Roses & Bullets

II. Thoughts

CLAIRE

"Two adults for one night. Here's your key to room 203." I hand the couple their room key as I enter their check-in information in our computer system.

The old lady thanks me as my younger brother comes forward to assist the guests with their luggage. My eyes follow them up the stairs, and as soon as they're gone, I let out a soft sigh.

"What's wrong, honey?" asks my father, who is sitting on the couch.

"Nothing, dad," I reply.

"I know something is bothering you."

I smile, but my smile doesn't touch my eyes. "I'm fine, daddy, really. I'm just tired, that's all."

"Then get some rest, Claire. Let me do your work. Even just for today."

"I don't need to rest, dad. I need to work."

"Come on. Let your old man do that for you."

But I won't let my father work. I won't even let him get a little bit tired. I just can't risk it.

"Dad, we already talked about this. Do you remember what the doctor said? No strenuous activities for you, and you need to eat healthily and get plenty of rest," I try to explain gently.

"Honey, I'm old, not invalid," my father says as he stands up. My father, Frank Wilson, is sixty-one years old and tall. With graying hair and stubble, he still looks handsome.

"Go to your room and get some rest," he tells me. "I'm sure I can handle entering some names on the computer and handing over keys to our guests."

I can't help but smile. "You are so stubborn, dad."

"Guess what, kiddo? That makes two of us."

"Fine. But only for a few hours, okay?"

"Sure."

"If you need anything, or if you feel tired, just call me."

My father doesn't answer. He just smiles, and to be honest, I find it a little annoying. Typical dad.

"Dad, I'm serious. Call me."

"Yes," he answers curtly.

"You promise?"

"Do you want a pinky swear?" he answers, chuckling.

"Haha! Very funny. Okay, I will leave you now," I reply as I reluctantly leave the lobby.

My father owns a small hostel in Mooresville, Alabama, and he's been running it for as long as I remember. He even told me once that he built it with his own hands. He would often tell my brother and me to take care of it, for it is all we have.

It was actually his gift to our Filipino mother, Corazon. Unfortunately, she died four years ago. Everything changed after that.

I enter my room, which is one of the hostel's eight rooms. It's on the first floor, while the room beside mine is for my father and brother. The remaining six rooms are all located on the second floor, which are for the guests.

I go straight to the bathroom and remove my clothes. I turn on the shower, start washing my hair, and it isn't long before I finish. After drying myself, I put on a pair of shorts and a loose shirt.

I look in the mirror as I brush my long, silky hair that I got from my mother. However, I got its light brown color from my father. It almost touches my waist, and my father likes it that way. He says I remind him so much of mom.

My brown eyes and pouty red lips are my mother's assets, while my pointy nose and fair complexion are my father's. I'm not one to brag about myself, but I know that I have a rocking body that goes well with my other features. But I like to hide it all the time.

I would just wear a simple white shirt and jeans most of the time, and I prefer putting my hair up in a ponytail. As I look in the mirror, I realize how exhausted I am. I put the brush down and lie in bed.

I close my eyes, but my thoughts won't let me sleep. I miss mom so much. She was my best friend, and I used to tell her everything.

There were no secrets between the two of us. My mother was always there whenever I got sick, and I would always turn to her whenever I had a problem. I wish you were here, mom.

Of course, I'm worried sick about dad, too. He's not as healthy as he used to be. Still, my father insists on working even though he'd been warned by the doctor not to.

About a year ago, dad complained of having chest pains while working on the hostel's plumbing. We rushed him to the hospital, and that's when we found out that he had Coronary Artery Disease. That's the reason why I won't let him do any hard work.

Aside from that, I'm now also responsible for my younger brother. Ever since mom died, I have taken on the role as the family's matriarch. I want to pursue my dreams, but I'm stuck in this small town.

There must be something out there for me. Tears start rolling down my cheeks, and I wipe them with the back of my hand. Don't be selfish, Claire.

I can't believe I even thought of leaving my father and brother at a time like this. I sit up and tie up my hair. I can't leave them.

Not yet, anyway. I'm still young. If there's one thing I have, it's time.

I stand up and open one of my drawers. I take out my family album and sit on the bean bag by the window. Then, I start looking at our old photos.

We were all so happy. I wouldn't call our family perfect, for we've had our share of ups and downs. But the main thing is, we were contented.

I continue to scan the photos until I see a picture of my mother in her twenties. Wow, I could be her mirror image. A beautiful young Filipina with long black hair and black eyes.

Her light brown skin gives her an exotic look, which I'm pretty sure made a lot of guys, including my father, go crazy for her. Now I know why dad would always tell me that I looked like her.

And then, I find an old picture of my father. He looks exactly like my brother; only he is of a bigger build. After that, I see our baby pictures and countless others.

Seeing all these pictures make me sad. If only I could turn back time. What a silly thought.

I put the family album on the nightstand and go back to bed. As I close my eyes, I hope of dreaming about mom.