《Atypical Bonds》


 Chapter 1: Downcast

    She''s beautiful, so beautiful, just like her mother.


    I failed miserably in the tug-of-war between mine and Diane''s genetics, but the loss doesn''t feel so bad.


    I hold the small lump of life in my arms as she coos. Her eyes are closed shut and her limbs are flailing weakly under the fuzzy blanket. I know these are just vibrant signs of liveliness, but I can''t help but shiver.


    We did it.


    I look down at Diane.


    She''s fast asleep already, looking to be at peace. I wish I could have made one last joke before she slid into well-deserved dreams. If anything, hearing her laugh would have helped me stifle the tears pooling in my eyes right now, making me blink a few too many times.


    The nurse walks in.


    She smiles at me as I cradle the newborn and do a funny, unintentional dance.


    Goddammit! I look pathetic with the tears running down my face.


    Diane would have thought it a hilarious sight.


    With that keen memory of hers, she probably remembers my foolish claim years ago, that I would hold back the waterworks at this exact moment.


    Whatever! I''m crying, so what? I''ll give her the signal for her bazillionth triumph over me when she wakes up.


    I hesitate and kiss my daughter''s tiny hand.


    In all honesty, I don''t know what to do.


    Do I keep on holding her or what?


    I turn to ask the nurse, but she''s suddenly frantic.


    She''s looking rattled, her expression grave.


    She double-checks the monitors in the room.


    She holds Diane''s wrist.


    What on earth is she doing?


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    Shouldn''t she let Diane rest?


    The nurse then turns me to me, her once rosy cheeks turned dull and pale all of a sudden.


    It doesn''t take me another moment to realize what''s going on.


    I swear my grip almost loosened on the baby.


    No.


    No, it can''t be.


    My feet suddenly stow a dreadful cold that ascends through my bones and turns me numb all the way to my head.


    The nurse... she can''t look at me.


    Neither can I.


    I briskly approach Diane and call her name over and over again.


    She doesn''t answer.


    She too, can''t look at me anymore.


    ***


    It''s been a tragic two years.


    I used to despise the idea of going through the motions. I thought it always had to be self-imposed.


    How foolish.


    For someone in their mid-twenties like me, what I went through while being in so deep, proved more treacherous than I could have thought.


    I have the vigor to sustain prolonged depression.


    Thankfully, going back to school has helped me keep my sanity somewhat.


    Diane was a huge part of my life, but only after she passed on did I realize just how tremendous her value was.


    She held up my campy dream to become a stand-up comedian.


    She came to all my small gigs and cheered me on.


    Her smile made everything bright and gave the illusion that I was actually funny. Whether I was or wasn''t didn''t matter at the time. Her chuckles and applause were enough.


    I haven''t laughed since that day in the hospital.


    The best I can do is smile whenever little Diana speeds across the living room while beating at the air with her adorable juice bottle.


    She''s an odd child.


    She''s way too active for her age.


    She barely sleeps as long as she should.


    She eats anything edible.


    "Daddy, door! Someone''s at the door!"


    And she talks like a pre-schooler.


    Is it the TV?


    ***


    A year has passed.


    I''ve just barely managed to scrape by.


    Picking back up accountancy in order to get a job turned out well.


    I''ve been with precious company, which isn''t so bad.


    I can at least hang out with other poor souls that have no families to celebrate the holidays with.


    I''ve even managed to laugh a few times, though getting really familiar with my workmates has led me to shock them when I reveal that I''m only twenty-six.


    What is so odd about it? Has my face changed? Whatever. At least most of my jokes are well-received.


    Diana continues to amaze me.


    Her obsession with pineapple juice is especially adorable... and it''s also just about the only thing I can comprehend fully about her.


    Short of hiring a shrink, I''ve had to ask tens of mature women at the park a series of questions. Nothing too surprising, just the occasional "How tough is a three-year-old''s skin?" and "Can your child solve a series of algebra too?"


    I''ve honestly attempted to check the television stations available back home.


    Since I''ve been saving quite a bit for Diana''s education, I''ve considered having her go to school early.


    Her intellect is obviously superior to that of anyone her age.


    I probably should have her thoroughly examined medically, but a part of me refuses.


    Is this the legendary overprotectiveness I have often heard fables about?


    Or is it perhaps something much, much more obvious?


    I realized that it was the latter today when I came home from work and found the little redhead holding up the fridge in her hand, her eyes eagerly looking for something where it had stood...

 Chapter 2: Overcast

    With each passing year, I come to realize just how much Diane overwhelmed the withering scraps of my genes.


    Diana looks nothing like me.


    You''d think I''d have grown used to it by now, fifteen years later, but nope.


    It''s not like Diana makes it easy for me either.


    She''s as spontaneous and bubbly as her mother.


    She loves to dance, she''s optimistic and at her school, she''s a rather prominent figure even without taking her stunning looks into account.


    It''s odd and weird, but I often find myself shedding a tear when I look at her.


    "You''re just like your mother," I say each time.


    Stymieing that part of me is nigh impossible. I can''t help it. Thankfully, when I attempt to clear the mood afterwards, Diana finds me funny.


    Most of my jokes land, but she gets the best kicks out of watching me turn pale and gawk at her... extra physiological capabilities.


    Just yesterday, she won first-place medals for all track and field events at her school.


    I''ve often encouraged subtlety, but against her bizarre mutant hormones and adrenaline, my voice might as well have as much restraining authority as a paper dam.


    Diana is enjoying herself.


    Her victories feel like mine.


    The larger part of me wants to encourage her to be even more reckless so that she can show the world what she''s made of.


    At her age... at the beginning of the prime of her life, I can''t help but want to cheer her on and make her feel as though everything doesn''t matter, and only her smile does.


    I can''t do that.


    I''m not the sharpest tool in the shed, nor the most stable, but even I know that''s a bad idea.


    We''ve talked about it.


    "Don''t run too fast. Keep it believable. A little more and you''ll break the world record," I''ve said.


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    "I know it''s just interschool volleyball, but destroying the ball three times in a row..."


    The best response I''ve got so far is a nod.


    Goodness, Diane. What were you?


    ***


    It''s been a while since Diana and I hung out.


    I''d been making an effort to bond with her during these awkward years, sacrificing some days at work despite the promotion I got just months ago.


    It had been worth it for a while.


    Diana and I always loved wolfing down tubs of excessively buttered popcorn to sappy 90s chick flicks.


    Because of how often I''ve had to buy pineapple juice for Diana since she was three, my body decided I liked the same brand of juice too.


    Now, nineteen years later, we toast to crappy television while wrapped in thick blankets, piled over each other like worms with the changing highlights from the TV screen blasting against our faces.


    The photos from such moments were piling on in my phone, but this year, it''s different.


    We''ve been fighting more frequently.


    It started as a small dispute about her skipping grades. She''s immensely talented, and by all means skipping grades is reasonable. However, with her performance in sports and clubs ¨C which I''ve tried to limit because of how many questions have been directed toward me about her impressive physique ¨C moving her up a few grades didn''t seem like the best choice.


    I couldn''t allow it, and that lit Diana up like a match.


    It was only then that I realized that she''s not only been holding back her strong opinions against my own, but she''s been feeding them to her ''friends'' at school, most of whom are attracted by her fame.


    She''s told these ''friends'' about her unique physical prowess ¨C whose origin even she doesn''t know.


    That was reckless. Too reckless.


    I was furious and rebuked her for it.


    That was the beginning of a rift between us.


    I''ve been accused of drowning her freedom in a wall of my insecurities countless times ¨C and yes, it was said like this word for word.


    My precautions have finally fed her up it seems.


    Whatever I say has been warped into propaganda against her life choices.


    I suspect her friends have much to do with this.


    It''s infuriating.


    If I bring them into the conversation, she becomes defensive.


    Since when have I not been enough of an ear for Diana''s worries?


    I''ve been there, right?


    I''ve cleaned her, clothed her, protected her, educated her. It was no mere coincidence that she''s gotten this far. It was me!


    I powered through my lank spirits when Diane died, and I did my best to keep her happy.


    And she has the gall to say, in our biggest fight yet:


    "Who the hell cares? I''ve never met my mom. What''s she got to do with who I want to be?!"


    I''ve never felt both searing rage and chilling cold at the same time.


    A part of me wondered why I even brought Diane into the discussion about my daughter, and yet another was furious that Diana didn''t accept who she was, or shut up at her mention.


    The latter was triumphant in what followed next.


    After our verbal bout, she makes to leave the house in the dead of night.


    I stand in her way and demand that she stays home. That she is grounded.


    For the first time ever, Diana pushes me aside easily, and I crash into the fridge, a bewildered look which I remember vividly, stuck to my face.


    Things haven''t been the same since that day, and frankly, I''ve been too worked up to care.

 Chapter 3: Rain

    I might have been wrong.


    If there was ever a semblance of me in Diane, it has finally surfaced since our last fight. Maybe it''s always been there, but I''ve just been too stupid to see it.


    Frankly, I didn''t even know I had this trait: pride that both inflates and weighs heavily on my chest.


    It''s been three weeks.


    Diane and I live under the same roof, but this same roof has not seen us talk in a while.


    A lump rises up my throat every day when I pass Diane... Diana in the corridor.


    She''s... changed.


    I never knew she liked her hair in a matte leather black. The redhead I knew is long gone.


    Such a change...


    Diane would never.


    Yet, Diane would never go through the motions with life like this if her relationship with her daughter was in shambles.


    I don''t even know what she does these days.


    How she''s doing in school, what extracurricular activities she''s taking...


    She leaves in the morning and way beyond midnight, I hear the front door churn open and close shut ¨C most of the time with a loud bang.


    Something is bothering her, but I never ask.


    Should I? I shouldn''t.


    She''ll buckle first and come to apologize eventually.


    I used to give Diana a curfew, but not anymore. She can take care of herself, right? Physically at least.


    With more strength than she knows what to do with ¨C and high intellect wasted elsewhere ¨C she''ll probably be fine.


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    ***


    I maintain a rock-solid stance even though it''s been a week since Diana came home.


    I don''t know what to think.


    Does having a daughter who was once perfect in every other way, and suddenly turned to the ''dark side'' inspire so much fury... and recklessness?


    I found myself looking in the mirror a little too often now.


    I''m back to being the guy who doesn''t laugh... or even smile.


    I''m reflecting on what could possibly have caused this breach between us. What have I not given? What did I not understand about having a kid when I decided to do it?


    I find no answers in my own reflection.


    I turn to the TV more often these days too. Hearing my colleagues talk about their budding relationships with their kids turns me into a dark cocoon of self-loathing.


    I''m seated opposite the bright screen tonight, half-focusing on what I''m watching. I change the station.


    Instantly my eyes bulge out like bulbs.


    There''s been a terrible fire fourteen blocks away and the fire brigade has just arrived on the scene, a little belatedly from the looks of it.


    I don''t know what spurns me at first, but before I know it, I''m out of the house, high-kneeing my way toward the location I just saw.


    A part of me is burning.


    What have you done now, Diana?


    Please let this not be your doing.


    What were you thinking?


    That''s all I can scream in my head.


    I turn round the last corner and I can see the blaze still towering high past the brick walls and roof.


    Many people are gathered.


    All of them are murmuring noisily.


    Ambulances have arrived, and I can see a few men heaving the injured on stretchers.


    My heart sinks when I see Diana among the murmuring masses.


    Her jacket is wet and burnt. Her face has dark stains. Her hair is singed here and there.


    A few people from the ambulance are trying to get a good look at her, but she pushes them away.


    I see her expression, and my face falls.


    She looks furious.


    Several people from the crowd try to talk to her, oddly emotional looks on their faces. She ignores.


    She walks past them, and she sees me.


    For a moment, we are both frozen in our respective places.


    I''m the first to melt.


    I can''t tell why, but the sight of Diane... Diana brings tears to my eyes.


    What was I doing when my daughter was in a burning building?


    What couldn''t I fix so that I could keep her close?


    I imagine that she is going to walk past me and head straight home.


    I don''t care.


    I have no idea what really happened here, but I have to hold her tight, even if she pushes me away.


    There happens to be no need to though.


    I blink and she''s wound her arms around me, her face hidden in my chest.


    I''m surprised, but I''m startled when in the next moment, she lets out an ugly cry that vibrates through my ribcage.


    I can''t.


    Tears fall down my face and I squeeze her tight.


    Immediately, I want to tell her I''m sorry for everything, but...


    "She''s dead, daddy. Elena is dead and it''s all my fault!"


    I quiver.


    I don''t know who Elena is.


    That''s my own fault.


    I tell Diana it''s all going to be alright.


    It''s all going to be alright.


    It''s all going to be...

 Chapter 4: Storm

    It takes a long time for her to recover, and to even start eating. She spends her days locked up in her room. She hasn''t been going to school.


    It''s awkward for me who is burying tons of curiosity under the equally, if not more crushing weight of guilt.


    I assumed we would get a chance to talk after the incident three days ago, that that moment of intimacy on the road, with the backdrop of a burning apartment we shared, would lead to closure.


    I was stupid to assume such.


    Again, I must stress, that having such a perfect daughter for so long did not prepare me for the unfantastical reality that would bloom when the dominos fell.


    I wait.


    And I wait.


    Part of me wants to be the smaller man; I want to knock down Diana''s door and scream "Talk to me!" but Diane''s face pops up and I relax.


    I turn on the TV and turn it off again.


    I go to the fridge. The smell of cheese makes me lose my appetite.


    I greet the neighbors. I don''t have a good subject for a prolonged conversation. Awkward.


    I was so close to giving a smile to eighty-year-old old, lives-alone-Margaret from next door, and saying "Kids, man."


    The next day, things start looking up.


    I act as though Diana is about as fragile as a vase as she exits her room and moves into the lounge.


    That''s a clear sign.


    She''s ready to talk about what happened.


    I sit opposite from her.


    Dear God.


    The look in her eyes tells me immediately that what she is about to say is likely over and beyond all the simulations I ran in my head.


    "Dad..." she says.


    I reply with an eager "Yes, yes!"


    "We are... in trouble."


    My face falls.


    "What?"


    She looks at me with hollow eyes. It''s as though she doesn''t see me at all.


    "What do you mean, sweetie?" I urge, a little scared.


    "I..." she stammers and then pauses. I get the feeling her follow-up switched at the last second. "I was angry. For longer than you realize. I was mad at you."


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    I remain silent. She continues to pierce me with her gaze.


    "I always thought... you didn''t see me. The real me. You looked at me like... you saw someone else every time. Like all that you admired about me, was that I looked like mom."


    Something burns in me defiantly and before I can put it on a leash, it lashes out.


    "I didn''t¡ª"


    "You did!" she hisses, her eyes turning fierce, appalled that I would refute. "Third grade, I began to notice it. You constantly called me Diane before correcting yourself over and over again. You kept comparing me to... mom."


    That''s not true. Diane passed. I see Diana for who she is. I always have. How can she say this?


    My words lunge again.


    "Now look¡ª"


    "Why are you denying it? Fifth-grade consultation, you signed my name wrong. Mr. June had to ask me if I didn''t know my own name because he was so damn convinced my name was Diane after talking to you!"


    "But¡ª"


    "That''s not enough? Really? Dad, you realize that I have abnormal abilities, right? No one in the entire city is like me! But as different as I am, as unique as I am, you still found it in you to say ''Diane would have been more discreet'' or ''Diane wouldn''t have scored too highly.'' I thought when I went to High school, you would change. You didn''t."


    "Diana..." I stammer.


    She flares, then suddenly cools, hanging her head.


    "I''ve always wanted to know about Mom, and I asked you. She must''ve been pretty cool for you to remember her so deeply. But you''ve never told me much about her. I barely know her. But it seems, so do you. You''ve never actually looked for why I''m like this, have you?"


    I freeze.


    With her mellow voice, she addresses something I buried and accepted a long time ago.


    "You''ve been scared of knowing, haven''t you? You want to keep Mom''s memory as you want it. So much so that you''d rather just hide me, instead of finding out why..." she chokes, a bit of fury leaking out. "...why I''m so different."


    I shoot up, emboldened by fury, but it quickly fizzles out.


    How dare she...


    Dear God, she''s right.


    That day.


    That day Diana heaved the fridge.


    From that day, my thoughts about Diane wavered.


    I know everything there is to know about my family, and there was no distant cousin by the name of Clark Kent.


    Diane''s past on the other hand...


    I never knew much about her.


    We were young and passionate.


    She was perfect.


    I didn''t...


    Before I know it, I''m balling my fists and a tear is sliding from my face.


    "Dad?" Diana calls to me, her voice soft.


    I hear her footsteps.


    She hugs me.


    "I''m sorry. I...I didn''t mean..."


    "You did," I speak over her. "And you''re right. You''re right. I didn''t dare to search for it. I was... scared."


    I don''t know if what I''m saying helps the situation at all, but my brilliant daughter is mature enough to recognize my intent.


    "You''re not Diane," I say, hesitant at first. I might as well discover what else I''ve felt over the years right now.


    "I wanted you to grow up and be a spark that lights up my soul exactly the way she did. Maybe I saw myself back doing comedy with you being a part of the audience, cheering me on too. I don''t know. I hated that you weren''t what she was... for a time."


    I feel Diane quiver. I grip her hand firmly.


    "But I grew to accept it. I matured, Diana. But, I guess I didn''t truly leave those feelings behind..." my words stagger.


    "I''m sorry. I''m sorry I wasn''t the father you deserved: one who would have tried by all means to know and understand you; who would have searched about and told you everything about your mom, so that she would mean something to you too. I''m sorry I let you feel so... agitated. And it was stupid of me to allow you to come in and out of your own home without telling you how much you mean to me."


    As the words leave my mouth, I feel vile. The weight of my guilt worsens.


    Diana sniffles.


    "Will you forgive me?" I ask.


    Diana is quivering. She sniffles again. I feel her tears.


    "I... Dad..."


    Will she not forgive me that easily? The thought wrecks me.


    I turn to look at her.


    She''s crying. She holds my hand.


    What?


    "I''ll only forgive you if you forgive me first. Mom''s past... I went looking for it, and it''s coming for us."

 Chapter 5: Clear

    The more Diana explains, the paler I get.


    It seems I was right. Leaving Diana to wallow in issues she could have spoken to me about, was the wrong thing to do.


    As she explains, I can''t help but see the same flames of guilt I had in her eyes too.


    What I caused cascaded into something unimaginable, and she blames herself for playing a part in it too.


    Apparently, after our dispute weeks ago, Diana began to express more and more of her views and gripes to her friends.


    Granted, unlike what I thought, she wasn''t stupid enough to spill her secrets to every Tom and Dick who admired her ¨C likely fished up by her popularity and incredible... physique.


    No. She had a few people she truly leaned on and vented to. I overreacted the last time she tried to tell me this. I took a few friends to be a horde.


    One of these friends, was Elena, a typical, introverted nerd-genius who uncovered a lot about Diana without her even talking about it.


    I resist to urge to point out that I was probably right about scolding her for not keeping a lower profile. The current me wouldn''t ruin the moment though.


    Apparently, Elena, who could relate somewhat to Diana ¨C with her parents who didn''t understand how exhausting it was for her to be around overly expressive people, how her own, secluded bubble allowed her to feel safe, and viewed all her interests other than strict schooling as ridiculous and childish ¨C felt like the perfect person to confide in.


    Diana tells me she spent a lot of time with Elena, learning her habits, and sharing her views and ideas...


    It was what she needed at the time.


    She felt vindicated... a lot.


    Can''t say I blame her.


    However, it was also Elena who planted the idea in Diana to search for her past.


    Diana was easily reined in.


    When brilliant met brilliant, they scoured high and low, through dirt and interweb.


    I''m befuddled to hear that the two girls went out of the country one time, and visited a few relatives of Diane as well as her birthplace.


    My heart beats as I hear this story.


    Diana knows how I feel, but the urgency with which she speaks tells me that it''s somehow imperative that she tells me all this.


    Elena and Diana didn''t find anything of note from Diane''s relatives. She had no immediate family I was aware of, after all, and I assume these relatives whom she never talked about weren''t that close to her.


    The only worthwhile piece of information the two girls managed to recover, was that Diane''s origin traces back to a small town in a different continent. A small, isolated town close to the sea.


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    I can hardly believe it.


    The two girls looked for every piece of news regarding this village on the internet, as they couldn''t physically travel there.


    This was when things started to get awry.


    There were the occasional ''missing persons'' reports and articles ¨C which would always be expected from isolated towns with elements of mystery added by the writers to incite interest ¨C but something... wasn''t right.


    There were odd things... odd stories in that town.


    Elena, finding that the origin story of her friend wasn''t as Wonder Woman-esque as she had hoped, opted to stop the research. She was creeped out.


    Well, Diana couldn''t stop now. As soon as the valve to her curiosity was opened, she drowned.


    She urged Elena to help her for a little while longer, saying she would do the bulk of the work, and of course, she hoped to do it at Elena''s house, on her computer, instead of here.


    Well, a few days ago, tragedy struck.


    When the two girls were digging deep into articles about the small town... the computer suddenly burst into flame.


    The fire, which Diana swears lurched at them as though it was alive, spitting bits of itself all around and flaring unnaturally with each item it latched onto, killed Elena in moments.


    Diana breaks down at recollecting those moments.


    "I...I can still hear her screaming, Dad. She reached for me before she died. I couldn''t do anything. I was fine... unharmed, but I just... froze!" she says as she grits her teeth and claws at her knees.


    I don''t know what to say.


    I can only hold her as firmly as I can while trying to process all this.


    A mysterious, small town.


    A living fire.


    I have no words to say.


    I teetering on the edge of belief and disbelief.


    I only cradle Diana as she sobs for a quarter of an hour.


    By the end of it, I have to say, I''ve started to feel a bit scared.


    Yet... my curiosity has been ignited too.


    I wait a little while longer before detaching myself from Diana and going into my room.


    I emerge moments later with a box that I set on the table.


    Diana looks at it while wiping the tears with her sleeve.


    "W...what is this?" she asks.


    "Savings," I say with a sniffle.


    "What is..." she begins, but catches on a moment later.


    I smile sheepishly.


    "Neither of us can live with ourselves for a while, right? Not here at least. It''s sudden, I know, but... closure?"


    I wonder if Diana feels the same.


    She can''t bring herself to smile, but I feel that she agrees wholly.


    She nods.


    "Closure."


    ***


    Four days later.


    I lock the house and look at it for a few seconds.


    This might be the last time. Who knows?


    I grab the straps to my backpack and lift my swollen duffel bag.


    Diana has her own pair of luggage which she carries with little effort.


    As we step onto the street, we don''t say much to each other.


    Diana is tense.


    We have a stop on the way and we both don''t know how it will turn out.


    Minutes later, we are standing in front of a burnt building. Building complex rather.


    "Let''s find them then," I say.


    "No," Diana says. "I have to go alone. You don''t even know them. You''ll just get needlessly involved."


    I want to argue, but she''s probably right.


    She steps away, leaving her luggage with me, and asks a few people some questions. I recognize some of them. They must have been the residents of the building. They recognize Diana, and some of them shake her hand in gratitude.


    I see.


    The image from that night makes more sense now.


    My little girl saved lives.


    Diana soon walks further away and disappears into a house nearby.


    How she knew Elena''s parents would still be close to here is a mystery to me.


    I wait anxiously.


    Ten minutes pass.


    Then twenty.


    Then thirty.


    Diana only emerges after three-quarters of an hour.


    She walks to me, a blush on her face.


    I recognize it as the not-so-good kind.


    She picks up her bags and leads the way down the street.


    After a few steps, she takes a deep, broken breath, stifles tears, and grips my hand tight.


    I think she breaks my middle finger before she relaxes her grip, but I barely feel it.


    I''m too scared to ask what happened.


    I don''t need to for now.


    I draw closer to Diana and we walk so close it''s awkward.


    "We''ll be alright. Right, Dad?" she says in a drowning voice.


    "Definitely," I lie through my teeth and grip her hand tighter.


    I believe this is the best lie I''ve ever told, for both of us.


    THE END.