tried to call, the phone didn’t work. Last week the police came to the school looking for you, and when they couldn’t find you, I went to see what they wanted. They found your parents’ bodies, and I wanted you to say goodbye to them, but when I went to identify them… it’s not a pretty sight.”
My hand trembles as I keep reading.
“People are asking if there will be a funeral, but because of the situation, maybe it would be better to bury them in the caskets already underground and keep the final respects just to yourself. But it’s your decision, Malyshka.”
My eyes blur.
I lift my face to the sky, blinking hard, trying to hold the tears back, but they spill anyway down my cheeks. I wipe them away with the back of my hand and force my eyes back to the page.
“You know I will be by your side whatever decision you make. Please write back to me that you are okay.
Your Dasha.
P.S. They are still searching for Daniel’s body.”
I clench the letter between my fingers and slowly walk inside, my hand pressed over my mouth.
Now it feels real. Now it feels like I lost them, like they aren’t coming back.
An emptiness spreads through my chest, and I fight for breath. As if I stop breathing, it might bring them back. But nothing will. That stupid accident. That stupid day. I didn’t even want to go to that stupid gala of Daniel’s parents.
A scream tears out of me, and I drop onto the end of the stairs. The box with bones is still there. I push it aside.
I miss them. So much.
We think we have time. We push people aside, tell ourselves they will always be there. And then the moment comes. They are gone, and all that is left is regret. I didn’t visit enough. I wasn’t there enough.
I keep replaying the times I brushed off my mom. The coffee dates we used to have, sitting across from each other, talking about music while her cup cooled in her hands. I chose Daniel instead. I chose running after something that never stayed.
And my father. He kept calling and I kept forgetting to answer, telling myself I would call back later. That there would always be a later.
Now I sit alone with a cup of coffee, staring at the phone attached to the wall, waiting. Just for one call. Just one more chance to hear their voices.
A needle lodges in my throat. It stays there, stealing my breath.
Tears blur everything, and suddenly I am sixteen again.
I remember how my fingers trembled over piano keys miles away from home while my grandmother was being buried without me. I missed her funeral because of a competition I thought mattered.
I remembered my father’s voice when he called me after. He told me it was okay. That she understood. That she knew how much I loved to play. That she would have wanted me to keep living as if she were still there.
When I came back home it was already February. My Dad handed me strawberry ice cream, he knew it was my favorite. He must have gone out of his way because only a few places had it during the winter.
“She died in her sleep,”he said.“She felt nothing. She lived her life. Now it is our turn to live ours.”
I remembered how I cried that day, how it felt like something inside me broke open. But even that didn’t come close to this. This is heavier.
I wish I held them tighter, stayed a little longer, listened instead of rushing away. I wish I had chosenthemmore. But life doesn’t wait. We are born, and one day we leave, nothing but dust carried somewhere else.
They didn’t die in their sleep. They drowned. And even though they lived their lives, so much of it was spent on me. They were working, and giving all of it to me. Making sure I had everything I ever wanted. And it still felt like it was not enough.
We are selfish as children. We take and take, thinking it’s their duty. Maybe it is. But they do it out of love. And we are supposed to give that love back when they grow older.
My parents never got that chance.
And it hurts.
