The flowers were dangling lifelessly in my right hand. The poem I had written clutched in the other. But I didn’t remember them. I didn’t remember them at all. My eyes were glued to the gravestone. Ria Jones, it read. Beloved daughter, sister, wife, and mother. 1970-2011. I dropped down to my knees and traced over the name again and again. As my eyes clouded with tears, the memories took over. It was a clear, sunny day, I was five, soaked to the bone, and laughing like I would never get the chance to do so again. My mom and I were outside, washing the car; or rather she was chasing me with another sponge after I had thrown mine at her. We were having the time of our lives, when I stopped for a second, trying to control my panting. My eyes had flicked over the windshield of the car and I saw a butterfly with what seemed like an oddly bent wing. Yelling for my mom to come, I bent closer and noticed the butterfly seemed to be dragging its wing and attempting to fly. My mom had come over and immediately noticed the butterfly. Without saying a word, she went into the house, came out with a small cloth, and gently placed the butterfly on the cloth. Soothingly she began to talk to the butterfly, “Don’t worry, we are going to make you all good again and then you can lift your pretty wings up and fly.” As we both walked inside, I asked, “Mama, why didn’t the butterfly stay as a caterpillar? If it was still a caterpillar, it wouldn’t have gotten hurt.” With amusement dancing in her eyes, she smiled down at me and explained, “Soph, it couldn’t have stayed as a caterpillar because, its true form isn’t a caterpillar, it’s a butterfly. And without it being a butterfly, it wouldn’t be able to fly....” The memory faded away, leaving the sound of her words and her sweet smile forever imprinted in my mind as I began to talk to her for the first time since her death. “Hi mom. Remember I had told you that I wouldn’t come back to see you until I was someone you could be proud of, well I did it mom. I’m back and I’m the Sophie you wanted me to be. I get good grades now, mom, and I was put in all of the advanced classes. You should have seen the faces of the teachers and students when I walked in. It was like are you kidding me. It was so funny mom. I wish you were there, I wish you were at home, I wish you were alive mom. I would do anything, anything to get you back. I wish I could just hit rewind and never be the popular Sophie, just your Sophie. I wish, I wish that I just had one more day with you. Just one, to show you how much I love you.”
People always say that in a lifetime, there is always that one event that changes everything forever. There is always that event that changes your view on life and changes your life itself. I never believed in this. Never, until that one day. My name is Sophie Jones and this is the story of my reinvention. My amorphous.
It all began when I was in second or third grade when I decided I didn’t want to be picked on anymore. When I decided I wasn’t going to be the person I was expected to be. When I decided that by high school, I was going to be at the top of the social ladder. It was difficult at first, I had to redo my wardrobe, my looks, my personality, and my entire persona. Finally by the first day of high school, I began to see myself as exactly who I had wanted to become.
I woke up that day, stretched and smiled. The sun was peaking through my cream colored curtains and everything was perfect. I got dressed slowly and perfectly. I stood in front of the mirror, cocked my hip, and put my smirk on. I knew I looked good. I grabbed my handbag and bounded downstairs. My mom was there, keys in hand, smiling brightly. I said, “Mom, Karen’s brother is going to drive Karen and I today.”
“Oh, okay honey. I just thought that maybe....” she was cut off by a honking. Without waiting I ran outside and slipped into the car. The breeze was perfect, everything was perfect today.
We got to school and Karen and I gracefully stepped out of the car. Immediately we were flocked, you know being top of the social ladder sure got you attention. Brushing everyone away and joining the rest of our girls, we picked up our schedules and compared. Karen grabbed mine and squealed, loudly, upon seeing that we had majority of our classes together. I smiled widely, attempting to share her enthusiasm, but at the same time, I kept thinking, I could’ve been in all of the advanced classes if... I recomposed myself, hiding the old me underneath the popular Sophie that I had become. Head held high, I nodded to Karen and we walked to first period, Math. Class was the same as usual. I put on my bored, “I could care less” about Algebra 2 face on and continued passing notes with Karen and Jen all while wishing I could raise my hand up and say the answer is 2+ 5i or 2-5i you dummies. But I knew I couldn’t because popular Sophie was just like a stereotypical dumb blond with black hair of course. She did not know the difference between set and interval notation, ionic or covalent bonds, or even simple present and present perfect.
(Izzy) “Aren’t numbers just numbers? Why do we need to categorize them?”
(Sophie) “Totally. It’s like mathematicians created different kinds of numbers just to appear smart or to torture us.”
The rest of the day, passed the same way. Me trying to hid the true Sophie in order to fit in with my fake friends. When I got home, my mom was there waiting for me, a frown on her face.
“Sophie,” she began, “what has happened to you? I know it’s been quite a few years, but I thought, you were just going through a phase. But now it has begun to spiral out of control.” There was silence for a moment and then she whispered, “Where is my sweet little Sophie that loved to read?”
(Sophie) “She disappeared and she disappeared a long time ago when she realized she wanted friends and a life that wasn’t only studying!”
(Mom) “No Sophie, you are lying. The real you is still there, fighting to come out, fighting to be a real. Sophie, be honest to yourself for once. The real you was happy. Now, are you ever really happy? What have you gained from your popularity? A few fake friends that will never be there for you?”
I couldn’t listen anymore, what she was saying was so true and it was hammering in my head. I turned and ran up the stairs. If only, if only I had known, that the next time I would see her was...
The call came sometime the next day while I was at school. My dad came and picked me up, his eyes red and a devastated look on his face.
My mom had been in a car accident. The bleeding was too much. They probably weren’t going to be able to save her.
As we waited in the hospital, my head kept ringing with what the police had told us. She had been staring at a photo of 5 year old me and not seen the car. I couldn’t help but think, was it my fault? After eons it seemed, the doctor finally came out. “There is nothing we can do. She is still alive, you may go in and speak to her. I am sorry for you loss.”
Tears streamed down my face, I wiped them away and walked through her room’s door.
“Hey mom.” She smiled back weakly and gestured for me to come over to her. I went.
(Mom) “Sophie right now I will speak and you will listen okay?” “I don’t ever want you to blame yourself. Ever. And Sophie, remember, if it wasn’t a butterfly, it wouldn’t be able to fly.” Her eyelids began to close and I felt as if I was being drained from the inside.
I wanted to say “Mom, mom stay with me.” But instead I knew she needed to hear something else. “I promise one day I will become the butterfly and fly, one day I will be true to myself and that is the day I will come back to see you. Not before or after. I will make you proud. I love you mom.”
Her eyes were closed when I looked up and the tears came again. I wanted to run off, but I knew, I needed to be there for my dad.
The day when I went back to school, I wasn’t dressed as a stereotypical cheerleader, but a girl that blended in the background. I told Karen I wasn’t going to go with her, and instead asked my dad for a ride.
That day, at school, I became the real Sophie. The one that answered questions and the one that told her friends that she wanted to be real again.
I took another year for me to finish my whole re-invention, and then I found myself, sobbing in front of my mother’s grave.
That’s where I was now. Rocking in front of my mother’s grave. As the tightness in my throat went away, I began to speak again. “I wrote you a poem mom and I want to read it to you.
It was only days ago when everything was different…
Yet the same…
When the wind was blowing…
I was writing…
You were eagerly waiting…
And your smile along with your bright, comforting words were blooming…
Now everything is different…
Yet the same…
The wind is still blowing…
I am again writing…
But you are not eagerly waiting…
Your smile is dim…
Your words are quiet not bright…
And they make me realize how much I need you…
How much I love your smile…
How much your words are not things, but are my foundations…
Who I am… What I’ve learned to be…
They make me realize how much I need you…
How much I miss you when you’re not with me…
But, most of all your weak face makes me cry…
Cause I love you…
There were no tears when I finished, just the feeling that I never got to do all this when she was alive, just the feeling of raw regret. I laid the flowers and the poem down on her headstone and traced her name one more time. “I love you mom. Forever.”
A feeling of contentment washed over me and then I saw my mother’s shadow smiling at me. She smiled, and then began to walk away. At the moment, I realized that you never know what you have until you lose it, but if you appreciate that thing even after, you never really lose it because a piece of it stays in your heart forever. I realized that I hadn’t lose my mother, I had found her, hiding in my heart and memories, and along the way I had found myself too.