Can we Go A Little Faster?

"Can we go a little faster?"

I felt my world crashing down on me, as the Pedicab driver ushered me to the cab terminal that would take me to the port. As his pants rubbed against each other in sheer effort to make it faster, Celine's voice crying in the background seemed to grow louder. Finally, I let out a sob releasing that heavy feeling of leaving her under the care of his father. I can't believe I have taken that decision bravely, but I knew it was for good. He had drunken night episodes within our four-year relationship giving me second thoughts of leaving Celine under his care, but as a father I decided to give him chance to prove his being a good one.

As the cab driver drove far from my place, I can still hear Celine’s voice reverberating, asking me if she could go with me. My body shook, as I cried harder, her voice echoing at the back of my mind begging and pleading. I already lost a vision of her, as darkness crept in, but I can hear her, even at a distance. I wanted to tell the driver to turn back, but I just could not. I had already spent a lot of money on my ticket and had fully paid a pension house for a one-month stay, while I would be looking for a job in a far-away city.

I checked my mobile three hours after, to check on my husband's message. There was none. I checked again after another hour, but instead I saw my sister's message.

"He is drunk again."

My heart drummed faster, and it raced against my breath, as I imagined Celine. What could happen to her? She just turned four few days ago, and too young to be dealing with a drunk father. I was too shy to ask my sister to get Celine out of there. I know my husband would not easily give in.

I called up his mobile phone with hopes I could get him on the line and ask if she could take Celine into my sister’s house. I had high hopes that maybe he was not that drunk, but a "no answer" for five times was a sign that he was too drunk to take in a call. I tried calling my sister, but she was out of reach, charging her phone, which I learned later.

 Tears were endlessly falling down my cheeks, helplessly looking at the city lights that were slowly fading. It was three hours from the moment we left the port. I was too certain, it would definitely take in a lot of courage if I had to swim back into the shore, blindly paddling with my own arms in that cold sea.

"I have to get Celine on the phone", I whispered to myself, and prayed a lot.

Another hour had passed and my anxiety had grown. I could not sleep, nor sit for a minute. My worries send me pacing back and forth in that cabin. I could hear the ship's engine and the sound of the waves, as it lashed through the ship's wall, but I still could not get Celine out of my mind.

I decided to walk through the corridor struggling to be calm again, and thank God, I saw a coffee vend. A few more sips had at least soothed me. I reached out for my mobile again, dialing my husband's number. It was so annoying to listen to that long string of dial tones, and as  I sat on a bench looking at the ocean, I dialed that number couple of times. This time I sensed somebody was trying to answer but could not find the right button. I had several attempts before I heard a soft hello.

“Hello!” Celine’s hesitant voice resounded from the other line. That was the first time she got hold of his father’s mobile phone, and I knew she was scared.

My heart beat faster. My mind was racing against my tongue. I had so much to tell her before five minutes was over.

"Baby, how are you?" I frantically asked her.

"Papa is asleep, his feet were all over my face, I couldn't sleep Ma”, she said in mellow but sad voice.

I was deeply taking my breath slowly, controlling my tears and tried not to sob, struggling to sound relax. I could not let her think I was scared of her situation, so I kept comforting her and told her everything was fine. But before I could say another thing, the line went out, I was pissed. There was nothing I could do. My calls were programmed to end every five minutes, and that would mean every five minutes Celine had to struggle finding the right button to talk to me again.

It was a struggle for me too. I had to dial endlessly muttering prayers every now and then, hoping I could talk to her once more. Finally, with several attempts, she had figured out which button to press. Thank God.

That night I finally told Celine to get out of the room and check out her aunt at the gate.

Later in the morning, I finally called my husband and talked to him about my sister's temporary custody, before I could manage to get Celine to be with me. Fortunately, with him accepting his weaknesses, he allowed Celine to live with her aunt.

The incident had me rushing things, scouting here and there to finally get a job. My pocket was slowly emptying, and my feet getting calloused by constant walking, checking one job board after another. I was off the Internet the whole time, so I was not able to apply online which could have been easier and more convenient for me. The hope of being reunited with Celine gave me an awesome will to carry on, despite the failure and rejection in an entirely new environment.

Three months later after a grueling struggle in a new city, I found a good job, and finally got reunited with my Celine, and even though the incident scarred my relationship with his father, I still strived to make things better for us, for I know Celine would never want a broken home.

Up to this date, we are still working on some things, but just like the old times; it would definitely for Celine and Celine alone.