Let the Wind Blow From Every Direction

To use my cord blood to save my sister from leukemia, my mother decided to give birth to me.

But the day I was born, my sister couldn't hold on, and she died.

Shattered by grief, my mother blamed all of it on me.

She was about to strangle me when my father dropped to his knees and begged her, and only then was I allowed to live.

In this house, there were three things I was forbidden to do.

I couldn't wear floral dresses, I couldn't eat meat, and I couldn't be held.

Because the floral dress was my sister's favorite, and because she'd been too sick to ever eat meat.

On my fifth birthday, I wished over the candles for my mother to hold me just once.

She flipped the table over, her eyes red as she screamed at me.

"Your sister died right here in my arms. Do you want to make me relive that day? It's all your fault. Why couldn't you have been born sooner? Then your sister wouldn't have died!"

Then she covered her face and broke down sobbing.

My father helped her back to their room to calm her.

I stared at the ruined cake and stood there for a long time.

The next day, my father forgot to pick me up from preschool.

A strange woman walked up to me out of nowhere.

"Little one, I've got some yummy candy right here, so sweet. Come with me, all right?"

I tilted my head and thought about it for a while, then followed her.

Everyone always said my mother's life was so hard.

If I brought the candy home for her, maybe her days would taste a little sweeter.

.......

The woman walked very fast.

Seeing me struggle to keep up behind her, she reached out one hand and pulled me in against her.

"Come on, hurry. I've got so many good things to eat over there."

She half-held me against her.

The feel of it was a little off, but it was warm.

In this house, no one had ever held me.

Not long after I was born, my mother was busy arranging my sister's funeral, crying all day.

Never mind holding me, she wouldn't even nurse me.

My father couldn't stand it, so he hired a nanny to take care of me.

I was left alone in a room, and every day I opened my eyes to the same pale white ceiling.

My father came to see me now and then.

Every time he watched me, there was something in his eyes I couldn't understand.

"Sophie, I know no one is really to blame for this. But if you had just been born one day earlier, your mother and I wouldn't be suffering like this."

I'd grown up, but I still didn't understand what those words meant.

No one was happy that I'd been born.

But today, I had a chance to make my mother a little happier.

"I've never seen you come pick up Sophie before. You're not a bad person, are you?"

A classmate of mine, a girl I got along with, turned to look at the woman and stopped, studying her curiously.

The woman let out a quick laugh.

"What a thing to say. How could I be a bad person?"

That was what she said, but her steps only got faster.

Something came back to me then.

"Ma'am, where's the candy you were talking about?"

She paused, then dug out two pieces of candy and pushed them into my hand.

"Have these for now. I've got a lot more candy in my car. Come on, get in."

I stared at the candy in my hand, wrapped in its glittering wrapper, and swallowed.

In all my life, I'd never eaten candy.

Because my sister never had, I wasn't allowed to either.

Last New Year, my grandmother came to visit with my little cousin.

A few crumbs of the candy he was eating fell to the floor, and I crouched down and licked at them.

It was a sweetness I'd never known before.

I quickly tore off the wrapper and popped it into my mouth, and I couldn't help but smile.

It was so sweet. If my mother tasted it, surely she'd feel a little happier too?

Maybe today she'd even hold me.

The woman opened the door of the car parked at the curb.

I was just about to climb in when I saw two men sitting in the front passenger side.

They stared at me stone-faced, and for no reason I could name, my heart lurched.

Those eyes. They looked like the monsters in the cartoons that wanted to eat the monk.

"Ma'am, one piece of candy is enough for me. I'm going to go now..."

Before they could react, I bolted, running into an alley.

I ran and ran until I lost all sense of direction, and finally I found a public phone booth.

I held the phone in my hand, but I hesitated.

At this hour every day, my mother would be in my sister's room.

She'd hold my sister's memorial portrait and talk to her, and as she talked, the tears would come.

My mother wouldn't let anyone disturb this time she spent with my sister.

Last winter, my fever spiked to a hundred and four.

My father happened to be working late, and after a full day and night burning up, I dragged myself over and knocked on my sister's door.

"Mom, I... I don't feel good..."

I knocked for a long time before my mother finally opened the door.

"Who told you to knock on this door? Your sister is dead, I just want to talk to her for a while, and you still have to come bother me? Are you doing this on purpose?!"

She didn't see my face, flushed red with fever. She slammed the door shut with all her strength.

From that day on, I never dared disturb my mother at that hour again.

But thinking back to those two men in the car with their bad intentions, I hesitated, and then I dialed my mother's number anyway.

When it connected, I'd barely started to speak.

"Mom, I..."

Something yanked hard at my scalp, and a huge force dragged me backward.

"You little brat, you can run fast, can't you!"

The woman cursed at me viciously.

"Get in the car right now!"

I screamed until my voice broke, thrashing with everything I had.

My mother's angry, irritated voice came through the phone.

"Sophie Barrett, what are you doing? Didn't I tell you never to bother me at this hour?"

I cried out without thinking.

"Mom, help"

"Bother me while I'm talking to your sister again, and you might as well be dead!"

In that moment, my heart clenched with a sudden, wrenching pain, so bad I couldn't get the words out.

The woman had me in a death grip.

"Move!"

A car came tearing around the corner.

There was a shriek of brakes, and I was thrown high into the air.

In that instant my body went weightless, and I closed my eyes forever.

I don't know how long it was before I slowly opened my eyes and found myself floating in the air.

So this was it. I was dead.

Before I could take it in, my body drifted on its own toward home.

I saw my mother holding Nina's memorial portrait, one hand tracing the lines of my sister's face.

"Nina, you're so pretty. Of course you are. Mommy carried you for ten months and gave everything to bring you into the world."

"You have Mommy's eyes and Daddy's nose. Anyone could tell in a glance that you're our precious girl."

There was a smile on her lips, but her eyes were full of grief.

In the portrait, Nina was wearing a floral dress.

She was smiling at the camera, her bright eyes so much like mine.

As she spoke, two lines of clear tears slid from my mother's eyes.

Watching her back, I reached out on instinct to comfort her, then my hand stopped halfway.

My mother had told me she didn't like it when I touched her.

The door swung open. It was my father, home from work.

When he saw her like this, he let out a heavy sigh.

"How long has it been since Nina left. You can't keep going on like this."

"There's still Sophie in this house. She's your daughter too. Just be kinder to her from now on, can't you?"

As if something had stabbed her, my mother's voice shot up.

"If it weren't for Nina, I never would have given birth to that little debt come to collect!"

"I wasn't even done recovering from the birth and I had to arrange Nina's funeral. And Sophie did nothing but cry and scream all day, so loud I couldn't even sleep! What more do you want me to do for her?"

My father opened his mouth, then only sighed, helpless.

Floating in the air, I tried desperately to explain.

"That's not true, Mommy. I'm not a debt come to collect!"

Back then, I was just so hungry.

The nanny my father hired saw that no one in the house paid me much mind, so she stopped bothering with me too.

Some days she couldn't be troubled to feed me even once, and hunger left me with nothing to do but cry.

It was only because I never got enough to eat as a baby that now, at five, I was far smaller and frailer than other children my age.

My father was silent for a long while, then spoke slowly.

"But life still has to go on. Sophie didn't do anything wrong, after all. It isn't fair to her, treating her like this."

"Yesterday you made such a scene that she didn't even get to have her birthday. Children are easy to soothe. Let me go out and buy her a cake later."

My mother froze, then said in disbelief.

"And what about my Nina? Because of that damned illness, she never got to eat a single cake in her whole life."

"Why should she? Why should Sophie get to be so lucky?!"

She screamed it at my father, hysterical.

I stood frozen where I was, my heart as if a hand were tugging at it over and over, an ache I couldn't put into words.

My mother said I was lucky.

But every relative and friend who saw me had a faint pity hidden in their eyes.

Last year, on the anniversary of my sister's death, my mother cried until she fainted again.

My aunt helped her back to her room, and when she saw me keeping watch at the door, she stood there stunned for a moment.

"Sophie, why aren't you asleep yet?"

I held up the warm milk in my hands and explained.

"The TV said if you drink warm milk you'll sleep well. I wanted Mommy to feel a little better too."

My aunt looked at me for a long time.

Her eyes reddened bit by bit, and she crouched down and gently touched my cheek.

"Sophie, how did you turn out so good. But you're still alive, and your sister, after all, is dead"

Back then I didn't really understand what she meant.

Now I understand a little.

But it's a shame. I'm already dead.

I stood in front of my mother, reached out, and gave her a hug across the empty space.

Mommy, don't be angry because of me anymore.

From now on, you can miss my sister with nothing holding you back.

My father glanced at the time and picked up his car keys.

"I'll go buy a cake. And pick Sophie up on the way home."

He'd just reached the door when his phone rang.

I don't know what the other end said, but his face changed all at once.

"What?!"

The mother pulled herself out of her grief.

"What is it?"

The father's face had gone grim.

"The preschool teacher called. Said Sophie was distracted in class today, and after school she left on her own."

The mother's face darkened at once.

"That little brat. I scold her once yesterday and now she's throwing attitude, running off by herself!"

The father frowned faintly.

"Maybe she just went to play with a friend after class. That's how kids are. She'll probably come home on her own in a bit."

At the word friend, the mother's expression only soured further.

"Aren't we carefree. And what about Nina? Her whole life spent in a hospital, swallowing pills and getting shots. She never got to have friends."

"When that girl gets back, see if I don't give her a hiding she won't forget!"

Half an hour later, the father set the cake he'd bought on the table.

The minutes crawled by, and the mother slammed her chopsticks down.

"What is wrong with Sophie? Does she even remember she has a family!"

"I'd love to know whose house she's shamelessly playing at until this hour!"

She pulled out her phone, and just as she was about to dial, her hand froze.

I understood then, the same as she did.

The mother had never once taken me to preschool. How would she know who my friends were?

"You get in touch with the preschool teacher. Find out where Sophie went!"

She set the phone down, her voice cold.

The father was about to make the call when several work calls broke into his plans.

"Come out with me for a bit. Something urgent at the factory."

The two of them hurried off, forgetting even to shut the window.

A gust of wind blew my bedroom door shut.

When they came back and saw the closed door, they both assumed I'd come home.

"Sophie, come out and eat. Daddy bought you a new cake."

The father knocked on the door.

He waited a moment. Nothing stirred.

The mother stood up, her face set, and pounded hard on the door.

"Sophie, do you hear me!"

The room stayed silent. No answer at all.

Angrier now, she kicked the door.

"Am I talking to myself, Sophie!"

The father quickly stopped her.

"That's enough. Sophie's still just a child. Don't push her. When she's ready, she'll come out and eat."

He paused, then couldn't help asking.

"You know Sophie had no say in when she was born. So why do you still hate her this much?"

The mother went still, her figure stiffening.

Without meaning to, I clenched my fists, my breath coming a little faster.

From the moment I was born, it was as if the shadow of that question had covered me completely.

She bit her lip, tears shining in her eyes.

"Because of those eyes of hers. They look too much like Nina's."

"Every time I see her, it's like I'm seeing Nina. But Nina's already dead. Why is she still alive? I can't accept it!"

My breath caught. I never imagined the answer would be that.

The old me could never make sense of the reason, and I racked my mind trying to make her like me even a little.

Not much. Just a little would have been enough.

But it turned out that from beginning to end, my very existence had been the wrong thing.

My eyes stung unbearably in that moment.

In the frozen silence, the next-door neighbor Lisa Dickerson passed by and poked her head in with a greeting.

"Oh, you're both home. Say, did you hear? A little girl got hit by a car and killed at the Sycamore Street intersection up ahead."

Both their faces changed in an instant.

"Where's your Sophie? You make sure she's careful going to and from school. I just passed by on my way to buy groceries and saw it. God, blood everywhere. Terrible thing to see."

Lisa Dickerson meant well with the reminder.

The father gave an awkward laugh.

"The kid's in one of her moods. Won't come out to eat."

Lisa glanced at the mother in the living room and shook her head.

"Barrett, I'm only saying this for your own good. Look at your Sophie. Those thin little arms and legs, she doesn't look anything like a five-year-old."

"Talk to your wife. People have to look forward. Surely a living person is worth more than the dead."

The father's smile turned more bitter, and he nodded without a word.

"All right, I hear you, Lisa."

After she left, the father lingered in the doorway, as if turning something over in his mind.

A moment later he picked up his keys and went out.

When he came back, there was a bag of pork ribs in his hand.

"Lisa's right. Sophie's too thin. A kid can't go without meat."

The mother's lips parted, but she said nothing.

The father had just stepped into the kitchen when she called him back.

"I'll do it. What do you even know how to cook. Just help me out."

There was a light of a smile in the father's eyes, and my own heart quickened to match it.

The meals in this house were either cooked by the father when he got home, or by the hired help.

I had never once eaten anything my mother made with her own hands.

Smiling, I was suddenly caught by an ache.

Such a shame. I never got to taste it before I died.

Before long the mother set a plate of sweet-and-sour ribs on the table.

She stared at it, sinking into thought.

"Back then Nina kept crying and begging for meat too, so I made a plate of braised ribs just like this. When the doctor wasn't looking, I slipped a piece into her mouth."

"Nina ate it with her eyes squeezed shut and said she'd never had anything so good. But that one piece almost made her throw up her whole stomach."

The mother's eyes glistened, wet with tears.

"I hated it. Hated myself for not giving Nina a healthy body, hated that she suffered all those years."

She lowered her head, choking on a small sob.

"The truth is, I know Sophie's innocent. But a person has to hate something, or they can't go on living."

The room was utterly silent.

After a while the mother wiped away her tears, stood, and walked to the door of my room.

"Sophie, come out and eat. Mommy made sweet-and-sour ribs."

No one answered her.

Her patience thinned.

"Sophie, can you not hear me? Come out and eat."

I stood beside her, shouting again and again.

"Mommy, I'm right here!"

But no one heard my voice.

Her face darkened, as if something had come back to her, and she pulled a key from the drawer.

"You think I can't do anything if you won't come out?"

As the key went into the lock, the television that was on suddenly carried something familiar.

Both of them turned to look.

"A traffic accident has occurred at the Sycamore Street intersection here in the city. The victim was a little girl of only five, killed on the spot. Let's go to our reporter for the report from the scene."

The camera cut, and there was my body, covered in blood, lying on the ground.

The mother went white and cried out.

"It's Sophie!"