Photo by Denny Müller on Unsplash

Himeko, Why did you do it? Why for her?

“Love, what else? For what else do we do what we do? I saw myself in her, in her young foolishness at least. In the hope that had yet to die.”

If so, what should she call you? Mother?

“Wait a minute! I’m young still. Too young to be someone’s mother. I drink and hate to work too much for that. No, I was her teacher, her mentor, her role-model… in more ways than one.”

I chuckled at that, for which she sent me a knowing, contemplating look.

You probably need some wine for this, don’t you?

“Only if you share a glass with me.”

I smiled.

I have a cup of coffee.

“You should know, there are offers a man just shouldn’t refuse.”

I sighed.

We are digressing.

“We are indeed. But that’s because not even you yourself know what’s the word you are looking for. A word for what I did.”

There are plenty of words.

“None convince you enough.”

Because none convey enough.

“Shouldn’t you just give up then?”

You didn’t.

“Exactly. I knew you’d catch on.”

You didn’t give up. You loved her from a distance, from up close. You gave her the tools she now needs. You didn’t stop at teaching her, nor mentoring her. She wasn’t your daughter, so your judgement was never clouded by the bright charms of parenthood. You saw her for who she was, and for who she could become.

“I’d hate to be in your head.”

Yet you are.

“Am I in your heart though? She certainly was in mine. My memory of her was what gave me that last push after all.”

I smiled yet again. She had that power.

And you should know, Himeko, that for me, my mind is my heart and my heart is my mind.

“Bold words from someone not sharing a glass with me.”

I went for one.

“That’s better.”

Alcohol holds the delusion of promises and mindfulness, when in fact all it does is to leak my thoughts into the open.

“Sometimes you need them to leak for new ones to come. Here, have some more.”

I drank slowly, savouring the bittersweet moment.

Himeko, do you regret it?

“What a foolish question.”

Do you?

“I’m going to get angry.”

But… do you?

“Of course not! If there is something I regret, that would be — ”

I sighed. For some reason, the wine tasted bitter, only bitter.

“I gave it up. For her. For me. For us. Stop asking me, I’m no writer even when I’m drunk. You already know the answer, don’t you? What am I?”

I don’t know.

“What am I?”

I don’t know.

“What am I?!”

Not here! You are not here!

Why? Because you shaped her. You molded her with the care of an artist, with the warmth only known to love. You gave her the form she needed, she was meant to have. You did it slowly, yet harsly and delicately, with the precision of a weaver. You ignored your fears. You turned them into the hope she received.

Himeko, you are a shaper.

You brought her back.

And now, you are not here.

…

“It was love. That’s all there is to it.”