Lacrimo Crystallinus

Rinse, lather, repeat. I easily fall into the monotonous rhythm of washing dishes, as I always do. Truthfully, it is my favorite mindless chore because while my mind does not have to focus on the task at hand, I don’t have to think about anything else, either. My mother stands beside me, chopping up vegetables to add into dinner, keeping up a stream of comforting chatter, ignoring the fact that I respond minimally to her.

Since the incident with Melody, I have been studiously ignoring my feelings for Satoru. Although we love each other, I still hadn’t come to terms with what he’d done, and I needed to just take some time to get myself together before thinking about that again. Rinsing the soap off a plate, I stare intently at the lights that had been strung along the trees and roped across the crowded downtown streets of Denver. It is getting dark outside and the lights would come on soon enough. It is strange to think that in less than a week, I will be eighteen. I will be able to see Satoru legally.

Oh, the irony.

The dishes are finished. I dry my hands on a nearby towel and am about to slip quietly into my room when my mother calls me back to the kitchen. She looks at me for a long moment, silently peering into my eyes, before speaking.

“What have you been thinking of, Bao?” she asks, her shoulders relaxing from all the chopping, and she sets the knife aside, clearly expecting this conversation to last.

“Nothing,” I say, half-truthfully. “I guess I still can’t believe that I will be eighteen soon. It seems so… early.”

She smiles. “Of course. That’s how I felt when I was your age, too.” Silence sits over us for a moment and I can feel that she doesn’t quite trust me. “Anything else?”

“No, nothing,” I say, a moment too late. She gives me her ‘mother’ look and I know she’s aware. I sigh. “If I tell you what I’ve been thinking of, will you promise not to make me give you details?”

She raises her eyebrow in warning and suspicion, but I know she won’t question me… for now.

“Someone secretly did something that they knew would hurt my feelings, but they confessed because they felt guilty and wanted me to know the truth.” Until now, I could look into her eyes, but I duck my head away quickly as a hollow ache in my chest returns. “But it still hurt my feelings… so I stopped… being friends with them. I’ve been wondering if I did the right thing, or if I just hurt us both for nothing.”

My mother looks at me with compassionate eyes and a reassuring smile. “Friends sometimes do things that hurt you, Bao, even if they don’t intend to. If you think your friend is worth it, you will forgive them, no matter how hard it is.”

I stare at her for a long time, knowing that she can’t possibly know about my relationship with Satoru. I pay my own phone bill, I go out to meet him, and my friends don’t come over anymore. How is it that she knows that side of me so well? Am I easy to read? I stare at my pale fingers, curled over each other on the table.

“Mom, I want to tell you something...”

She nods solemnly and sits beside me at the table.

“Since I’m going to be eighteen soon, it’s past time I told you the truth.” I wait for her gaze to become cold or disappointed, but neither happens. I take in a breath. “I was seeing Gackt.”

Her expression changes. I can’t describe the difference, I only know that it isn’t the same. “Why ‘was’?”

“He is the person I spoke of,” I say levelly, my lips pulling back a little on one side. “He is the one who did something in secret that hurt me.”

“How long have you been seeing him before this?”

“Almost a year.”

“I see,” she says, slumping in her chair as if exhausted. “I also have something to tell you. That you told me about this proves that you’re ready to hear the truth.

“Your father…” She stops, looking pained, but takes a deep breath and continues. “We also loved one another, Bao. Please don’t ever think that we didn’t. We moved to America precisely out of love; it was the only way we could be together. Our families liked one another’s, but they did not want us to be wed—we were both poor. So we moved to America, where there were possibilities for people like us; and we got married.

“We were happy, but it didn’t last. When we moved here, we could hardly speak English and neither of us had a decent education. Your father had graduated from high school, but I had only finished the 10th grade. My beauty schooling helped me get a job, and luckily it grew from there. Your father was not as lucky. He did jobs in manual labor, which was not difficult for him—it was all he had done in China, as well. Before the year was up, I was pregnant with you, but that same year, financial troubles had dominated our lives and tore us apart.”

My mother smiles sadly.

“He began to drink and smoke heavily. I left for long periods at a time, staying with your stepfather so that I could keep you away from Wei’s poor habits and recuperate from work and other stresses. I . . . developed more than what I’d bargained for with that man,” she admits with tears rimming her eyes. “I fell out of love with your father and into it with his friend. It tore me up inside, but I kept it secret. Even after I was used to the lack of money, time, and affection, I continued to see him. Eventually, I divorced Wei and here I am. . .”

“Mother.” It is all that I can say.

“I know, Bao. You hate what has been done to you by men, and I have taught you to hate it throughout the years, in hopes that you would not ever do what I have done. It hurt us both more than it would if I had just confronted Wei.” The tears spill over and trickle down her face. I begin to cry also, holding it in silently. She hugged me tightly, as she hadn’t for so many years, and I returned her embrace. “I taught you to hate me.”