CHAPTER 14: SELF WORTH

She remembered gasping awake—being jerked back into consciousness suddenly, only to be pulled back into the darkness by leaden fingers. She remembered blinking at blurry faces peering down at her and hearing slurred voices but not understanding the words. Then, the blackness would wash over her again. Tifa felt as if she was floating for the longest time. There was no way to tell how much time was going by (if it was even passing at all) and she may have been fearful if she could find the strength. Instead, she faced the endless void with apathy. The next time she had opened her eyes, she had recognized her father's blurry form, hunched over the bed. She wanted to talk to him, but oh—her head! It hurt so badly! Somehow, she managed to let a groan escape, surprised at the hoarseness of her voice. There was a bit of commotion, then. Her father had shouted and someone else had entered the room. Papa was talking to her; she stared at him with heavy eyes, but wasn't really listening.

How did I get here? What happened to me? Think, think...

"Tifa?" Papa asked through the thick fog. She hadn't realized she had closed her eyes again until she pried them open to acknowledge him. "What is the last thing you remember?"

A quiet, still house. A man carrying Mama in a white sheet. Papa was crying? The smell of thawing earth.

It hurt to think. Every scrap of information was scattered about, a confusing patchwork of bits and pieces that she wasn't sure how to rearrange. It was easiest to focus on one scrap at a time.

People standing all around. Bright flowers on a wooden box being lowered down, down. Oh, no.

No, no.

Mama was dead.

… … …

They told her that she had been in a coma for a week. Papa had said that she fell and hit her head, though she didn't recall how. Whenever Tifa felt the urge to ask, snippets of memories of the world spinning out of control in blurs of grey and blue frightened her into silence. Everyone was so kind, coming to visit her and leaving small bouquets of flowers, tiny boxes with pretty candies and small burlap satchels of chocolates. Tifa was overwhelmed by the generosity and attention of the villagers, but if she was honest with herself she really just wanted to be alone. Before her accident, she relished the attention. She loved to be around people, to hear them tell her how big she was growing and ruffle her raven tresses. The art of conversation was an amusing one indeed, and it had been one of her favorite games. But reluctance had frozen her voice in her throat. The girl had been used to letting her emotions flow freely through her speech or actions, but something had built a dam in her heart and it was so tiresome to try to find a way around it.

One person whom she wanted to see was Cloud, but he never came. She thought of him constantly. The feel of his hand in hers had always brought peace to her soul and she longed for that now more than ever. The spring breeze drifting through her curtains made her shift her gaze to the rusty bell that dangled from knotted twine. He hadn't tried to call her, but Tifa was too weak to move to answer it anyway. It didn't matter; she didn't deserve to be fussed over. She was a wretched girl whose carelessness had caused her mother's death. There was no reason for everyone to pity her or treat her with kindness. Maybe Cloud was the only one who knew that.

Tifa had been recovering for a few weeks before she had the strength to go outside. Her body had been ready, but her mind was not. For some reason, anxiety blossomed in her chest even at the thought of interacting with her friends. Would they see the guilt that lurked in the depth of her carmine eyes? Tifa held Papa's hand as he led her through town square. Most people they passed tipped their hats or said hello, happy to see little Tifa out and about. It used to be so easy to smile at everyone and skip merrily alongside her father, but now it was so hard to muster the strength to even meet the gaze of those who spoke to her. She studied the smooth surfaces of the cobblestones instead of their faces. The feeling of dread that welled in her throat was foreign and she didn't understand. Maybe this was shyness. Tifa decided that it was a frightening thing.

With a flick of her eyes to the left, Master Zangan came into view. He approached with even gait and acknowledged her with a polite nod and gentle smile as he passed by. She remembered the man's words about her lack of discipline and felt inadequate in his presence. The martial artist was the type of man who had the skill to read a person like a book, and she felt exposed and ashamed to be seen by his understanding eyes. Embarrassed, she hid her face in her father's side. The next time she peeked out into the crowd, Tifa's eyes zeroed in on the sight of a familiar head of unruly flaxen hair. She would've stopped in her tracks if her father's pace didn't pull her along. Oh, how terribly she had missed Cloud! He was walking in their direction, carrying an armful of new linen and fabric. His voice was soothing her aching chest and she longed to speak with him more than anything! Cloud's eyes met her own for a brief moment, and Tifa was surprised at the fear she saw in them.

"Let's go to the tavern, Tifa," Papa suggested, gently tugging her hand to get her attention. "We can get some good food, since my cooking is abysmal."

Tifa looked up at him and nodded. When she turned back to look at Cloud, he had vanished.

… … …

"Once you finish hanging all that to dry, you can bank the wood in the stove and finish chopping the vegetables for the stew," Claudia said, refusing to look up at Cloud as she measured and cut fabric.

His mother had been speechless when Master Zangan had escorted him home with hitching breaths and bloody knuckles. Cloud was glad the man had rescued him when he did, but he was embarrassed that he had seen him behave in such a manner. Master Zangan was well respected in Nibelheim. With only his bare hands, he had defended the little village from attack by monsters from Mt. Nibel on dozens of occasions and was rewarded with groceries and the like. The man was a local hero, and Cloud was so ashamed at his lack of control that he did his best to stay out of Zangan's sight. The man's outward gruffness and pale eyes had always unnerved Cloud, anyway.

Mom had never been so angry with him. He had been in a few more fights since the first one in town square and they had left his emotions in a tempest of thrill and guilt. Sometimes he started them, sometimes he didn't. Either way, Mom always found out about it. Now, Cloud was stuck inside scrubbing clothes against the washboard with lye soap. As he grew, his mother naturally gave him more chores around the house and he knew more than anyone how much she needed help. However, he was now being punished and had limited freedom. After school he was to come straight home, fetch things as his mother asked, tend the garden, aid with cooking supper, do his homework then go straight to sleep. Doing the laundry was such a back breaking task that he was glad he only had to do it once a week.

Cloud felt both satisfaction and shame at his newfound aggression, something that he knew astonished his mother. It felt good not to have to hide the anger he felt towards the other boys. Showing them that he'd no longer back down had allowed him to start developing a sense of pride. But at what cost? If Tifa knew what he'd been doing to her friends, she'd hate him for sure. When he saw her that day after picking up his mother's fabric order, all he could think about was how much he wanted to hold her to him and tell her how relieved he was that she was alright. But seeing her father beside her was enough to spook him away. Cloud never wanted to be in Mr. Lockhart's presence ever again. Did he tell Tifa that Cloud was responsible for her injury?

The thought made him suck in an anxious breath. He needed to talk to her; it had been way too long.

Cloud looked toward the window and weighed his options when he saw the orange glow of the setting sun. If he could meet with Tifa under the cover of nightfall, it would be easier to avoid being seen by her father or any villagers who might tell her he had pushed her off the bridge on the mountain pass. It would also allow him to sneak away while Mom thought he was asleep. Dishonesty left a bad taste in his mouth and a sinking feeling in his gut, but this was important! He scrubbed faster before rinsing the clothes and hanging them outside to dry. In the Lockhart's yard, the tire swing slowly rocked in the gentle breeze.

It was unlike Tifa not to be playing in the yard at all hours of the day. She hadn't asked him to play or been outside at all since her injury, aside from that one time he passed her in town square. Cloud hoped it was because she was still recovering and not because she had lost interest in him. His neighbor had become reclusive, not answering when he called or playing with anyone, even the boys from school. Most disturbingly, he no longer heard the notes of the piano dancing through his evenings.

After supper and an hour of homework at the kitchen table, Claudia sent Cloud to bed. He feigned disappointment and slumped up the stairs, running to his window seat once out of sight of his mother. Grasping the rusted jingle bell, he gently tugged a few times.

Please, answer. Please, please, please….

Long minutes ticked by before Cloud gave up and curled into his bed. Maybe the bullies were right: maybe Tifa never wanted to see him again after what happened. Just as his chest started to tighten at the thought of being separated from Tifa forever, the weak ringing of a bell reached his ears. His lips curled into a hopeful smile as he rose to answer Tifa's call.

… … …

Heart pounding, Tifa snuck out into the vacant town square. Father was busy down in his woodshop and wouldn't notice if she wasn't asleep in her room. She was overjoyed to that Cloud had sought her company, for she had craved his attention almost as much as she craved her mother's touch. Tifa was confused as to why he asked her to come and meet him in secret, but it mattered little if it allowed her to see him. The dark part of her heart was worried that he would be angry with her for not coming out to play, for not seeking him out, for killing her mother…

The water tower stood tall in the center of town square. It was a large wooden structure that held a large metal cylinder full of water about four meters off the ground. Pipes and wood boards made it easy to climb, and Tifa easily made her way up the side. She was almost to the top when she heard Cloud's kind voice call her name softly from his perch atop the metal tank. Quickening her pace, she hauled herself up over the final ledge and saw Cloud's face in the moonlight.

"Oh, Cloud!" she moved forward to embrace him. "Oh, how I've missed you."

It felt like heaven to feel his arms close around her and she pressed her face into the soft cotton of his sleep shirt. Comfort was something that was so hard to find these days. Papa was mostly stoic when she was with him, but she often heard his quiet sobs in the middle of the night and it frightened her. Never had she ever heard Papa cry. It was hard to reach out to him for solace, since he never encouraged her to talk about her mother or her sadness. But Cloud was the best listener she knew! He'd understand, wouldn't he? She let her head rest on his shoulder for a moment before pulling back, bowing her head down. Together, they sat on the wooden ledge of the water tower.

"Tifa, I'm so sorry," Cloud began, shifting nervously. "I called you out here to say that I hope you're alright. I didn't get to tell you that I was sorry about your mom before you hit your head."

She smiled at the comforting sound of his voice.

"It's alright. I…don't remember much about that day," Tifa said, running a hand over the stitches hidden underneath the hair on the left side of her head. "I remember Mama's funeral, but everything is fuzzy after that."

Cloud exhaled with relief—she didn't remember? He supposed that was a good thing. If she knew he had failed to save her—if she knew how weak he was—she would be so disappointed, and he couldn't bear to see the look on her face. Cloud wished that he could forget that day, too.

"Oh—Cloud! What happened to your cheek?"

The boy flinched. He was covered in small battle wounds from a brawl with Jim the day before, the most noticeable being a large, black bruise across the right side of his face. Thankfully, the dim moonlight hid the scrapes on his chin and his bangs veiled another swollen bruise on his forehead. He couldn't let her know that he had been fighting with her friends. The Cloud she knew was gentle and kind, and she used to praise him for this. The volatile moods which he had consumed him since the accident had changed him into someone he didn't recognize. It was not the Cloud that he wanted her to see.

"Uh—I fell from the tree in my yard…it's nothing, "he lied, swallowing hard when her soft hand came up to cup his face. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she wasn't buying it.

"Did something happen? You can tell me," Tifa pressed, looking deep into his cerulean eyes. How was it that no matter how sturdy he had built the walls around his heart in the past few weeks, she knew how to bring them crashing down in an instant?

"…I got in a fight after school," he hung his head to escape her gaze. "It isn't a big deal."

Ruby eyes flew wide. Cloud? In a fight? Her timid, gentle next door neighbor wouldn't harm a fly! She watched as her friend nervously ran his fingers along the wooden boards underneath them, trying to read between the lines of this behavior. Was someone picking on him? Cloud was always too timid to stand up for himself and it made her so angry that someone would hurt her best friend. Protectiveness swelled in her chest.

"Who did this? Cloud, this is important."

He wouldn't answer.

It wasn't until recently that Tifa began to understand pain. Accidentally dropping your school books on your foot or falling and scraping your knees hurt, but pain of the heart was much, much worse. She now understood what it was like when something made you so sad that you just couldn't talk about it, even if you wanted to. It hurt so much to know that without her, Mama would still be alive. She had come to the water tower hoping to be able to tell Cloud about the guilt that followed her like a creeping shadow. But now, her confidence had ebbed and she found herself shoving the confession of her sin back into the hidden parts of her heart.

Wordlessly, she pressed her shoulder into his and tentatively placed her fingers atop his knuckle. The boy leaned against her and they sat like that for a long while, a comfortable silence settling between them. Tifa thought of Cloud's startled face when she saw him in the market the day before; he hadn't had the bruise, then. She remembered hiding her face when she saw Master Zangan, who was just as tall and strong looking as he was when he had rejected her last year. If only she had been good enough to become his student, maybe she could've protected Cloud from his attacker. If only she wasn't so foolish and undisciplined, maybe she would've been wise enough to wear her stupid coat and not get her mother sick. It was too late, now.

But maybe she could try once more, for Cloud's sake.

… … …

Papa had told her that she wouldn't be returning to school. He had decided that she knew how to read, write and cipher well enough, so now that her mother was gone she needed to stay home and take care of the household chores. The boys had been distraught by this, especially Thomas. He made sure to stop by on his way home from school most days and fill Tifa in on what was going on in the lives of their classmates. She was grateful for this and enjoyed Thomas's company, but somehow felt shy and out of place around her happy go lucky friends.

Tifa wasn't a great cook, but Mama had taught her enough to get by and be able to follow the recipe cards in the little wooden box beside the stove. Sometimes she wanted to ask for Papa's help, but he was always working in his woodshop and would get short with her if she did. He was always busy out in the town and when he was home he was hard at work, sawing and hammering. Worst of all, he didn't want to play with her at all these days and she felt so lonesome. But she understood. So much had changed in their lives that it didn't feel right to be silly anymore. She didn't feel like the same girl that used to frolic through the fields with her playgroup, even though that was the girl whom she longed to be. The one person she actively sought out was Cloud, but he was stuck doing chores or studying and rarely had free time lately. Papa wasn't fond of him, anyway, and she didn't want to do anything to make his mood worse. So she settled for a passing wave on the street or a brief chat over the fence.

Since their late night meeting, Tifa hadn't been able to stop thinking about Cloud's bruise and how much she just wanted him to be alright. She had made up her mind to ask for Master Zangan's tutelage once again. When she told her father about it, he brushed her off and said that a young girl should have no business learning anything of the sort. Little did Brian know that his dismissal of her ambition only further fueled the fire in Tifa's heart.

The day before she turned nine years old, Tifa sought out Master Zangan. Wearing a plain white pinafore, she strode to the edge of town to the clearing where the martial arts master practiced his morning katas. Papa was gone for the day to cut timber, and she was going to do this—with or without his permission. Being disobedient was a foreign thing to Tifa, who had always wanted to please her parents. But her father just didn't see how important this was. She needed to do this. Her mother would've been proud of her for wanting to help Cloud. Would Zangan think she was worth enough to consider giving her a second chance?

The biggest problem that she had run into was the subject of payment. Tifa had heard that his lessons were expensive, making all of this impossible without her father's support. She lacked the materials and skills to make anything worthy of trading for his services. This was pointless! He wouldn't waste his time with a spoiled, undisciplined girl with no gil. And yet, her feet carried her forward anyhow. He was there, as expected, when Tifa reached the clearing. She waited quietly some distance away as he gracefully demonstrated his moves with precision. Zangan noticed her there and but waited until he had finished before turning to face the girl.

"Good morning, Ms. Lockhart."

She flinched at the sound of her name, suddenly unbearably nervous. A gentle breeze blew, making the wildflowers in the meadow sway peacefully as silence passed between them. Say something! But she was frozen. Zangan was surprised at her behavior. Since he came to Nibelheim almost a year ago, he'd noticed that hesitance and shyness had never been traits of Tifa's personality. But there she stood, timid and still with trepidation in her eyes. He had always had a soft spot for children.

"Come here, it's alright," he encouraged, and Tifa found herself stepping forward.

She felt her nervousness start to recede at the kindliness in his voice. Upon reaching him, Tifa knelt to the ground and bowed low at his feet, dark hair pooling on the grass. Zangan watched the girl, curious. In the place of the playful child who had sat at his feet last summer now sat a solemn girl with sorrowful, desperate eyes. He had scarcely seen the child since Lia's funeral in March and knew of her dreadful injury. It was a lot of trauma for even an adult to process, so he was sure that was the cause for her shift in behavior.

"Master, I want to learn martial arts," she said quietly, keeping her face to the grass.

He had not anticipated this at all. Perhaps he underestimated the will of this little girl. Stooping to the ground, he gently lifted Tifa's chin with his thumb and forefinger. She raised her head, but kept her eyes lowered beneath ebony lashes.

"Look at me," he requested in his softest voice. She obeyed instantly and he studied the brokenness he found in those deep red orbs. Zangan's heart bled for the little girl.

"Why do want to be my student, Tifa?"

This time, she was ready with an answer.

"Master, I want a strong body and mind," she said. Thinking of Cloud's bruises, she finished, "But most of all… I want to protect the ones that I love."