STRUGGLES
The Day the Music Died
The Story Behind a Thirteen-Year Disappearance
“Didn’t you ever wonder why you were meeting me for the first time when you were thirteen?” I asked the 26-year-old girl sitting in front of me.
Cassandra’s gaze fell to her lap. Her gut told her their conversation was about to take a turn for the serious, but she couldn’t quite say why. “I did,” she admitted. “I always wondered why people kept talking like they’ve known you for a long time, but I’d never seen you before. They kept looking at you as if they couldn’t quite believe you were there.”
“Hmmm…” I murmured, cupping my hands around my tea. I breathed in the minty aroma and felt the tension leave my shoulders. I wondered how much the younger ones knew. Or how accurate it was. There was, I figured, no better way to find out than to ask. “How much do you know?”
“Not much, really,” was the young woman’s answer. “I asked once — after we started spending more time together.”
“And?”
A shrug. “I asked my mom, and she gave some vague answer about how you were in a rebellious phase since you were adopted and all.”
I nodded. The adoption. How convenient for the family to have used it to explain what had happened. It was time to set things straight.
“Even after my dad got sick and we moved in with Auntie Lillian, we kept the apartment where we used to live. I liked that neighborhood — it was where I grew up. So even when we were living somewhere else, I would often find reasons to go back and visit.”
“It was my finals week during my sophomore year. My aunt — my mom’s sister — had picked me up after my exam so we could have a late lunch. I dropped by our old apartment out of habit and called the house to see if there was anything they wanted me to pick up. That was when I found out my dad had been rushed to the hospital.”
I looked out the window. Tiny rivers ran down the window. The sky was crying. “They knew I was in school. They could have pulled me out. But they didn’t. I couldn’t help thinking…”
Cassandra’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. The pieces began snapping into place in her head. “Wait,” she said. “So if you hadn’t stopped by your old place… if you hadn’t made that call…”
I finished her sentence. “I would never have known that my dad was at the hospital.”
Silence.
“I never got to talk to my dad before he passed. He was already unconscious by the time I arrived at the hospital. Mitchell was there, but I was so wigged out that I made up some story about needing to leave because I had to put away the groceries that I had bought. It was the stupidest thing, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say.”
I went on, finally sharing the secret I’ve kept for more than a decade. “So I went home and waited. And it was my nanny — my nanny — who called from the hospital. The only thing she got out was ‘he’s not breathing anymore’ before I threw the phone down and locked myself in the bathroom.” I glanced up and offered Cassandra a sad smile. “To be fair, it was your mom who knocked on the bathroom door and asked if I was alright.”
“The next day, I put on my uniform and went to school. I had to ask one of my teachers if it was possible to excuse me from taking the final. It was a classmate who stood beside me while I asked. She was the same one who had to explain why I was asking. It was not because of a non-existent breakup with a non-existent boyfriend — it was because my dad was being cremated that day. In the end, it was my advisor and the Head Teacher of my year who brought me to the crematorium.”
Now there was disbelief behind the next question. “Wait, you went there alone? Wasn’t family supposed to be with you? Where was the whole family?”
Another sad smile. “At the crematorium.” But the story wasn’t finished. Not yet.“I don’t remember much after that. I don’t remember the burial. I don’t remember coming back to the house. I remember being alone — Auntie Lillian and her family had flown to the States shortly after, I think. I remember asking my aunt — my mom’s sister — to come and get me so that I wouldn’t have to be there when they got back.”
“So you left,” the girl said.
I nodded. “So I left. And I stayed away for thirteen years. And it was my choice — so I’ve always hated how the older generation would blame my mom’s family as if they had shackled me to the bed to keep me from coming back. They didn’t — I chose to stay away. But no one would ever dare consider that, because then they’d have to ask why. And if they do, I’m not about to lie to make anyone feel better about themselves.”
A heavy silence hung in the air. Cassandra squirmed on her seat, not quite knowing what to say. I decided to save her from further discomfort. “Do you know what course I finished in the university?” I asked.
I saw the flash of confusion on my niece’s face. “I asked my mom once. She said it was Broadcasting — or something related to Communications. It made sense at the time. But you have a degree in Psychology, don’t you?”
It was a genuine smile this time — the kind that reached my eyes. “Yes,” I confirmed. “I do”.
“Why do you ask if I knew?”
The last nail in the coffin. “Ask anyone in the family — especially the older ones — and no one will be able to give you the right answer.”
My niece kept quiet. Cassandra knew me well enough to know there was something else.
“It’s been twelve years since I came back to the family,” I said. “Except for you and your sister, no one else has ever asked me about my life when I was gone.”
