Pandora's Box

It was just a music box, old and rusty from decades of neglect. But opening it seems to be the biggest mistake as I watch how black shadows come out of it... swirling surrounding me. 

___

"Amy, come home." I hear my mother on the phone, her weak voice letting out a small cough on the other line. I am holding the wheel and driving and it's snowing hard. The worlds outside is cold and white. 

I keep my eyes on the road, not letting the person in the other line disturb my focus, and also to keep myself calm and distracted. 

I breathe in the cold damp air. "Mom, I'm busy. I have work. Even on weekends. You know I can't make it." 

"Can't you take a day off? Just one day. I'm...sick. I need you here, dear." 

She's been trying to get me to go home with her but I always manage to find excuses. 

I don't want to see her.

I don't realize I'm clenching the wheel hard already. "Aunty Melda is there to take care of you. You'll be fine."

"But I want my daughter. I want to see you and talk to you—" She's interrupted by a cough, and I take that opportunity to dismiss the topic. 

"You need to rest. Bye, mom." With a click, the call ends and the silence surrounds me again, nothing but the car's engine roaring and the road outside that squeaks under the tires. 

It was that day... I remember. My mom was already giving me clues and I ignored them all. I didn't want to listen to the woman who scarred my childhood.

Saturday and it's raining hard. I spend my whole afternoon tucked warmly on my bed with a cup of tea, reading a book. The news kept on going about how there's a storm. I can hear the strong wind outside screaming and moaning, and amidst those sounds, I still hear my phone ringing. 

"A-amy..." I hear sobbings on the other line. It's aunt Imelda, crying. "Your mother...she's...she's gone." 

That day, I felt as if I had become numb and deaf. I couldn't feel anything. I forced myself to cry but no tears were coming out. I just stood there...listening to the sobs of my aunt. I hated myself for not feeling any pain or remorse even just a little.

My mother had finally succeeded. I went home after her death, to the place that left a mark on me, on who I was. To the place where I grew up scared. I always look at the still visible scars on my skin, reminding me of every pain and hit I had to endure from my own mother. I wanted to forget it but the scars have been always there, a painful reminder of my past that I will forever carry with me.

I remember being in her room, seeing the bed she had spent her remaining days, alone and sad. I felt guilt all over, eating me bits by bit. And before I knew it, I was crying. I wanted so bad to just forget her and everything, but I didn't notice I was actually remembering her by trying so hard to forget day by day.

Being in her room is like being inside her head. I can see the books she reads, the bed where she sleeps in, the chair where she sits until my eyes landed on something... out of place. 

On the old fashioned yet elegant looking dresser beside her bed, was a music box. It was old and rusty already, passed away by time. My eyes are drawn there, like gravity pulling me in. An invisible rope seems to be reeling me in. 

With my shaking hands, I held it tightly, like I was holding on to her. It was cold but I somehow I could feel the warmth from her hands, how she touched this.

I open it. It was a vintage box made up of wood; a gold L crest is stamped in the middle, it shines every time it catches the light. I twisted the key and sweet lullaby music came, and I can feel the surface vibrating as something inside is moving. I cautiously open it, my eyes wandering slowly inside. A figure popped out, twirling and spinning slowly, a ballerina. The music it created was calling me, like a spell I am willing to be under controlled off.  

But maybe then it was faith, that I felt something pricked in my fingers, making me drop the music box. It created a loud sound on the wooden floor, the lid opened and the ballerina figure popped out, it spins slowly along with the music. 

And perhaps it was faith too that underneath the ballerina, something twitched and opened, revealing a little empty space.

I was never fond of surprises, but this one got me nervous. The drum inside me started to beat fast, pulsing all throughout the nerves of my body. I didn't realize, I was shaking as I pick up the music box. The music was now gone and the ballerina stopped as if it had already done its purpose. I pull the ballerina slowly up, like a lever, revealing a space underneath it. Inside, was a notebook. 

I could've closed it, and tuck it away, forgetting the whole thing. But it was like a strong pull, urging me to open, to dig deeper. 

And so I did. 

Something was written on the box, I didn't ’t notice this at first but when the light hit it, the words came out as I read them. 

I put my life in this piece of box,

My soul forever bind in the music

A never-ending tune…

For as long as my memories live.

                          Lucy

I stared at the name longer. Who's Lucy? I didn't know Lucy. 

My eyes transferred to the old and worn notebook lying inside.

My life. 

It says on the first page as I open it.

The papers were old and rusty, I inhaled the scent of the past deeply enough to my system, closing my eyes and let it fill me. I scanned the pages, words were written there in a sophisticated cursive, each stroke and curves were perfect. And every page, a particular year and month are written on it. 

From the Year 1970 to the year 1992.

I didn’t read it all. My hand continued to turn the pages like I was looking for something until it stopped right on a page where it says;

Never forget. Take a piece of that moment and forever keep it. 

This is Lucy’s box but who is Lucy? And why does my mother have this?

The black inks carved on the surface of each page seemed to be dancing before my vision. I thought it was just my imagination, but the words were written began to shake, trembling against my pale fingertips, wanting to be free from the papers that caged them, hunger for the freedom that the decades had deprived them of. 

With a loud gasp, as I start to feel the words piercing my skin, I drop the music box, it fell against the hard surface of the floor but it keeps on shaking, the ballerina started spinning fast and music being played in out of tune. 

I shut my eyes tight. 

A moment of silence.

Then I heard a baby’s cry. 

I opened my eyes,

 I am still in the same room but on a different day and perhaps, a different year. It wasn’t snowing. I can hear the joyous cheer of the birds chirping in chorus outside. 

The baby’s cry was still echoing from where I am standing. I notice the room; the coverings of the bed looked different. It was livelier and… full of color. A door swung open on the opposite side. 

“It’s a girl! Lucy, your sister bore a very beautiful girl!” A woman who is wearing an apron popped in the door with a bubble of laughter.

 She was facing where I am standing but she wasn’t looking at me, I realize. She was looking right through me. I turn around to see a familiar woman standing in front of the window.  

It was my mom. This is her memory. The diary… was it hers? 

 But her expression was less cheerful. She looked at the woman with somber gazes and smiled a little. “That’s great. How is she?” 

“Sabrina is calling for you, Lucy. She said she wants her beautiful sister to see her niece.” The woman giggled joyously, it filled the whole room but my mother’s expression remained firm. “I’ll be right there.” 

No, this is all wrong. My mother's name was Sabrina, not Lucy. But why is she calling her Lucy? 

I wanted to follow the woman, wanted to see the baby she keeps on mentioning, and most of all, the sister she’s saying. I always know my mother has a sister but she rarely mentions it. But I chose to stay instead and watch her as she looks out on the window with the same somber look. She took in a deep breath, before walking towards the door, walking pass through me. I was a ghost at this time. I followed her. The crying gets louder as we walk along the bright hallway. It looked a lot different, it wasn’t gloomy at all.

My mother went inside a room, I followed behind her. Inside was a large bed, and on top of it, a frail figure is lying, her long hair cascading through her shoulders and her pale lips were smiling. I recognize her already. She and my mom both have the same eyes.

 “Sister.” She motioned for her to come closer. My mother, with fragile and little steps, walked near her bed. I can see that her hands are shaking. 

“Meet your niece.” She chuckled softly, her eyes sparkling despite the tiredness. In her frail arms, was a baby wrapped in a pink and yellow cloth, no longer crying but is in peaceful slumber. “This is… Amelia.” 

I gasped. My eyes glued on the scene before me. My whole body vibrates as I watch how my mother carried the baby carefully in her arms. She wasn’t smiling at all. She was sad. 

The baby... looks just like me when I was little. 

The whole scene shifted in front of me, I feel the strong pull of wind, pushing me, tormenting me as I try to fight it, the words echoing loudly inside my mind. I closed my eyes as I kneel down. Everything in front of me looked disoriented, the sounds fading until I was on steady ground and I can hear nothing but a faint sob. 

I open my eyes and found out I’m in the same room as I was before, but it was night time. And my mother was back on the window again, sitting on a chair, bent down and was crying. Her quiet sobs filled with grief and pain struck me like a sword. I felt every pain. I took a step closer, hoping to comfort her though I know she wouldn’t see me. I then notice she was clutching a book…no… a diary. 

The same diary I saw on the box.

Her pale hands lose their grip on the diary, it fell down on the carpeted floor, making a soft thud sound. Her sobs didn’t even stop. 

I crouch down to see. The pages were wet with spots, an indication that her tears had fallen here. She was writing something…

It should’ve been mine. That baby. It should’ve been mine. She stole everything away from me. It hurts so much. The pain is slowly killing me. How can she smile like that? How can I move on when the love of my life, the one I intended to marry, bore a child with my very own sister. How can I accept this? How can I? This is torture. I don’t know what to—

It wasn’t finished yet, and the tears smudged the ink forming a little blurry line. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t realize I was crying. What does this all mean? Is this some sort of a nightmare? I drop the diary, but it created a loud sound, and the floor shakes, like water crippling after a stone being thrown, everything around me was starting to fade, including her.

 Everything was being wrapped by darkness. I close my eyes once again. 

And then nothing. I was alone once again, holding her diary tightly like it was mine. It felt so alive, against my palms. Like she was here... and she's finally showing me the answers to all my questions. Why? Why does she hate me so much? 

I turn the diary to the last page, there was a letter there and the writings looked different, the ink was still fresh. She wrote this recently, on one of her dying days. 

Amy,

You have grown beautiful and strong, I can already see it ever since you were little. You are so much like your mother. And every day seeing you growing up, was like a stab on my chest no matter how hard I tried to forget. I was guilty, I couldn't bear seeing you even though a part of me loves you. You have your father's eyes. The one I had admired and loved so much but those eyes... adored your mother more. 

Everyone favored your mother more than me but I didn't care. Until I met him, your father. I was in love, Amy. I love him and he loves me too, and it was all I ever needed, the knowledge that finally someone loves was overwhelming, I didn't care anymore as long as I have him. I will never forget his eyes, they were like an ocean, I was always drawn to them. 

And perhaps, your mother saw it too. She wanted him, I let her. I couldn't do anything but to let her. She was a perfect match for him, others would say. Until she got pregnant with you, and it killed me inside. And when I saw you, I wanted to be happy but… I know I was dying.

I killed your mother, Amy. There was a fire, it wasn’t big and I could’ve saved her, but I didn’t. She was locked in a room. I could’ve opened the door, the fire wasn’t that big yet, but I didn’t. I let her burn there. Our parents tried to save her but I already told her she’s dead when she was just struggling her way out of the room. Eventually, she did die...and I felt numb. 

I thought I could bear with the pain, but it didn't end there. Our parents had to change our names, to show everyone that it was Sabrina, the unwanted and unlucky daughter who died in the fire, and their beautiful beloved Lucy... survived. It was painful for me to live every single day as something I was not. To pretend that I'm here. I guess your mother was punishing me. Even after her death, I was still miserable. 

Your father committed suicide after the day your mother died. He couldn't bear it. He didn't want me too.

I had you after. I was the only one who can take care of you. I wanted it, a new life. I could pretend that you are mine because it should’ve been that way. 

But seeing you growing up was a painful reminder of my broken heart and miserable life. Every day was torture... and so I had hurt you. I guess I deserve this. I am paying for everything I have done. I wish you nothing but happiness. It would be too late to say sorry but I still want to say it. 

I'm sorry, Amelia. 

-Sabrina. 

I was dumbfounded and lost for words. I felt weak, I couldn't even feel my heart beating anymore. 

It felt unreal, like a bad dream that's too vivid for me. I couldn't explain that time, couldn't find a rational explanation to just what had happened. I kept it to myself, I didn't tell anyone, not even auntie Imelda because I know she wouldn't believe it. How can she when I couldn't even believe it myself? 

Funny how a single old and rusty thing can change the way I remember my past and affecting how I see things in the present. I was lost. The future ahead of me is blurry, and the present life I had always known became a stranger to me. Like I'm in someone's body, a mistake.

Until now, I would recall the times where I failed to notice small details. How her eyes changed when she was being called Lucy, a name that was not even hers.

I recall the times she pleaded for me to go home... it's because she wanted to tell me the truth. 

She wanted me to know. But I didn't listen.

I never did.