Years (A Mother's Memoir)

She looked twenty.

It was definitely a positive. Her family had natural maturity in their genetic build. They looked five years older until they reached their thirties. Then, they looked five years younger. It really proved beneficial in the whole ‘beauty’ thing.
He called her a “fair maiden” as he paced down the hallway of the orphanage, surfboard in hand and feet bare. All the girls would whisper about him through the night like he was the new teacher who looked like a football star… but what would they know? They were taught at the orphanage. They had no school, no schoolmates – just themselves and their opinions. That really spiced up the late-night gossips.
Raelene sighed. Only thirteen, she was strangely caught up in either the past or the future so much that she didn’t allow herself time to reflect on the present. She would often miss questions asked to her due to daydreaming, pondering where fantasy and reality shared their worlds in her mind.
“So jealous of you, Rae.”
Raelene was taken aback, shocked once again out of introspection. “Wha-- why?” Her confusion was sincere.
“Because he chose you!”
Their voices suddenly drowned out. Raelene looked out the small window imploringly as she sighed like the winds through the passing years.

“I promise you life. New life.”
Raelene held his hand like she was holding for that life he promised. She felt queasy, not only from the butterflies within her, but she felt a kick. The baby felt her excitement.
“I’ll promise us life, far from here, I swear. We’re young, but we know things. We can do it.” She felt his hands close around hers and tighten, and his warm words slowly relaxed her throbbing heart. Her tears were welling. Was this a dream, or was this foolish?

“The camera, look at the camera!”
There were three of them: two boys and a girl in the middle, all platinum-blonde. To her, they were memoirs, recollections of her early life and her new ambitions. They made her smile as they held those small white grins of their own. He wrapped one burly arm around her.
“We made this.” And they kissed.

She was looking out of the window again. The doctor didn’t want to tell her about the slow declination of her results. He was afraid she was too weak to fight it. He was afraid that she would break at the news. Her husband arrived at his call and he spoke of the new medicines and the epidemiological reports. He spoke of her failing health. He began to cry.

He took her photo and set it on his dirty surfboard he recovered from the garage. Old buddy, he thought, caressing it nostalgically. He covered it in oil, but the years of wax were enough to make it flammable. He watched it sail away, alight, burning up into the skies above to be forgotten. He loved her so, and he remembered when he first met her…

She looked twenty.

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