I don't remember my parents. I was abandoned at an orphanage, though I don't remember where or at the very least, the name of it. At age two, I was adopted by a couple. From what I could remember of the man, he had black hair, deep brown eyes, and light skin. The woman had brown hair, kind brown eyes, and light skin. By the time I was three years old, I had begun to speak and read. I remember that before I went to sleep each night, I climbed into bed with them and read them a story. I loved doing that because they would always compliment me and kiss me when I finished.
When I was four, I had begun to solve basic math problems. The man was the one who noticed this. He decided to celebrate this by buying an ice cream cake with candy numbers on the perimeter. I was practicing my math as I sat on the woman's lap. Even to this day, I remember how numbers intrigued me.
I remember that when the man came in through the door, hair plastered to his forehead, broad shoulders dripping with rain water, that I had jumped off of the woman's lap and ran to grab a towel for the man. When I had come back, the man had taken his coat and shoes off, and was sitting next the woman. They were holding hands. I remember thinking that life would always be this perfect. The couple would love each other, like prince charming and Cinderella, and I would have the honor of being a part of that love.
The next year, the man took me to go fishing on a boat. He taught me how to hold the fishing rod, and how to wheel in the fish, among other things. He also told me to be extra quiet so that I wouldn't scare the fish away. At the end of the day, I had caught one flounder and he had caught two. I counted it myself. When we came home, the woman congratulated us, gave me a kiss on the head, and cooked our fish. I had read an extra story to them that night.
When I was five, I began to notice a huge difference between the couple and me. My hair was black, but not like the man's hair. My hair was oil black, the darkest black hair I had ever seen. My eyes were a pale green framed by thick, dark lashes that clashed greatly with my ghost-pale skin. When I had noticed this, I began to cry. The man kneeled down next to me and asked me what was wrong. I told him that I looked weird and more than that, I looked nothing like him and the woman. When I finished, he smiled and picked me up. He told me I was beautiful and "unique". When I asked what unique meant, he said it meant I was very special. I smiled then. He had made me happy. I was special.
In the middle of that year, the woman and I were reading a fairy tale when we got a call. I said that maybe the man was calling and maybe that'll explain why he isn't home yet. The woman agreed and got up to answer the phone. I sat in the woman's place reading my book when my mom came into the room holding the phone. Her face was flushed and there tears coming from her eyes. Wordlessly, I stared, not knowing how to react. Everything was perfect in the world. She never cried.
She was my mom, wasn't she?
"Kairi…he's dead."
I tilted my head, not quite understanding. I had read about the concept of death in books, but I never thought it would actually happen to the couple or me.
I asked her to repeat. She shook her head and sobbed. Fear stabbed at my heart. I had no idea what was happening. Why was she crying?
"Kairi…he's dead. He's not coming home."
"Will he be home tomorrow?"
"No…Kairi…he's not coming home ever again. He's gone." Another sob shook her.
I drop my book. I stood there as my mother cried.
The funeral took place on a Friday the 13th in January. It rained the entire time, and not once had I shed a tear. My mother's words kept repeating in my head. I had not uttered a word since that day.
But, I took one look at my mother at the funeral.
She's broken…I'll put her back together.
I slept in the couple's bed for the next two years. I took my father's place and kept my mom as happy as you could keep a mourning widow.
One day, when I seven years old and staring at a picture of the couple and me, my mother came home late. I had set the picture down on the table and ran to greet my mom at the door. But I stopped in my tracks when I saw the man next to her, holding hands.
"We're getting married, Kairi. Isn't that great? Now you can have a father again." A smile graced her lips when she finished and tears of joys sprung to her eyes. As she wiped them away, I glared at the man.
"What's your name and how long have you been seeing my mother?" I emphasize the word "mother". He smiles down at me, and attempts to pat my head. I smack his hand away.
Anger coursed through me, and his slightly shocked expression made the anger so much more dangerous. I yelled out at him, screaming profanities and kicking and punching. My mother tried to grab me away from the stranger. But, he could not ever replace him.
But he did. And I stood in a beautiful dress, a tiara of flowers gracing my head, holding a basket of lush red rose petals. With my head bent down in defeat and grief, I silently cried the tears I should have cried the day of the funeral.