Chapter 5 Karmella

I heard the door of my bedroom open, then Sarah woke me up with a smile on her lips.

"Good morning, Sarah." I say.

She looks at me and smiles. She's wearing a knee-length white skirt and a short-sleeve button-up, and her hair is neatly tied in a ponytail.

"I don't want to wake you up this early, but I need to go to work." She informs me.

"What is your job?" I ask. I scratch my eyes, yawning.

"I am a teacher." She says.

"Aren't you bothered as a teacher that I will not go to school today?"

"It's okay. Just read the books we bought yesterday."

She kisses my forehead and then leaves my room, and I cannot remember my own mother doing that to me.

I check the delicious food Sarah cooked for me before she left for school. I can't even comprehend how she made pancakes for me. I make milk and pour the maple syrup into my pancakes. Since I will not be going to school this morning, I did what Sarah told me. I am so happy that I don't have to think about school or have time to think about my old family and the life I used to have. After eating, I go to the library with an enormous number of books, then I look around to find something good to read.

Back at my parents' house, we have pocketbooks that are not suited for my age. I really want to read some of the stories, but if I don't have homework, Mom used to make math problems for me, so no time for me to watch TV. or read fiction stories.

I grab one of the books that caught my attention: a twisted pencil cover. It's about a seventeen-year-old boy who was a geek and becomes famous. Then there was a scandal of a famous girl in their school, and he became a prime suspect in it.

I don't like reading books since I never had a chance to read novels for my age, but this time maybe it will change since I have a lot of novels, thanks to Sarah.

After reading for hours, I feel hungry again. I look at the clock, and it's already time for lunch. I remember Sarah told me to preheat the food she prepares for me. I check the table, but I see nothing on top, so I decide to check the huge refrigerator. Then I see the menudo that looks great, but the grease is molded everywhere on top. After preheating it in the microwave, smelling the hot meal makes my mouth water. Sarah is not just a loving and kind person, but she's also a great cook. If only I could stay here with her forever, just wishful thinking because I know someday, she will bring me back to my real family, if not now, maybe soon.

I wander around the house even though yesterday; I did it already with Sarah. I found myself standing in the middle of the music room, and I suddenly felt the need to touch the guitar.

One time while I was in the church where my family often goes, I was with Kuya Adonis playing the song he taught me. Mom found me and stormed toward us; she screamed at Kuya Adonis for teaching me how to play guitar and not mathematics. I was so mad and embarrassed at her that day: she furiously destroyed the guitar, the guitar that I know is worth a thousand, in front of us. I was crying and screaming at her, and then she slapped me while Kuya Adonis tried to protect me.

I can still remember what she said: "She's my daughter, and you're not allowed to come near her." She threatened Kuya Adonis that if she ever found out he was near me again, she would call the cops for kidnapping me. Kuya Adonis is 5 years older than me, but he never once assaulted me. Regardless of what she said and the threat, I still visited him. He is one of my best friends, always my best friend.

I'm looking at the guitar, remembering that bad memory, and then I feel the tears on my cheeks. I grab the guitar and play the song Kuya Adonis taught me. It is a song called 'This City Never Sleeps' by Jason Walker. I don't know him, but Jason Walker is one of Kuya Adonis' favorite artists, and he knows all his songs, which I learned to appreciate his music. When I finish singing a few songs, I feel the urge to play the piano.

I remember hating going to music school to learn how to play the piano when mom forced me to go when I was six. Dad didn't force me to do anything, but he just let mom force me to do anything; he's no help. I always think, if I grow up, will I remember dad ever being part of my family? It's sad if I don't remember him, though he's never really been part of my life. Time and time again, I spent time in music school, and I eventually realized how fun it is to play. I learn how to play just a few songs, like some of the songs of Jason Walker, Jamestown Story, and other artists.

I continue playing, and then I stumble standing when the door opens. I look at the clock hanging on the wall, and it is already afternoon, and Sarah just got home.

"I'm sorry for..." I start.

She holds her hands up in the air. I stop talking and just look at her.

"It's okay, you can play everything in this room." She gently says.

"I got bored and found myself in here."

"You play well." She says in delight. "I was so worried when I didn't see you in the living room and library."

"I'm sorry for that."

She sits next to me on the piano stool and makes me sit down.

"You love music so much for collecting these." I say.

"Those are not mine. Those are from the woman who saved my life."

She touches the edge of the keys. Wonder why she doesn't want to talk about her past, not even details about the woman who saved her life. She looks around, putting her shoulder bag down on the floor, and then she stands and walks to the drawer by the window, and then she takes something, digging her hands inside. She returns to me holding a photo with her. She leans toward me and shows me a photo of a woman.

"What's her name?" I ask Sarah.

The woman in the photo is beautiful; she is wearing a floral dress with a ribbon on her head.

"She's beautiful." I comment.

"She was." Sarah says. "Her name is Karmella."

"I'm just curious, how did you meet her?"

She sits again next to me. "You are a curious girl, curious about everything." She says.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Not at all, dear." She says almost a breath.

"I don't understand why people, like you and her, care about the people you just met in the street." I say.

"It's not bad to care for the people who need care."

"It's not like that; I just wonder where their or your kindness came from." I say and look at the ceiling. "The people who dedicate their lives to doing something for the people, for example, the kind people, I know they are doing that because they experienced something that changed them. Like you, you are helping the runaway kids because you experienced the same."

"I like that you're thinking about it." She puts the photo down on top of the keyboard and then her hands on her knees. "Well, as for Karmella, she was not a runaway kid like us. I was working at a senior citizen hospital, and she was one of the doctors there. We became close, and then one time I opened my life to her, she cried so hard, like she knows how hard it was for a kid like me to experience what I have experienced.

"One night she asked me to stay with her... in this house. While we were having dinner, she told me that she was longing for her daughter. That was why she liked me: because I reminded her of her daughter. She was the only person I told about my family and the life I turned my back on."

Her tears begin to stream, but she doesn't seem to care to wipe them away from her face. I put my head on her chest and wipe the tears for her. I want to ask about her past life, but I know she doesn't want to tell it to me. She's still keeping it from me, or maybe she just doesn't like telling her past.

"What happened to her daughter?" I ask.

"Her daughter left her to go abroad when she married her foreigner boyfriend, but there was a tragedy."

"They died?" I ask.

She nods her head.