Tazia watched as her mother's hands smoothed over the white fabric. She loved them, her mother's hands. They were worn, wrinkled and looked a lot more like a grandmother's hands, but Tazia loved them all the same. They were the same hands that had cradled her as a child, that had held her hand, and guided her throughout all her years. Like mother, they had endured so much in the past few years. They too bore the lines of time, like the ones that had etched themselves into her mother's face. But like mother's face, these hands were a comfort. They were russet colored, her hands, with wrinkles like the folds in an old leather jacket. Soft, familiar, and always warm. Mother's face crinkled into a smile when she saw Tazia standing in the door.
Tazia smiled back. It was such a pity though, she thought suddenly, looking at her mother. After all, she wasn't that old of a woman. Tazia wondered if in a few years time she too would bear the marks of time and trial as her mother did. She wondered if they would even have that much time at all.
"It's finished," her mother practically shouted. She was nearly bouncing with excitement. A moment of silence followed as Tazia appraised the dress. It was stark white; eyelet lace on the bodice, littered with tiny beads and a full tulle skirt.
"Well?" her mother prompted.
"Well…" Tazia started.
"What do you think?"
"It's very…white?"
Her mother rolled her eyes. "No really. What do you think?"
Tazia looked at her mother; the eagerness was bright in her mother's eyes, then back to the dress. Carlos will have a field day with this, she thought. Carlos was her best friend. She'd known him since she was three and he hadn't seen her in a dress since.
"I like it," she said finally. "it's very…" she paused as her eyes lit upon the lace detailing of the bodice, it looked familiar somehow. She placed her hands on the bodice, tracing the lace pattern with her fingers, stroking the beads embedded in the fabric. Her eyes widened. "No," she said. It was practically a whisper. "This isn't…Mama I can't…" she couldn't finish.
Mama placed a hand on Tazia's shoulder. It was warm. "Yes you can," she said.
Tazia just shook her head. She could feel the tears welling up in spite of herself.
Mama wrapped her arms around Tazia. Normally Tazia didn't consent to hugs, but for Mama she made an exception.
"He would have wanted it," Mama said after a while. "It's your day and he would want it to be as special as possible. It's your day and you're going to dress beautifully. You only deserve the best."
Tazia mumbled incoherently into her mother's hair. Her eyes stung but she refused to let the tears fall. She had made a promise to herself three years ago that she would never again let her mother see her cry. She would be her mother's little soldier, as father had been.
It was three ago that they lost him, her father. David hadn't been born a fighter or the member of any army. He was instead a simple man of simple taste. He toiled the land for a living; a full time farmer and part time idealist. He and Miri, Tazia's mother, bonded over literature, the lost art. This of course was when there was still land to toil and mankind was mostly free. Before the land had become overrun with mechanized sentient beings of man's own creation, when there was still time to ponder the cosmic purpose of one's life and the universe.
Te quiero siempre... Ahora corra.
I love you always... Now run.
She remembered the last time she saw her father. He'd smiled until the end. Always smiling. Still the smile when Mama had grabbed her hand and they'd fled. That smile that said that everything would be okay. Only this time, it wouldn't. It would never be okay again.
Te quiero siempre...
And he had still been smiling when the Decepticons fell upon him. Tazia couldn't see them clearly through all the chaos. Massive machinery amidst the smoke. The glimmer of a metal arm. The flash of a red eye.
Te quiero siempre.
The light from the blast enveloped him in his last moments in an eerie blue glow. If it wasn't so tragic it might have been beautiful. He looked like an angel in that light, eyes crinkled in a smile.
I love you always…Now run.
Tazia had watched her mother cry an ocean of tears. She saw her cry until there were no more tears left and she could cry no more. She saw her move through the following years stoic and silent. David's death seemed to take her voice with it. There was no more singing or laughter, little joy was left in eyes that had run dry from crying too many tears.
Take care of your mother. She needs you.
And there Tazia was with the last thing that was left of him. There were no pictures of David, no trinkets or possessions, and memories do fade with time. There was only this dress, the last tangible thing rooted to his memory; the wedding dress he married her mother in.
"Thank you," Tazia said finally and excused herself outside so Mama wouldn't see her cry.