Chương 27: Prelude 4 - A Hanging Dream, Part 5
When was it that Zachary stopped dreaming?
Did he ever have a dream?
「Of course I do, it's…」
"..."
「It's…」
"..."
He remembered.
He was only eight years old when he first had a genuine dream.
<I want to be like the river!> He once demanded in front of his parents.
It was a simpler time, a time when his father was still alive, when his mother was still sane enough to look him in the eyes with warmth.
That day, he had been asked at school what he wanted to be when he would eventually grow up. Naturally, he returned to discuss it with his family, like he would about his school day every day whenever they gathered around the dinner table, like any other family.
<I want to be like the river when I grow up!>
<A river?> His mother chuckled and looked at him with surprise, <Why a river?>
<Because a river is always moving and moving, it never stops,> he followed up with excitement.
Being a child who was only surrounded by fantasies of children's picture books at the time, he had once read a book that spoke about the life of a river that always moved, taking anyone and everyone everywhere it went. It was a fascinating thing to a kid like him, who was stuck in his room all the time. In his eyes, that river was free, it always had a purpose to move, as opposed to him..
That was his only dream then — his first and only dream.
However…
<Oh, come on,> his father interrupted, <A river does come to a stop, it's called a waterfall. And no one wants to be like the waterfall, you know why that is?>
<Because it's falling?>
<Because it's chaotic, unpredictable, the water is stuck being beaten forever!> His father looked at him with stern eyes, <So don't be like the river.>
That was how his father was, a man who opposed the slightest bit of dreams.
But Zachary smiled and continued his dream.
<Think about what you need, not what you want, because what you want is what you already have.> He told him once.
It was what his father believed, a belief born out of inconvenience.
Faced by failure upon failure, he believed that wants were just the product of illusion. Wanting was but a choice, that was what differentiated it from the needs, a privilege that didn't exist. There was no need for a child's privilege in this harsh world, he would say. A child could choose to have a new toy or a new game but they couldn't choose to need food. He was a simple man, and so he lived by those simple rules. They were painful, at times, but they granted him a sustainable life.
When his mother, a woman who was born into a wealthy family, free of trouble, came to live a life of her own with his father at the height of her youth, she struggled. But, with time, she accepted that these tribulations were necessary to understand the reality that was kept from her all her sheltered life. Call it blind love or ignorance, it was the choice she took when she married his father, despite most of her family opposing them.
And so, Zachary was born into this small family.
As a child, he would always see other children flock the playgrounds with their joy but he could never attain that so-called "privilege" like them because he was told he had "enough." Looking at a toy car behind a glass wall was like staring at a diamond in a museum that was only there for admiration. If he were to ever think of opening his mouth, he would be hit with words; words that were coated in a facade of wisdom but were sharper than a knife. What joy would a toy car bring but mere moments of fantasy that led to nothing? That car wouldn't help the child, it wouldn't feed him. It would bring him fun, yes, but he would keep wanting for more. That child would grow up with the desire for greed only to attain sorrow.
Desire was of nothing but self-destructive nature.
Encased within those ideals of deluded content, he withdrew to the world of books, never to bother anyone or desire anything more than what he already had. One book after the other, he learned — more than he ever could in that sorry excuse of a school he enrolled in at the time — with learning came knowledge, and with knowledge came desire. Be that as it may, he still kept to himself, he believed he was satisfied.
However, his knowledge could not hide itself.
It was a day, like any other, when his mother was called into his school. She went there expecting her child had been misbehaving, or perhaps failing his test, but the reality was the complete opposite. His teacher sang praises about him and his excellent knowledge, they believed he would have a chance at a prestigious school someday.
Coming to that revelation, his mother started to believe in him as well. For a parent to have a gifted child like that and not aid them, they would be rejecting his right. If it were anything for her child, she had to do something.
But his father thought otherwise.
Thus began the constant feud between his parents, be it in the morning at breakfast, in the afternoon when they're having lunch, in the evening during dinner, or even at night before they went to bed. One saw his child in his image and opposed his only privilege, and the other saw her child for who he truly was and desired for him to be the greatest.
<Dreams, dreams, dreams! If he follows your 'advice' he'll end up on the streets and we'll have to drag him back!>
His father was always in denial.
<If you would just let me help you…>
And his mother would try to find a solution.
Zachary always hid in his room whenever they started arguing. He would try to distract himself from their yelling with his books. His books were everything he had for safety, he could drown himself within them and let the river of the words stir his mind and imagination far away from all the quarrels.
Even after three years, that was still his desire, his dream, to be free like a river, constantly moving in a stream.
But then… he heard a scream.
It was a scream from his mother, after yet another fight with his father. Frightened by what he had heard, he rushed out of his room to see what had happened, only to be met by his father right in front of him. His father demanded that he return back to his room.
Zachary was afraid. He listened to his words.
But even then, he saw his mother (from the little gap in the door) on the ground with her hands covering her face, trying to suppress her scream of agony — and beside her was a small kettle, still emitting smoke from within.
For an eleven-year-old, he still knew the truth of what was going on… and for that same reason, he was scared.
He could not get a wink of sleep that night. Even after his parents returned and he heard the sound of his mother's voice seemingly fine, he still could not sleep. He only listened to the voice of his father mumbling something over and over right outside his room.
<They can act all high and mighty as much as they want. I'm here to make sure we survive! If that god damned kid keeps this us it'll be the end of me and if they can't understand then so be it.>
From that day on, things changed.
His parents' arguments lessened with each passing day. And come night, their arguments were almost non-existent. Instead, Zachary would hear a few loud remarks from his father followed by several whimpers from his mother, but they weren't ones from pain or tears, it was something else that he couldn't comprehend at the time.
His mother had changed.
Other than the burn mark that was on her face, her attitude toward him and his father had completely changed. She was treating his father, whom she previously had constant fighting with, with warmth and love. As for Zachary, whom she had considered to be the light of her life and sought to protect, she treated him with silence and cold gazes. He and his father had switched positions. It wasn't out of fear; fear that his father would turn on her again; it was all by her free will.
She had turned completely against him.
Naturally, he wasn't transferred to another school.
But he still smiled with his dream still on his mind, a childish dream, the only thing left to keep him through that agony of life.
His father was still desperate to wake him up from that dream, that fantasy. He needed to show him the true reality, that was what he would constantly say. No matter what his father did, or what his mother attempted to do, there was nothing that was going to change him.
…
And then one night, his mother called out to him.
She sat on the couch out in the living room, with her head and arms resting on her thighs. For a moment, he thought he heard her weeping. But when Zachary approached her, she quickly raised her head and wiped her face. Even though the burn marks covered most of her face, her eyes appeared to be slightly swollen.
He was worried his father might have done something again to his mother.
<Zach, sweetie,> she looked at him with a smile, a smile that has been long gone and one that he greatly missed.
Her voice was slightly different and seemed to remind him of the old days when she treated him with warmth.
<Can you check on your… Can you call your father for me? I… I don't think I'm feeling too good.>
Like the obedient little son he was when it came to his mother, he listened to her words and obeyed them. If there was something wrong with his mother, then there was nothing he could do as he was. He needed an adult, even if that meant that adult was his father and someone he feared.
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