Parts of a Puzzle

The first week, Mother bargained day and night.

The second week, Father argued with Mother and bargained with her.

The third week, Mother left the world. Because of... something. Something that I didn’t even know about.

I think it was from pure exhaustion. Father thinks it was his fault. He thinks it was because he argued with her too much. And something else.

The fourth week, he deteriorated into a state of... horribleness, I don’t know how to describe it. Sometimes he’s okay, other times refusing to eat or drink anything, and muttering things like “Lilmajorie...Why did you have to leave...My love...” and “Why did I do this....” when, it’s not really his fault when I look at it.

The fifth week, he wasn’t getting any better. I was 8, but I knew how to take care of myself. Nice.

The sixth week, he only accepts food and drink thrice a week. It’ll be my 9th birthday next week.

The seventh week, I find him sitting at the dinner table, drinking something brown with little yellow and green things in it. I empty it and find broccoli and corn in chocolate syrup and water with milk.

The eighth week, he goes to see a psychiatrist.

The ninth week, he’s taken to his computer, looking for some unseen thing.

The tenth week. Where he breaks the window in his room.

The eleventh week, I think he’s trying to tell me something.

The twelfth week, I watch him through the small circular window that I‘d installed on the tenth week. I watch him a lot these days and see him repeatedly write on a sheet of paper, then crumple it. They‘re made of one long sheet of paper. Don’t worry about wasting it. I recycle them and make more out of the old paper anyways.

The thirteenth week. Where everything keeps on going from bad to worse.

The fourteenth. The doctor won’t let us into his office door.

The fifteenth. The psychiatrist has closed her door to us.

Sixteenth. He’s been looking at airport websites. Am I onto something?

Seventeenth. I think that was what he was trying to tell me. Airport? I’m missing some puzzle pieces.

Eighteenth. He has started to wander aimlessly around the house and mutter in hear able things.

Nineteenth. My thinking starts to wander. Too much. I almost find myself putting myself into the clothes washer.

Twenty. Father’s been drinking. And smoking.

Twenty first. He’s a mess, but so am I. A little, at least.

Twenty second. He’s not recognizable anymore.

Twenty third. He’s been able to stop drinking. A miracle.

Twenty fourth. I can’t even consider Father my Father anymore, it’s too painful and he’s incapacitated, now I’m literally alone. Another doctor is trying to help him. A better one.

Twenty fifth. It’s spring.

Twenty sixth. Beautiful flowers pop up in the old dirt where flowers have never grown. I wonder if this was on purpose, whoever or whatever put them there and let them grow, considering what’s happened.

Twenty seventh. I can’t stand those flowers.

Twenty eighth. They’re still growing.

Twenty ninth. No. No. No. I can’t take them.

Thirtieth. The flowers are gone. I was the one who took them down. The free feeling, the darkness behind it...

Thirty first. I think I’m going insane.

Thirty second. The doctors discover that Father has a mental and physical illness.

Thirty third. The doctors swarm the house now. I can’t go to his room.

Thirty fourth. He’s gone. Gone like my mother.

Thirty fifth. I lie in a daze. I can’t force myself to do anything at all.

Thirty sixth. I find his last letter. I can’t open it. From the Father that lay incapacitated while I needed him, when I was and still am 8.

Thirty seventh. I open it. I don’t read it.

Thirty eighth. I read it.

Carolylin,

I’ll be gone by now. I‘m sorry. I don’t know for what. I can’t think straight. I’m going insane. I can’t block it out. Nothing. No. Those flowers were a beauty to me. But I understand why you couldn’t stand them, in a way I hated them too. Lilamajorie died because of me. She did. My love died because of me. Me, me, me. ME! Me, it was me. I knew she was frail, she had her old illness, it had never gone away. I knew it. And I still fought with her. She died because of the stress. I want you to do what your mother wanted me and you to do. You have to complete your mother’s wish. What she wanted was for us, a lower family to go somewhere else to start a new life where we wouldn’t be looked down upon. She knew she couldn’t go. That’s what we were arguing about. My head has become clearer during my final moments. I want you to do this. Do it. Please.

Inside, there was a single plane ticket and directions.

Thirty ninth. I don’t know what to do.

Fortieth week now. I haven’t touched the tickets or instructions.

Forty one. I know I have to do something. My mind has slowed down. I’ll use the tickets.

Forty two. Why is this happening? The tickets aren’t working. Why?

Forty three. It doesn’t get cleared. The tickets aren’t usable.

Forty four. I find a link on the backside of the paper. It’s Mother’s handwriting.

Week forty five. The website is a hidden airport line. Inhalsel, BC. Why is it that I have never heard of this place?

Week forty-six. I edit my cards. Now, I’m supposedly 17. I was already too tall.

Week forty seven. I do what he asks. My Father’s last request. What Mother spent so much of her last bit of life doing.I leave this house. Forever.

Week forty-eight, traveling to this area is hard. There‘s no help from maps. The only thing I can do is follow the locations and or the coordinates.

Week forty-nine. I find the place. It’s not a real place. But it’s a five-star place from the looks of it. I wonder why?

Fifty. I have my tickets. They’re to an unknown island. I’ll be the first to enter. Why did my parents order servants as well, huh? Even my old friends are going from different parts of the world.

Fifty-one. I did. And now I’m here forever. Unless, of course I use that new cellphone and call NSP Airlines. I still have so many questions.

Fifty-two. This is me now. Completely alone here. No traces of Father and Mother at all. Let’s erase these questions before the new year.

One. Restart this calendar. But now both him and I are in a better place.