As the weight of my words settled on my conscience, I couldn’t help but feel the pang of guilt and remorse that gnawed at me.
I couldn’t believe that I had just referred to Noah as shit. Now, not because he wasn’t that-Oh, heck he was a bunch of shit and worse.
It was just that I knew that she liked the idiot, and referring to him like that was like insulting her, like emphasizing that she was dating a shit, that she was a shit for trying to date or catch the attention of a shit.
Noami’s reaction of a jaw slackening and a teeth grinding to my announcement about dating Noah had been clear; I had hurt her deeply. I shouldn’t have said that.
I gulped in nothing, my eyes stretching to Diana who was now beside her mother, her eyes blinking rapidly at me. Why? I was not sure. I had no time to deliberate on that either.
My thoughts were consumed by the way I had wounded Noami with my insensitivity. It was a moment of reckoning, a stark reminder of the power our words held to cause pain.
Her face was distorted now-I think between shock, then anger, then annoyance, then a faint blend of hurt and admission.
Naomi’s image floated into my mind, a silent observer of the situation.
I had known her for the longest before my tragic demise and respected her as a friend. The thought of her witnessing my hurtful words about her Noah weighed on me. I needed to make amends. Apologizing for my thoughtless remark was the first step toward repairing the damage I had done.
I contemplated how to approach the situation. Apologizing to Naomi was necessary, but it might bring up some questions that I had no business with answering.
I feared that I might have to leave her with her hurt, despite the fact that she had been a confidant, someone I admired, at one time. And even now, I couldn’t bear the thought of tarnishing our relationship.
This part of me that was hesitant, even resistant, to admitting my mistake and apologizing, was the part still down trodden by Noah’s cruelty. And it was winning.
For the umpteenth time, I was grateful for the mask. How else could I have gotten away with this?
As I considered the complexities of the situation, my mother’s approach was the last thing I expected.
Stupefied and caught off guard, I stared at her walking towards us, unable to fathom how she had entered the scene at this critical moment.
Could that be what Diana had been warning me about?
My heart raced with every step that my mother took and got closer to me and Naomi. My face being concealed behind a mask that rendered me unrecognizable didn’t allay my fears and nerves.
I couldn’t help but feel a surge of nervousness coursing through my veins. This woman, my own mother, had raised me, nurtured me, and instilled in me the very mannerisms and habits that defined who I was. I feared that my mother’s perceptive nature might lead her to discern my identity, even in my masked state.
As my mother came to stop close to Noami, my every act felt scrutinized. I was acutely aware of the way I basked under Naomi’s attention, the subtle gestures I made with nerve wracked fingers, and the shallow breathing evident from my gulping down saliva.
I had spent most of my life learning from my mother, absorbing her guidance, and inheriting some of her traits. The thought that those familiar mannerisms might betray my secret gnawed at me.
Despite the mask concealing my features, I couldn’t shake the notion that my mother might detect something in her daughter’s presence that seemed oddly familiar.
It was an anxious moment, a delicate dance between hiding my identity and yearning to embrace the woman who had once meant the world to me.
The conflicting emotions whirled within me the desire to reconnect with my mother, the fear of being discovered, and the weight of the past they shared. The mask I wore was not just a physical shield; it was a symbol of the emotional barrier that separated us, masking the truth of my true identity.
I couldn’t help but wonder how this unexpected reunion might shape our future and whether it would lead to the reconciliation I had longed for.
Already, her presence added an extra layer of complexity to the situation. She had a way of uncovering truths and digging deep into emotions. I could already feel her scrutinizing gaze, probing for the reasons behind the tensed silence between I and Noami.
“Is everything okay here, Naomi?” My mother asked, darting glances between I and a still shocked Naomi.
I expected Naomi to speak, to explain the situation, but my friend kept quiet, choosing to stare at me.
My mother touched her by her shoulders, and shook her a little. Noami inhaled, then her eyes shifted from me to the world around me. It was like she couldn’t bear to look at me. Did the comment hurt that bad?
Well, better to know now that Noah was shit rather than later. It would save her the heartache.
“Don’t worry, Mrs Shalom. Everything is fine. Just making small talk with the stranger.” Noami finally answered, turning to my mother, whose eyes told of the fact that she didn’t believe Naomi. The woman was still as apt as ever. I was almost tempted to touch her, to tell her that her Maya was here.
Seeing her up close was disconcerting. I needed to get out of here, unless I might do something that I would regret afterwards.
I turned to leave, but my mother’s voice stopped me.
“No introductions??” She asked.
I’m sure she would be looking at Naomi now, expecting her to do the honor.
I reverted to my spot, content but restless with drinking in the sight of my mother.
“Well, I’m sure you already know her, Mrs Shalom. The girl that had held the attention of Mr Brekan, the girl that Queen Aliana vouched for.” Noami started, directing her palm to me, as if as a pointer.
Then she looked at me. “This is Mrs Shalom. The mother of my best friend.”
My heart cackled with pain, seeing the flash of hurt that besieged my mother’s eyes for a second. I watched closely as the painful hurt was quickly masked by a facade of polite acknowledgment. The turmoil within me was almost unbearable as I witnessed the emotional upheaval that Noami’s sentence had brought upon her.
I longed to scream out, to tell her that I was right there, her daughter who had been missing for so long. But I remained silent, my eyes locked on her, waiting for her to mention ‘her daughter.’ I yearned to hear her say my name, to acknowledge me indirectly.
However, it was Naomi who continued the conversation, describing my mysterious disappearance-as if my friend knew that the subject was too difficult for my mother to talk about.
“My best friend has been missing for a couple of months now. We have sent out a search party four times now, but each time, they came back empty. We have not given up hope in seeing her again, but we are just helpless. To think that she had been accused…Oh my…why am I telling you this? You don’t seem like one to care a hoot about another stranger.” Noami concluded, an indescribable emotion in her eyes as she maintained a heated stare with me.
If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought that she was daring me to make a striking comment about her best friend, maybe calling her shit.
But why would I?
Her words had felt like a heavy weight lodged in my throat, choking back the flood of emotions threatening to consume me. I wanted to flee from this place now, to find a quiet corner where I could finally release the pent-up anguish, where I could vent my pain.
But I couldn’t. My desire to avoid causing any further hurt or misconceptions to my mother and Noami outweighed my need to express my own emotions.
If I left now, I would appear even more heartless and cruel in Naomi’s eyes. I was trapped in a dilemma, torn between my overwhelming emotions and my fear of causing more harm.
I grappled with the decision of whether to reveal my presence or wait for a more appropriate moment. My instincts told me that the timing was not right, that I needed time to process a lot of things. So, I decided to stay silent and bide my time, at least for now.
As the stare battle continued, I contemplated the idea of leaving a letter, a small note that would let them know I was okay and safe. It seemed like the most compassionate way to soothe their anxieties without risking a hasty reunion. But even the thought of writing that letter weighed heavily on my heart.
My mother and Naomi, perhaps expecting me to speak, exchanged glances, waiting for me to break the silence. But my voice remained locked, my lips sealed by the fear of recognition.
What shattered my resolve was Naomi’s scoff a minute later. “You aren’t really going to say anything? You are really as strong headed and crazy as they said.”
My mother kept mute, staring at me, a notable glint crossing her eyes when I stretched out my hand toward her for a hand shake.
“Hello Mrs Shalom. My name is Dora. Pleased to make your acquaintance. And of course I am sorry for your loss, or rather for your missing daughter.”