The Elephant in the Room

I still ask myself if it really happened. 

Few memories of our old home linger in my mind.I remember my old desk placed underneath the bedroom’s air conditioner, where a plate of fresh pancit canton would go cold in a matter of seconds. I still joke about that one time I fell down the stairs because my stubby little legs lost balance. The old living room that my cousins and I were absolutely sure was haunted despite us not believing in ghosts. 

I think about that cartoon elephant plastered on the wall. 

My family used to sleep together on a single large bed. It was because of this I became quite the heavy sleeper. I had to adapt to the loud snores of my father that seemed to boom through my little body. 

Once Hypnos decided to take me, it became really difficult to wake me up before my body clock. I’ve slept through many earthquakes, the loud chatter of family reunions and the neighborhood stray cats that decided to battle to the death on our roof. 

So the one time I did wake up in the middle of the night stood out to me. 

I woke up to shouting. Specifically, my dad shouting. Which was weird, my dad never shouted, well he did but only when I was a dumb kid, but I was asleep so why would he be shouting? 

The next thing I heard was my mother, she was shouting too. But while my dad sounded angry, she sounded sad? Why was mom sad, mom was never sad. 

Before I could properly wake up, a large slam suddenly filled the bedroom. Next thing I knew, mom took her usual spot next to me and started crying. 

No, not crying. She was sobbing, uncontrollably. 

I was too scared to open my eyes and turn around to see what was happening. I was too scared to ask my parents what was wrong. 

So I shut my eyes tight and began counting numbers in my head, begging for sleep to take me again. 

The next day, I woke up to a cartoon elephant on the wall. “That wasn’t there yesterday” was my first thought, the next was wondering where my parents were. 

I made my way down to the dining room, and had to pause when I saw them simply talking. Talking about work, how we were doing at school, and weekend plans. It was a usual morning. 

The whole day I wondered if last night was just a nightmare. But when I got back home from school, that elephant was still in the bedroom with no one acknowledging it. Weeks passed and life continued as if nothing had happened. My parents continue to have a good relationship and would eventually welcome the fifth member of our family years later. 

And the elephant was still on that wall, staring at me, taunting me to ask what happened. 

But I never did. We moved houses and I never did ask my parents about what I heard. I could only ask myself: Did it really happen?