Wishes Upon Starts

My heeled boots continuously clashed with the metal, stone floor creating a cacophony rhythmic beat, as I rushed through the wide, glass airport doors reflecting a raging sky. Behind me trailed my lonely, brown suitcase, being constantly beaten by the rain. I had arrived in Toronto, Canada two days ago for my new job. I wouldn't be surprised if I got fired, but at that moment I didn’t really care. My father had called at 2 am in the morning; my mother didn’t have much longer. From the moment I’d received the call, my rational mind went out the window. My younger brother was also rushing home from college in Berlin, Germany; neither of us knew how this had happened. It was so strange. Less than 12 hours ago the four of us were on a video call, chatting peacefully together for once, and now she only had days left in this world.

After I absentmindedly passed through the tedious procedures that come with boarding an airplane, I finally arrived at the waiting area. Suddenly a wave of violent anxiety and exhaustion crashed over me and my knees proceeded to buckle, as I collapsed into a waiting chair. I allowed myself a few minutes of much needed relaxation. After all, my brother loved to claim, “Tired Lily equals Stupid Lily.”

A blonde-haired, green-eyed woman came up to the waiting area, and loudly spoke into a microphone, producing headache inducing screech. The woman flushed, and quicked adjusted her microphone, before she informed the passengers: “Flight 982 will be delayed for 6-8 hours”. Realistically, I knew I shouldn’t be all too surprised; after all the weather forecast had called for thunderstorms for a whole week. But, I wasn’t thinking too rationally, rather I was panicking. I would’ve done something stupid if my brother hadn’t suddenly decided to call me. Apparently, his plane had just taken off, and he was flying back to Munich in 2-3 hours.

“Lucky you. I’m in Canada and the plane will be delayed for 6-8 hours,” I drawled out. I could hear my brother wince through the phone.

“Have you informed dad yet?”

“Nope, I just found out,” I sighed.

“And are you going to tell him?” My brother asked.

“...I’ll text him...eventually,” I could practically hear my brother’s eye roll.

“You can’t keep avoiding this forever you know. You need to fix this before it’s too late.”

“I’m not avoiding anything, and there is nothing to fix! We’ve put everything behind us already!” I spat.

“Right, because purposefully accepting a job all the way across the ocean when you had perfectly good offers in Germany isn’t running away,” My brother replied sarcastically.

“That’s not-”

“Oh, and just because you and our parents can be civil with each other, doesn’t mean everything is peachy again.” I didn’t reply; only proceeding to glare venomously at the phone.

“Look Lily, just try to get back as quickly as you can, alright? You don’t want to lose your chance to say goodbye.” My brother sighed and hung up. I proceeded to stare blankly at my phone for what seems like an eternity, when I finally looked up I saw a family of four, a teenage daughter and a six or seven-year old son, happily settling down on the couch across from me. I quickly avert my eyes as envy and resentment builds in my stomach.

My parents and I were never really close. It didn’t help that my brother was the golden child of our family. He was sensible, obedient, and talented. Everything I wasn’t. I was terrible at everything related to academics and quite mischievous. My parents would hire countless numbers of tutors for me. Even so, my highest test grade ever was 88% on a English exam. And that was only because my partner had won us two extra credit points on a review game. My parents, especially my mother, was frantic about that. They wanted me to go into the medical field, and only the medical field, when I grew up. Whilst, I wanted to do something related to art, but my parents said art was only a “hobby, never a career.” In the beginning, it wasn’t all too bad. I did want to be a good daughter; I wanted to make them proud. As a result, I complied with the additional hours of classes, even though nothing brought my grades up.

I remember the first time I rebelled; I was 11 at the time. I asked my parents to sign me up for the art club at my school, and my parents had scolded me on how I shouldn’t work on my art until my grades were all A’s. I ran into my room crying and locked the door for the rest of the day. As a result, I missed my private math and writing class, but for the first time I didn’t care. If anything, missing my classes gave me a sort of strange satisfaction, since I knew that vexed my parents immensely.

Against my better judgement, I returned my gaze to the family opposite of me. The teenage girl seemed to be having a small disagreement with her parents over something. A sense of deja vu washed over me; isn’t that the same way this mess all started? My stomach began to twist uncomfortably at the sight. I glance at my black phone screen.

You don’t want to lose your chance to say goodbye.

My brother’s right. It’s time I stopped running away.

***

I ran out of the cab in a frenzy; my beaten, old luggage is still dragging behind me, since I hadn’t had time to drop it off yet. The night sky was calm; the cirrocumulus clouds were drifting quietly before the shining stars. The bright full moon shined down tenderly on the city. Whilst the hospital was shining brightly with activity, even at 4:30 am in morning. I dashed into the hospital in a frenzy, almost crashing into a doctor, before meeting my brother at the entrance.

“Well, you’re here earlier than expected,” My brother commented, “We weren’t expecting you to arrive until early tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, well, I needed to be here,” I sighed ruefully. Unexpectedly, my brother immediately pulled into a tight embrace. For a moment I hesitate to return the embrace, but afterward feeling the familiar warmth of his sweater; I wholeheartedly allowed myself to accept it.

“Mom’s about to go into surgery; if we go now you should be able to catch her in time,” My brother said. I nod in response, not having the courage to say much else. I lean on my brother’s left side for support; my knees tremble at the thought of facing my parents again. A thousand insecurities race through my mind; how would they react to their daughter who basically ran away from home? Will they forgive me; can I forgive them? My body goes clammy and cold. God, what am I going to do?

My brother flashes me a reassuring smile, and squeezes my hand in comfort. As if he knew all the thoughts that were racing through my head. He leads into my mother’s ward. My father was stroking my mother's left hand, and whispering something to her. His face held more wrinkles than I ever remembered, and slump posture radiated sadness. He glanced up, and his light blue eyes widened with shock. My mother seemed to notice this; she gently turned her head towards. She looked more tired than I’d ever seen her, and I know I’ve caused her no shortages of heartaches throughout her life. Her skin was pale as paper, and she seemed to sink into the bed with her tiny frame. Her body was covered in white bandages; a few failed to hide the blood. Still, my mother’s bright green eyes are as piercing as ever, just like the hours before the fateful argument.

“Mother…”

“Lilliana, my daughter, you came…”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I?” My mother’s eyes soften to a degree that I hadn’t seen since I was a little girl. The salty tears leaked out of my eyes, uncontrolled, and down my pale cheeks. I sat down beside her; my voice getting choked up. Still she seemed to understand; just proceeded quietly stroking my hand. “...I’m sorry,” I finally choke out, “I shouldn’t have ran away. I-”

“Shh...it’s alright...you've long been forgiven,” My mother whispered, “I should’ve...listened to your words more often…I’m sorry...” This only made my tears fall harder. Just then a red-haired nurse wearing the standard white uniform walks towards us, informing us it’s time for my mother’s surgery. My mother said nothing; only giving each of us a serene, warm smile.

She passed away 3 hours later during the surgery.

Two days later, my father gives me a tiny black book with a melancholic, but knowing smile. Inside was a check for $20,000 and a small note on the first page.

- For your true dream, my dearest daughter.

***

I had won that tiny black book years ago for a school-wide art competition. I was 16 at the time, and my art teacher had informed our class that we could sign up to precipitate in a school competition based on the theme of “Dreams”. My friend, Marlene, somehow managed to convince me to sign up. At the time, I didn’t know why I allowed myself to be persuaded to participate. After all, my parents wouldn’t want me to waste my time on the competition. I had spent the rest of that day trying to come up with something; needless, to say my parents were not pleased at my distraction. The next night, while I was working (staring off into space) my nonsensical physics assignment and my brother was playing Call of Duty 4 on his xbox with my father a flash of light caught my eye. Standing up, I went to the nearby window and gasped in shock.

“What is it?” my mother asked, irritation slipping into her voice.

“A meteor shower,” I answered as I sprinted into the backyard. My mother quickly joined my side with an unexpected smile on her face; her normally stern eyes held a twinkle of mirth. I distinctly heard my brother and my father rushing outside to witness the majestic sight.

The white streaks of light quickly danced a symphony across the midnight purple sky. Some of the stars performed their elaborate jumps across the bright full moon; others across the cirrocumulus clouds. Some lights were colossal, extravagant, and audacious; others petite, mellow, and demure. But they had one thing in common: they carried the wishes of those who believed in dreaming. The performance took my breath away; I knew what my performance would be.

A week following the meteor shower, I sat in the audience with Marlene and her family, listening to my principal’s prestational speech. A small part of me feels guilty for lying to my parents about going to Marlene’s house to study for my math test, but the other part of me that is beyond overjoyed overrides any lingering guilt.

“...and now to announce our winners! Third place goes to Emilia Wagner! Second place goes Otto Schulz! First place goes to Lilliana Pfeiffer!”

The moment I heard that my heart started pounding and I almost fell off the theatre chair when Marlene pushed me to go up and accept the prize. An excited smile dawns onto my face, and my hands shake with anticipation. As I step on to the stage with my peers, my eyes wander aimlessly over the crowd and unexpectedly locks with my mother’s. Her face was impassive; however, I was well aware that she was beyond livid. Nevertheless, I avert my gaze and force myself to focus on my principal. The blonde woman beckoned me besides and handed me a tiny black book, a case of art supplies, and announced my artwork would be featured in the local gallery. I forced myself to give a jovial smile, and tacitly stepped off the stage. For a moment, I ponder whether to return to Marlene’s family and pretend I never saw my mother, or walk over and talk to her. I go with the latter option, since the former would probably get me into even more trouble.

I had a quick celebration with Marlene, and told her parents I’d leave with my mother before heading over to her. My mother gave me a stony look when I finally reached her and walked towards the exit, leaving me to rush after her. The drive home was the probably most awkward experience I’d ever had; neither of us spoke a single word.

When we reached our creamed-colored house, my mother ordered me to sit down on the sofa and set my prizes on the table.

“Why did you lie to me?” My mother asked me in a dangerously soft voice.

“I-I just wanted to participate in the contest... I knew you wouldn’t want me to…”

“Your right. I wouldn’t want you too, since you’re barely passing any of your classes! If you’d just do better than I would!”

“But I can’t! I’m trying my best mother! I really am; but I just can’t do any better!”

“You can! Why don’t you believe that?”

“I do, but-”

“Your dream of becoming a doctor will come true if you stop wasting your time on your art!”

“My dream?! Becoming a doctor is your dream, not mine!” I spat at my mother, indignation and anger built inside me. My mother looked enraged as well; we’d gone from whispering to a full on shouting match.

“Being an artist will never support you; you’ll never be an artist if I have any say!” My mother raged throwing my new won black book into the trash bin and accidently knocking the art case onto the floor, causing all the supplies to scatter onto the floor.

Silence engulfed the room. My mother appeared instantly regretful; she looked as if she wanted to say something but I cut her off.

“I hate you,” I whispered before running to my room, “You’ll have no say at what I become. I’ll be an artist, and never anything you’d approve of!”

***

Looking at the tiny black book now, I collapsed onto my knees. Tears cascaded down my cheeks, but a rueful smile slowly started to grace my face. Just as I look up, I notice a spark of a shining star.