Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
“Poet, what wrong wit’ you, girl? You on your period?”
She giggled at that, then dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “No, I’m not on my cycle. I saw… I saw, uh, a little girl. She thought she’d been abandoned at the museum, but her aunt and brother were only in a different bathroom. When I looked… when I looked at her, Huni, she just looked so much like me at that age. Such an innocent child. She was so, so scared! She felt all alone.” She started crying again, but stopped herself before she turned into a blubbering fool. Aunt Huni was quiet for a spell.
“It remind you of what happened long ago?”
“Yes… It still haunts me, Huni. I know, I know. You don’t even have to say it… it’s just, I don’t know, every now and again I get overcome.”
“But you never told me you still hurt ’bout dis. I did all that I could, girl. I got that psychiatrist, too, and—”
“Yes, you did, and I continued therapy for years. I didn’t tell you about these rare episodes, Aunt Huni, because I didn’t want you to worry.” A tumble of jumbled thoughts and feelings assaulted her. “I know that none of that shit is on my record, that I am free and clear to live my life as I see fit, but sometimes, every blue moon… I’m triggered.” She shrugged. “There’s no warning. It just happens. I hate that word! Triggered. It’s so overplayed, but I can’t think of anything else to call it. Then the little girl’s aunt, when I brought her niece to her, was a little strange but well-meaning, I suppose. She was talkin’ about my hair, just like that demon used to! I had to stand there and pretend like everything was fine. Like I wasn’t having a horror movie play in my head right then. It’s just the way she said it… she sounded just like that… that beast! I wanted to scream!”
“But she not her, and it is not happening again, Poet. That was an innocent lady giving you a compliment, right? What happened is not your fault. You stop this!”
“I know… Huni, you just don’t understand. Logically, I know it isn’t my fault, and I’ve come a long way, and I know it wasn’t her, but I am so disappointed in myself! I thought I had healed from all of this!”
“Just because you’re still upset sometimes ’bout it does not mean you not healed! You stop crying. Just a bad day, okay? You finish work. You come home. I cook dinner for you. I love you.”
“I love you, too. What are you cooking?” she asked, blowing her nose.
“Right now, or for dinner?”
“For dinner. I’m already hungry. I just had lunch an hour ago though. I’m famished anyway.” She smiled sadly.
“I was gonna make ribeye steak, broccoli and potato. You like that?”
“Yes, that sounds good.” She drew quiet for a spell. “Aunt Huni?”
“Mmm hmm?”
“I ain’t never told anyone about it. Do you know that? I think that might be part of why it still upsets me. I’m ashamed somewhere deep inside of me, but at the same time, what she did is kept secret, too. That bothers me. It’s like a ghost, but I need to find a way to set it free.”
“You don’t have to tell people. I know. You know. Police know. Dat’s enough.”
“Yeah… I used to think that. I didn’t want people to, uh, misunderstand, or see me as some monster.”
“You could never be a monster. Beautiful girl wit’ beautiful heart. Stop it. No cry, no pity party. You survived bad time! You strong, like me!” Aunt Huni’s voice trembled. Despite how Huni was so Americanized, she had some cultural bits of her personality that remained with her. Like being strong in the face of pain and hurt. She didn’t appreciate crying. She hated it. Not because she saw it as weak, but out of fear of such things being used against her, and others. She’d raised her to be strong, but it was okay to fall apart behind closed doors. Alone—not in front of others. It gave them weapons against you. Cruel judgements. All of this time, Poet believed her aunt to be right, but right then, at that moment, she questioned it.
“Aunt Huni, I have to get back to work. I’ll be home in a few hours, okay?”
“Okay. You no more cry. I mean dat!”
When Aunt Huni got upset, her English sometimes had holes in it, strange pronunciations, and became rougher around the syllables. She’d grown up speaking English and Filipino, but some things she still said incorrectly, admitting that her Filipino was stronger than her English ever was or would be. Typically, they’d both just laugh it off. After all, it was funny in most circumstances, but right then, she was too lost in her own world to enjoy the innocent mistakes. She ended the call with her aunt, assuring her she’d be fine, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by the time she got home. And she meant that.