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Twenty-one years ago,
“Do you want to tell me anything, Aaron?”
I shake my head at Uncle Alexander and tug on the reins of my mare. It snorts, hoofing in the grass, refusing to keep up with Uncle’s horse. I pull harder, willing to strangle the idiotic thing. How dare it disobey me? I’ll have it killed.
“Steady, Aaron.” Uncle’s calm voice causes me to pause. “Pull slowly. Relationships with animals need patience. And unlike people, they’re loyal to the bone.”
I don’t have the patience Uncle is talking about. None in the least.
With a gentle tug on the reins, Uncle propels my mare into a slow walk. Knight, King, and Zen follow us while clawing at each other, their little paws barely doing any damage. I smile when they roll on the grass, dirtying their shiny black fur. They’re my playmates whenever Uncle isn’t around.
Humid air swallows us as we dive further between the trees. The far end of the estate has been mine and Uncle’s favourite place to ride. Other than the occasional chirps and the jaguars’ purrs, it’s calm. Like all our early morning strolls.
Uncle’s eyes are soft. Their colour is as shiny as our jaguars. Nothing like Father’s dead ones. “It’s been a year since your aunt Ariel’s death. Do you plan to remain silent forever?”
A shadow appears at Uncle’s back and wraps transparent fingers around his neck. A snicker plays at Aunt’s thin lips which are painted in dark brown. She’s still in the same white summer dress, wearing the same dark lipstick. Her head intact. She never left me ever since the day she shot herself.
“Aaron?” Uncle glances behind him which tightens her hold on his neck. “What are you looking at?”
I shake my head. Nothing.
“Talk to me, son.” His tone is so different from Father’s. So tender. So emotional. So... alive.
‘Your uncle is a hopeless case, dearest nephew.’ Aunt Ariel’s shadow taps on Uncle’s shoulder. ‘Go back to your father. Don’t ruin your standards with Alexander.’
I drive her screeching voice away. I won’t leave Uncle Alexander, he’s the only person in this place who tries to understand me. Even Mother doesn’t. She thinks hugging me and telling me she loves me will drive all these shadows, darkness, and voices away.
Where Mother failed, Uncle succeeds. His mere company purges all the demons.
Uncle’s lips pull in a radiant grin. His features are so similar to Father’s. Sometimes, it’s disturbing. But his genuine smile sets him apart. “Aren’t we friends?”
Aunt Ariel laughs so loud a ringing invades my head. ‘Poor Alexander, he thinks you can make friends. I told you you’re special, Aaron. You’re nothing like the weaklings in Alexander’s stupid little family.’
I retrieve my notebook and scribble for Uncle to read. Am I special like Father?
His smile fades, but his voice comes out in its most reassuring tone, erasing Aunt’s existence. “You are my one and only nephew and therefore, you are special. But never compare yourself to your father. I will make sure you’re nothing alike.”
What if we already are? I hold out the paper for him to see.
Uncle pulls both horses to a halt and bores his similar eyes into mine. “Do you trust me?”
Do I? Due to custom, Uncle has become my carer after Aunt’s death— despite Father’s objections. Ever since then, Uncle has done everything to make me feel like I’m normal. He went to the length of giving me time he doesn’t offer his own children.
I nod. He earned my trust long ago. In fact, I trust him more than I trust myself.
He’s real. Sometimes, I think I’m not.
“I wasn’t able to save neither Ariel nor Arthur, but I won’t repeat the same mistake with you.” Uncle’s knitted brows ease as he studies me with the fatherly look that makes me want to kill Tristan, Thia, Trevor, and their mother so I can have Uncle for myself. “Don’t follow in your father’s footsteps. Follow mine.”
A mixture of warmth and coldness washes over me as Uncle pats my shoulder. He smells like Autumn, windy breeze, and falling leaves. A hard found in-between. Not too black. Not too white. The perfect grey.
I smile. Uncle is right. All I have to do is to stop being myself. Maybe that way, I’ll become like Uncle.
And maybe, just maybe, I’ll stop being special like Father and Aunt.
Present,
Another bloody memory that should have been erased. It’s still a lot better than the madness of Aunt and Grandmother.
