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Emily
I have a memory from 8 years ago. One in which I kneel at the center of a crypt-like room, naked, while an instructor gazes down on me. In this memory, I am only just maturing. My breasts are perky and pointed towards her eyes. Albeit, I knew the rules of the game she played; I didn't move to shield myself from her eyes, but she was quick to raise a long stick, sending it to my shoulder. It stung, leaving a red mark on my skin.
"Stand," she instructed, and I obeyed.
"You hesitate, Emily. The other girls were ashamed to even strip in such an open place." The instructor was wide-eyed, her featuressqueezed in utter disgust of my being. I wrapped my hands around myself and feigned shame. She threw her glance over me once more, closed her eyes, and called me up to my feet. "The thing is, Emily," she paused and held my stare, "you frighten me. I believe there is a wildness in you that can never be tamed, no matter how much you pretend or choose to pretend it's not there." She pointed the stick to my face.
It was cumbersome to stand on my toes, but I remained that way, annoyed by the coldness of the ground.
There was a fierce need for warmth, but the instructor paid no attention to my shivering. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Fox," I whispered, my hands already dropping as I stood tall over her in her wheelchair. She clasped her hands. "I am only afraid of what you’ll become when you leave this orphanage. You are one of the smartest girls I have raised, and I know you will stay out of trouble, but you are much too strange, Emily. You frighten me. You frighten me!" Then I am dismissed, and sent back to a dormitory that I shared with other girls at the orphanage. The rest of the day, I rocked my body on my bed, still naked, watching the other girls laugh and play and point fingers my way.
I still didn't understand her words. I fit in with the other kids, until she began to go on and on about our differences.
I was desperate for warmth. Nothing felt right. I wanted to be her definition ofnormal.
Truly, I wanted to please Mrs. Fox, to be her favorite girl, and notfrightenher as she said.
Thinking back to the episode, I doubt Mrs. Fox had properly examined my character. She was a woman who strived to raise the girls in her foster care home to be properly mannered.
Who would become women who would wear modest clothing in public. Women who boldly wore the tag, 'demure'.
This was the kind of woman Mrs. Fox envisioned me becoming.
I became a challenge, an experiment to reset something that was yet to manifest.
It is as Mrs. Fox warned; I try not to let loose the wildness within me.
"Does Maya still worry about you?" Mike is lying on the grass with my head on his chest. I am listening to his heartbeat. I feel a vibration when he speaks, and I angle my head away from his heart. It's disturbing for me to be in this position as much as it provides comfort. It feels like the words he says to me are coming from the deepest part of him.
I move to place my head on his neck and look at the city behind us.
He smells nice.
He smells like Mike.
He smells like different flavors and spices. Then there is a hint of hair oil that reminds me of olive.
I am addicted to Mike's warmth. It's the one thing that keeps me close to him.
"Yes, she does," I reply quietly. Our meeting is always so solemn at night. Sometimes, I wish he could be more energetic where I have failed to be. I smile when it's the right time. Get angry when I feel it's the right time—everything I do is calculated to match the moment.
Being with Mike means a peaceful time. A time for our hearts to connect.
"Come here." He pulls my head away from his neck and holds both sides of my cheeks in his hands. "Do you want to quit your job at the restaurant, is that it?"
My eyes widen. "Do I act like—like I don't like it there?"
He stutters and laughs nervously. "Oh, don't be silly. I have seen you cook, Emily. I have watched you when you don't even know it. Being a chef looks glamorous on you."
I frown. It confuses him further. "I am not saying…'' he clasps his mouth and closes his eyes. I have made him uncomfortable,which is wrong.I try to reset the atmosphere. We have little time left to spend together. There is no point in using all this time to analyze my character.
We only end up at a dead-end if we try.
"It's fine. I love being a chef." I smile and pat his cheek.
He shrugs, "I don't know. You just get lost in your thoughts a lot more. I wonder if it has something to do with us or the Mano. I don't know Emily. I think you never truly communicate your needs as I have asked. I doubt you even enjoy anything I do."
I swallow and fiddle with the strings of the apron on his wide shoulders. I hate it whenever he suggests that. It makes me realize that all my efforts to push away my doubts are all in vain.
