What your gold can't buy makes me the richer one.
Into the threads of memories…
"It's under there. I saw the mirror a few minutes ago."
"Where?"
"There".
She bent over and crawled under the bed.
I snickered quietly.
There was no mirror, but it's exciting to watch her scramble across the floor, trying to retrieve our mother's mirror that isn't missing.
"Are you sure? It seems clean under here, and I can't see any objects.".
I tiptoed to the door, opened it, and shut it immediately after. She jumped out from under the bed, almost knocking the glass lamp over.
Her hair was everywhere on her face, and after a little realization, a scowl replaced her fright.
"You didn't lose any mirrors, did you?"
I stifled laughter, shrugging playfully.
Oh, how much time has changed?
23 years, 6 months, and 5 hours later, debris crunched loudly under my heel-cladded feet. The home that held memories retained it in its walls despite the ruins.
It only felt like yesterday.
I could still smell my mother's hot buns, fresh from the oven. Slowly, I turned towards the once lively kitchen. The cream-colored walls were tainted with ancient dust, but the memory was as fresh as those buns.
Her apron clung tightly to her body shape, hugging her curves perfectly. I usually stare in jealousy. One day, I knew I'd probably look like her, but when my sister started puberty, I felt she took up all the good genes, leaving me with my dad's masculine DNA.
I realized how stupid that thought was only when I was a little older.
"Carrie, call your sister for some snacks. Your father will be coming home today, and we have already chosen a movie for tonight. I hope you guys don't mind.".
Mind? Pfft, not at all. Anything to get Daddy seated throughout a movie night is well appreciated. He hardly stays at home.
A man who isn't defined by his well-trimmed black beard or his camouflaged uniform and badge, but by his spirit of patriotism to put his country first.
We waited for his arrival, like Christmas morning, only to find that he didn't return. Military men, properly dressed in their uniforms, gave Mother Daddy's badge and saluted her.
But, why?
Mother was crying, Nessa was crying, and I caught on only after two days had passed.
"HE’S NEVER COMING BACK, CARRIE. GO TO YOUR ROOM, AND LEAVE ME ALONE. I’M NOT PLAYING CATCH WITH YOU."
Reality dawned on me, raising the hair on my skin. No more movie nights with him. Not anymore.
My legs carried me to the living room. I still remembered how warm and cozy it was. Each time, we turn off all the lights and let the television provide the lighting alongside the entertainment.
It was another lovely night, devoid of the heavy weight of my father's absence. I felt a sharp pain in my abdomen. I was a little over 11, and somehow I felt mature.
The pain pulled at an invisible string in my stomach. I rushed to the bathroom.
It felt wet, and I thought I had peed myself, except that pee was red in color.
I was dying! I just knew it.
This might be cancer—cancer of the 'V'.
The door swung open, giving me no time to pull up my underwear just in time.
"Is that blood on your fingers? Where did it come from?" Nessa came closer with a raised eyebrow.
I heaved a sigh. I must as well tell someone.
"It came from, y’know, down there." I nodded to the area, and she tilted her head, following my movement.
“I know, I know, it's bad. But I promise you, I didn't want to die like this. This also has nothing to do with dad; I'm sorry." I lowered my head in shame.
Her laughter bounced off the bathroom walls, confusion carving into my forehead. Is she happy that she'll be an only child?
"You know what? I can't deal with you tonight; you're missing the movie already. I'll go get you a pad from my room. Just remain here, okay?"
It turns out I wasn't dying after all. It would have been nice to see Daddy, but it's hard to choose between him and staying with Mother and Nessa.
I laughed at the memory, recalling the look on my mother's face when she heard my little ‘near-death’ tale.
I couldn’t believe myself either when Nessa retold the story at my wedding.
Unlike other sisters, Nessa was my best friend, and I was hers. We fight, play, laugh, and throw fists, but there was one thing we didn't do—forget each other.
At the moment, I'm grateful for that.
My eyes wandered around the worn-out house, still standing today on the hinges of unfiltered memories my family created.
During the time of pain, loss, love, and happiness, thick and thin, we stood by each other, and now that’s all we have left of this place—memories.
I wish we could remain young forever. Growing up changed everything we wished would remain the same.
But here we are, at a distant time in the future, and we remain stronger.
My phone vibrated in my hand, and I picked it up after a little glance at the caller.
"How's your tour?"
"Amazing! I could still see how you arrange your skimpy shirts in the wardrobe.".
Her laugh echoed out of the device, bouncing off the familiar walls just like old times.
"Did you also remember when you almost died from cancer of the ‘V’ in the bathroom?"
I shook my head in excitement, trying to hold back laughter.
"I don't, Nessa. You made that up.".
She gasped, feigning to be hurt.
"How about the time your oversized pants slid off your butt in the pool filled with boys from my class? Did I make that up also?"
"Shut up!".
A blush crept up my cheeks. That day was the second-most embarrassing moment of my life after the incident with the piranha. I thought I could domesticate it.
It accidentally slipped into my shirt, and I fell unconscious from shock. My crush witnessed it all.
The beauty of those hours is only seen at a distant time, like now.
"Don’t forget to get mother’s mirror under the bed.".
I laughed. She never forgets anything.
"I'll see you soon, Nessa. I choose the destination for our vacation, and I pick Greece.".
"No problem; I'm only looking forward to the next trouble you'll cause. See you soon.".
The line went dead, and I found myself laughing.
The laughter grew, and I felt tears roll down my eyes. I looked into the half-broken mirror in the hallway, staring at my reflection. A meaningful smile crept up my lips.
"It's time to create more memories.".
How many people have you hurt? How many times did you bring a smile to their faces? Can you remember?
Maybe not, but those people will. Just the same way, you'll recall moments spent with others.
It’s like carving into wet cement; whatever you write on it is permanent when it dries up.
When Mil Hoornaert asked me to go deeper into the context of my lesson, it proved a harder task than creating the article itself until I got a question from a reader.
If Carrie's family didn't have the money to purchase a house, how would they have created those memories?
The money to buy the house, or the TV they were able to afford and watch movies every night, wasn't as important as the decision to create those memories and the choice to cherish them.
Even with a flat screen, some families choose social media over quality time with their families or close ones.
Cherished moments are the currency of the heart. They appreciate over time, unlike material possessions, which often fade (which happened to Carrie’s family house as time went on).
Don’t wait until it’s too late. Treasure the present. Say, “I love you.” Forgive. Laugh. Create memories intentionally for a distant future to later reflect on.
Hence, live life and spend time creating memories you will forever cherish, free of charge.
