Power

By Laura Schiller

Series: Shugo Chara

Copyright: Peach Pit

What do you do when the rock you've built your life on – the strongest, proudest, most admirable woman you know – is being slowly worn away by the tide?

Nothing.

You sit. You watch. You clean the house, cook meals and wash clothes when the staff have their day off. You bring fresh lilies because the sight and scent of them sometimes – but not always – bring her back to normal. You talk to her about your day, about school, even about the Guardians in the hope that somewhere behind those blank brown eyes and withered-apple features, a bit of her former self is listening to you.

You feel powerless. And you hate it.

Your parents blow through your life like cherry blossoms on the wind, only less reliable. They come for a week or so, ruffle your hair, bring you expensive souvenirs from London or New York or wherever they've been. They inquire about your grades, which are always stellar, and listen to the teachers tell them what a good boy their son is. Then they leave you behind at the airport; you want to hug them, but instead you bow so as not to mess up Mother's fur coat.

You sit in the back seat of a cigarette-smelling taxi that drives you home, with the driver glancing at you nervously from behind the glass divide because you look like you'll burst into tears at any moment. But you never do.

"Be brave, Tadase-san," is what Grandmother would say.

You read the leather-bound copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales that Father gave you over and over again. You imagine yourself as a King with a golden crown, a scepter and an ermine cloak. If you could shape the world to your own wishes as an artist shapes clay, parents would never leave their children. Grandmothers would never retreat behind the walls of their eyes. You would be able to speak up, to reach out your hand and touch someone. You would stop being so afraid of that empty taxi because you would be someone too grand, too glorious – too powerful to leave behind.