by Sophia Lee
Flash Fiction
We sit in the small ramen restaurant. It’s a little run-down, but the food is always delicious and that is what matters. I feel like I’m at home whenever I come here.
My gaze shifts to the table, finding anything and everything else more important than the conversation I’m about to face. I straighten my place mat, fold my napkin, trace circles on the table with the condensation left behind by my water glass. After we order, I hear her small, soft voice. I look up.
“I … I’m really sorry, Lily. I’ll never forgive myself for walking out that day,” she says. I can tell she’s sincere. “I don’t want to make up excuses for what happened, and I know that nothing I say or do now will change the fact that you had to live without a mom for so many years. I can only beg for your forgiveness. I hope that we can make new cherishable memories together from now on.”
She uses a napkin to wipe away her tears. I give her a small smile.
The waitress places steaming hot bowls of ramen in front of us. The soup glistens and I inhale that savory smell I’ll never tire of. Warmth fills my body. I can never be in a bad mood here.
I look up at her, at my mom whom I thought hated me. I’m not sure if I’m ready to let her completely back into my life, but I’m willing to try. The birthday gifts, the countless letters, and calls—she’s been making an effort to be a part of my life again, and I think in my heart that I’m ready to forgive her.
“Mom, it’s OK …”
I pause and take a sip of mouthwatering soup. The thick, creamy broth, with all of its complex flavors, disperses in my mouth. Usually, this is my comfort food. But this time, I notice something different. There is a tinge of sourness in the broth—I don’t remember it ever tasting this way before.
I was going to tell her that I forgive her, that I look forward to making new memories together. That I want to put the past behind us.
But something goes wrong, very wrong. As soon as I taste the ramen, a wave of anger and resentment washes over me. I scrunch my eyebrows and shoot up from the table, towering over my mom who looks at me confused and terrified.
For some reason, I feel this unbearable resentment I can’t contain. I find myself banging my fists on the table, screaming, “I … I hate you! I can’t believe you left for all those years! In the most important years of my life, I had to live without a mom. Thinking to myself how my mom walked out on me, how she doesn’t love me! I don’t wanna see you ever again!”
I am shocked that these words just came out of my mouth. I would never say that to her! I was ready to forgive her and accept her back into my life. But deep down, do I really hate her?
Suddenly a chef bursts out of the kitchen and stomps into the dining area screaming. His eyebrows scrunch together and sweat drips down his cheeks, red with anger. As he passes our table, he yells into his phone, “If you just communicated with me, I wouldn’t be so infuriated with you! But no! I absolutely cannot believe you sent OUR kid to that boarding school. Our kid. What’s wrong with you?!”
He pushes the door open and slams it shut as he storms off into the night. The restaurant is silent for a moment before talking and eating resume.
I twirl noodles around my chopsticks and slurp them as I look angrily at my mom. “I … I just … I can’t believe you have the audacity to try and enter my life years later, the audacity to ask for my forgiveness. I … I hate people like you—”
Suddenly a man at the table next to us shoots up from his seat and shouts at the woman across from him. “Why’d you bring me here? I would NEVER go out with you!”
At another table, a young girl screams unintelligibly at another. Everyone in the restaurant is yelling at this point, so I don’t catch what she’s saying—something about a swing set.
Across the room, a young man is arguing vehemently with the older man he is sitting with. As he waves his arms around in anger, a ramen bowl gets tipped over, spilling its contents out onto the table. They don’t even seem to notice.
I look wide-eyed at the tables around me. People who had calmly been enjoying their ramen moments before are screaming at each other and storming out of the restaurant.
I don’t have time to process what is going on before my mom grabs her purse and stands with wide teary eyes.
“You … you really feel that way?” she asks.
“I … no, I—” Then I yell, “Well, yeah! You left me, an eight-year-old girl, to fend for herself. No note, no goodbye, nothing! I’ve lived this long without you. I don’t need you in my life!”
Tears stream down her cheeks. She brings her purse close to her chest and makes an expression so deeply sad that my anger subsides.
“OK,” she says, “I’ll … I’ll leave, but I love you, Lily. And I hope in a couple years you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”
All I do is watch as she leaves. Her ramen remains on the table untouched.
“No … don’t leave …” I call out quietly, but she’s gone.
I look down at my ramen and suddenly everything clicks. In horror, I push it away.
I’ve lost my mom a second time.
Sophia Lee is a fantasy, sci-fi, and dystopian writer, a visual artist, a poodle owner, and a roller coaster lover. She will be attending Azusa Pacific University in the fall, majoring in animation and honors humanities and minoring in creative writing. She likes to write about futuristic worlds, robots, the government, and familial relationships. She has received two honorable mentions in the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards (in the poetry and dramatic script categories). Additionally, two of her writings have been published in Sugar Pine, California School of the Arts’ literary magazine.