Mildew

MILDEW.

I awoke to the stale, pungent funk of mildew crinkling my nose. A familiar, yet unfamiliar smell which struck me with a sense of deja vu.

My eyes adjusted faster to the newfound surroundings than my nose. They swept over the peeling paint of the walls and the dirty dishes in the sink. The beginnings of a disorderly, filthy mess.

I have returned.

The thought struck a bolt of a million volts to my mind. A trainwreck of emotions flooded in, followed by forlorn recollections. Memories of my past.

Then something grasped the cracks of my heart, the crevices of my brain. An aggravating and nerve-wracking and irritating urge. Like an itch one cannot scratch, a sneeze that gets stuck. Like a need to crawl out of one's skin; like having one's bones quiver and tickle.

A hand crept into my pocket. My thumb fell on the cold, metal wheel.

One stick. One flame.

It would take this mess away.

She deserves better than this.

I pulled away my trembling palms from my face. My gaze turned to the lone room of the messy, cramped apartment.

"Lumi... Lumi!"

I swung the door open to darkness. Through the broken lights, I saw the faint outline. There she was, on the mattress without a frame, frail and pale faced. I threw the ragged covers into the corner in one motion and leaned over her.

The little girl was not taken aback. Her eyes were murky, devoid of a normal childlike spark. She craned her neck like a little bird to meet my gaze, her eyes piercing nails through my heart.

"D-dad?"

The whisper was more of a whimper, but I cared less. I endured years of regret and repent to hear her again.

"Dumpling. I'm sorry. So sorry."

I pulled her into a tight hug, a hug so tight I wanted to squeeze her into me, such that she would never leave me again.

She was now here, again. I did not know how, or why, or anything about this second chance. All I knew was I would forever be there for her from now forth.

***

I lost all semblance of time during the hug, but I knew it was long. Lumi was squirming in my arms until I released her. My heart felt empty without her presence, so I sat her on my lap.

"Did I hurt you, dumpling?" I kissed her coarse, matted hair and asked.

Lumi looked obedient with her head bowed, but she shrank when my hands stroked her hair.

"I-I'm sorry, dumpling."

"It's okay," she mumbled.

"Dad won't hurt you."

Like she did.

Lumi twisted her head around to face me. She held a hand over her chest with a look of wistful confusion. I watched her thin, chapped lips crack open, as frail as an eggshell.

"It's not bruised and it's not bleeding, but it hurts here."

I was unable to stop my tears. "I know, baby dumpling. I know. Dad made a grave mistake. A very big mistake. Dad let you down. Dad wasn't there for you in your darkest times, when there was thunder, when there were nightmares. Dad wasn't there for you in the screaming, in the fighting, in the shouting."

Through the shimmer of my teardrops, I saw Lumi shudder. I panicked.

"Don't be afraid, dumpling! She is gone. Dad has changed. Dad will always be by your side. Always."

"She is gone?" she whispered.

Her faint breath tickled my chest. I wrapped my arms tighter across her back.

"She has left for good, dumpling. Things have changed. It's not scary anymore, okay?"

Lumi fell silent, which scared me instead. I hoped to close the distance with her and set things straight. But I realized stirring up her traumas was not the way to go. Much to my relief, after a moment of heavy breathing, I felt some movement.

"I'm not scared," Lumi retorted, wrestling herself out my embrace.

Relief washed over as I found some color returning to her face, then amusement. The defiant look she wore was in a sharp contrast to her meek tone.

I chuckled and tried to tidy her bangs. "If you're not scared, then what are you feeling?"

Lumi looked towards the ceiling in ponderance. Her innocent daze was on heart-wrenching levels of cuteness. I did not know how I ever remained so indifferent to her presence. I wanted to pull her into another tight embrace, but her seriousness stopped me.

"I don't know," she answered. "I, um, it's like..."

I was far from a psychologist, but I knew it was normal to struggle describing emotions. Especially for six-year-olds like Lumi. This was likely even more so with Lumi's surrounding circumstances and particular upbringing. Such a realization soured my heart more. I really was an unworthy parent before.

"That's okay, dumpling. You know the feeling, but you can't say it, right?"

"Mhm."

"You'll learn and find the words as you grow older, so tell Dad everything you feel as you go."

But that would all change. I vowed not to waste my second chance. I would raise Lumi into the happiest little girl ever. I would grant all her wishes true and help her achieve all her dreams. That was what she deserved; that was what I owed to her as a father.

"I-I want to know what you're feeling as well, Dad."

Lumi's soft, delicate voice tickled my ears. A little taken aback, I thought nothing more of it. She wanted to grow closer to me, not to mention that it was her first request: that was all that mattered.

"What I'm feeling is likely a more complicated version of what you feel, dumpling," I began.

It was not my intention to discredit her emotions, but to establish a connection. Relief washed over me when I recognized that my words so far did not bother her. 

"Com-pli-ca-ted," she mumbled.

"Yes, dumpling. Complicated; when something has so many bits and pieces and parts to it, it becomes hard to understand."

Lumi crooked her head. "I want to learn more about you, Dad. I want to know everything."

Something about the way she enunciated the word everything was profound. I could not put my finger on it, but I attributed it to her lack of a father figure. My absence.

"Are you curious about Dad? Do you have a lot of questions to ask about Dad?"

She nodded. Although her gaze was pure, a sinking feeling in my stomach turned the gaze accusatory.

Guilt. I knew it was guilt and regret and shame working its dark magic.

Explaining my poor choices and indifference would not make it up to her, I was clear on that front. I would have to justify it with proper, practical actions, not a vindicative life story. Yet, there was something about Lumi's frail, expectant self I could not say no to.

"Where do I start?"

Though I did not want to, I emptied out my sorrows and woes anyways.

"Dumpling, your dad lost control of his life... high school... car accident... temper... fighting... mixed with the wrong crowd... nicotine... other substances... unexpected pregnancy..."

My hoarse voice shook when I finished. I expected Lumi to ignore my rambling, but she stared at me with rapt attention.

"Sorry, dumpling. I must've bored you. Dad talked and talked. You must've not understood much."

I reached over to stroke her hair, but Lumi stopped me with a hand on my arm.

"No, Dad. I understood everything."