CHAPTER 6

"Every time I see you,
I see a part of you I have never seen before"

- Nathaniel's Lyric Journal

THE FIRST THING CARLOS AND I HEARD WAS THE SHOUTING

Then it was followed by the sound of something shattering. We turned to look at each other. Carlo's huffed with disappointment at the familiar noise of Mom and Dad were fighting once again.

"I'm out of here," Carlos muttered to himself. 

He abruptly turned around and was going to walk out before I managed to quickly grab his arm. "Where are you going?"

"I am going out with my friends now. I can't stand this fucking place anymore," he grumbled angrily. He twisted his arm away from my tight grasp, and walked towards the emergency exit, shoving it wide open before leaving.

The sound of Dad shouting voice from the doorway made me debate whether it was best to go to Esteban. It seemed the best option to crash at my best friend's home rather than dealing with this. However, something felt off about Mom and Dad fighting. It was louder and angrier. Usually it was over something petty, but this was serious.

I mentally braced myself when I unlocked the door.

"I will never forgive you for this," was the first thing I heard from my mother from the kitchen. She hurriedly walked out, tears streaming down her cheeks. My dad followed behind, rubbing his temples.

"This is what is best for you," my father bellowed back.

My mother crouched towards the floor, crying in a ball with her hands clutched over her bald head. She has become more sensitive and sick lately because of the chemotherapy, but watching my father towering over Mom made me uneasy.

"How long were you going to keep this away from me?" she asked in a wobbly voice. She stood up, and staring my father down. I frowned at the comments, unsure about the situation. She clenched her fists and took a few shaky breathes.

I walked in.

"Hey leave her alone. Both of you leave each other alone. I don't think this is-"I began before I was cut off from my dad grabbing my arm, and dragging me out of the kitchen. I froze, allowing him to drag me down the hallway and understanding his abnormal behavior. In fact, I never seen him this angry or riled up since my mother's diagnosis and treatment.

"Stay in your room until we get this sorted out," my father rushed, opening my bedroom door and forcing me inside. My mother stormed behind him, yelling at him in Spanish.

"Don't hurt him," my mother shouted before continuing to curse in Spanish.

Before I could do anything else, Dad slammed the door on my face.

"Can you pass me the clicker?" David asked me.

I turned to him. "The what?"

"The clicker," he repeated with no hesitation.

We were sitting on my living room couch, watching The Office. It too hot day to go outside, and to be frank, I was too tired and lazy to explore.

David must've been bored as well because he came here without an invite.

"What are you even saying?" I asked, wrinkling my nose in confusion.

"The clicker," he said pointing to the object in my hand.

I held it up.

"You mean the TV remote?" I asked, waving it in the air.

"It's called a clicker," he responded in his Southern accent. He took it from my hands to increase the volume on the TV.

I rolled my eyes. This was not an unusual conversation we had. David likes to use words to confuse me. It was his new form of entertainment.

My mind, however, was running on the thoughts of Elise on a nonstop. She was a painting of gold and blue, the colors of summer. Her smile was pure intoxication and he wanted to hear her laugh.

Elise, Elise, Elise.

I shouldn't be thinking so hard about someone like her.

But I just couldn't help it.

"Hey, David. Can I ask you something?" I asked something, unable to keep this to myself.

"Well shut my mouth. You need my help," David mused with a slow grin. He held up the remote to mute the TV.

I rolled my eyes, focusing on the mute TV. I laid my head back on the couch, watching the fan turn in rapid circles, trying to cool our bodies.

"Sometimes I think you say weird Southern slang to fuck with me," I grumbled.

David elbowed me. "Well someone is madder than a wet hen."

I wrinkled his nose at his southern accent that stood out prominently.

A typical conversation would be one of us saying something the other can't understand. I usually try to explain it to David, but David doesn't care. David doesn't even try to explain it to me, marking me off as a hopeless cause.

"I'm already regretting this," I mumbled. David was continuing to laugh.

"Let me guess. A girl caught your eye." He took my silence as a yes. "Already? You just got here. You mean Angela?" he asked.

Caught my eye?

I have not even thought about Angela since she came into our home. It was a random moment, and not particularly memorable for anything specific. The only memorable moment was having cookies and the flirting.

"Nope, not her," I answered slowly. "Just friendly with her."

David shook his head.

"That's what they all say," he muttered.

I elbowed his side.

"Piss off."

David chuckled. "So what's her name?" 

"Elise."

My chest wavered at the thought of her name, but I ignored it. I shifted on the couch, trying to get rid of the strange feeling that settled into my chest, mostly likely from the lack of sleep.

David made a strange noise.

"The forty-three year old Elise with two kids? A little weird because she is married, and your relationship with her could be considered unethical by most," he chatted with mild disgust.

I shook my head. "I think she is around our age."

Even the thought of her made me feel at ease. Something about her made her seem...memorable. 

She had something about her face. Something about her eyes, her mouth, the tendrils that stuck out from the head, and her golden hair that made my mind clear up as if it has been foggy for ages.

She hardly said much to me, and I was not sure why but I couldn't get her face out of my head.

David was silent, rubbing his chin before his eyes flickered with recognition. "I know who you are talking about. She's a good friend of mine. She's...different."

He ended the comment with a strange tone in his voice.

Different?

"How?" I pressed curiously.

He shrugged, sensing my concern in the question. He hesitated as he said, "She keeps to herself, I suppose.  I'm a little surprised that you even spoke to her."

"She wasn't exactly thrilled," I smiled, recalling her expression at the car.  "But you know her?" I continued to press.

He shrugged. "We are friends. She's good friends with this other girl, Sabrina. She works at the diner with us, so you will meet her very soon. Do you fancy on Elise or somethin'?" he questioned me.

I immediately shook my head.

"I just met her a few days ago. Like I said, just curious about her," I reminded him, rubbing my sore legs. "Ugh, my legs are killing me."

I knew it was because I running for five miles without stopping. At this point, I relish the burning sensations. At eight in the morning, regardless of whether I slept or stayed awake all night, I would get up, change, and run as hard until I feel like I am going to pass out.

David glanced at my legs. "Why do you even run that hard?"

Esteban, theorized that I was literally trying to run away from my problems. He understood my love for running as I was in track in high school, but it kept me grounded.

Maybe he was right. Maybe I was running away from my worries.

It that was the case, then it was working wonderfully.

I shrugged. "I like to run. I always have since middle school."

I was bullied during middle school because I was overweight. That was when I decided to join the track team, and I just ran. It made me feel better, but also helped me to lose the weight.

Now when I run, I use it to stop thinking about her. I try hard not to see her face, waiting for her to open her eyes and smile at her twisted sense of humor. Instead of thinking of other scenarios, I just run. I must do something. Stopping was no longer an option. I couldn't just stand there, and allow the world to pass right through my eyes.

I kept going even though I didn't want to.

Call it what it is: stubbornness, weird, determined. I didn't care. Deep down, I just knew I had no idea what else I was supposed to do.

"I can tell," David said with amusement. "Anyways, how are you doin' anyways?" he asked randomly, completely changing the subject. My mind stopped wandering at his sudden change in conversation.

"I'm alright..." I trailed off, eyeing David's serious face. "You ask me that every time we hang out."

He shrugged. "I guess one day I am waiting for you to say no."

I nodded in understanding, unsure what to say. The words I am not okay were ready to spill from my mouth, but something was holding me back. The words were stuck at my throat in pain, wanting to fall out. I clamped my mouth shut, took the remote from his hand and unmute the TV.

"I appreciate it, but I am okay," I insisted. Unconvinced, David took the remote from my hands, and lowered the volume. A new episode of The Office was playing in the background.

He took a breath. "Then can I ask was she at peace when she died?"

I visibly swallowed. This question was going to come. My breathing began to change at the thought of her. I gripped the couch, unsure how to start this.

I took a shaky breath. I knew I had to share this with someone eventually rather than bottling it up like now. To finally tell the truth for once. No misdirection anymore. Not trying to spare my mind with lies.

"She was not happy. Chemo was taking a toll on her. She couldn't mentally handle it because she overdosed in our bathroom on the day she died," I finally said for the first time out loud.

My throat closed, and tears that streaked across my face were wiped aside. It felt strange to say it out loud for the first time because it made it sound real.

I was not looking at him, but he was silent.

"Fuck" I heard him mutter quietly. I turned my head, and his eyes were tinged red. He looked at me with surprise and agony. "You told me she just had cancer."

I nodded, feeling the wall that I built in my mind slowly began to crack.

"She did. That just wasn't how she died at the end. I found her in our bathroom."

I took a fucking nap while she was dying in the following room. How she was probably alive just minutes before I woke up. I just let her fight with dad before she did it.

I hate talking about this because I failed her as a son.

"Fucking hell," David spat angrily, frequently wiping his eyes. 

We were both sitting on the couch with silence. No crying. No shouting. Just silence. I thought seeing her dead was the worst moment of my life, but it was not. Going to my family and telling what happened was worse. Seeing their faces fall into pure pain was as bad.

At that moment was when I heard the door unlock, and the door opened. My father entered the living room, satchel by his waist and a pizza box. He smiled when he saw us. His blonde hair was swept back and was still in his work clothes, just arriving home from work.

"Hello, David. Are you staying for dinner?" he greeted David.

David immediately shook his head. His appetite probably was diminished after our conversation. His voice sounded urgent, probably never wanting to leave more in his life than right now.

He plastered a fake smile as he greeted, "Hi Uncle Chris. I would like to, but I can't. I should be heading out. I don't want to disturb supper."

Dad nodded at him. "Totally fine. You and John are more than welcome to come anytime. You know that."

David gave a grateful smile, even though we all knew that John would not be coming over anytime soon. Despite that, David still put on his shoes, and left, shutting the front door quickly.

Dad turned to me with a sad smile, waving a pizza box in front of me. "I brought pizza if that is okay with you?"

I immediately shook my head, surprised he got dinner. "Nope. No problem at all."

We both headed towards the kitchen. I went towards the cabinet and grabbed two plates for us, and placed them on the table. Dad plopped the box on the table, and opened it to show a cheese pizza.

We ate the cheese pizza, quietly enamored in our thoughts. The silence settled nicely on the table, a new thing that happened after mom's death. Before, it was always loud, fighting with each other just to get our point across in a heated debate. Mom would've been scolding Dad for suggesting takeout and insist on cooking something healthier.

La traicioné

Abuela's words rang through my ears. She didn't know who Mom betrayed, but I couldn't let her words get out of my head.

La traicioné

La traicioné

La traicioné

"How's David?" Dad asked, breaking the silence on the table couple of minutes in. "Shame he couldn't stay for dinner."

I shrugged. "He's alright. It's nice seeing him again."

"I'm glad. I knew you two would get along," he said with a grateful smile. He took another bite of his pizza before he looked at the pizza logo decorated on the box. "You know this is the pizza place I first met your Mom."

I look up at the small smile growing on his face. He toyed around with the edge of the pizza box, staring at the logo intensely. I wasn't sure what to do say because this was the first time he brought up a memory of Mom since her death.

"I didn't know that," I supplied.

Dad continued, "I was on the football team of Mayville High School. Your mom was a cheerleader the year below. We would always go to this pizza joint after our games, and that was when I saw her. She was with her friends, laughing at some joke I can't remember. Everyone was looking at her because you could tell she was the star of the show. I couldn't help but to start talking to her."

I knew the rest from there. They got pregnant way too early with Camila, and moved to New York, followed by me and Carlos. I always imagined my parents has a happy couple. They never gave me a reason to think otherwise.

I guess cancer eroded that as well.

I looked at him for the first time. "Dad. Can I ask you something?" I finally had the courage to say. He nodded, prompting me to speak. "What did you and Mom fight about on the day she died?"

I have not thought about asking him about that day. At that moment, it did not seem relevant to ask him when dealing with Mom's death. Now, it seemed urgent for me to know. The screaming that haunted my mind before she died that was beginning to settle in my mind.

I put the pizza down, suddenly losing interest.

My father look up. His eyes slightly narrowed my question before he sighed. "Honestly. It was stupid stuff in hindsight now. You need to understand that stuff got harder to afford because most of our money was going for her chemo treatment. She was mentally drained. I had took on more responsibilities than i could handle. When she couldn't work anymore, I had to take on longer shifts to pay for everything. I was just exhausted and got crabby. She was trying to focus on her treatment. Things got so hard..."

Dad's voice cracked at the last word before he clamped his mouth shut. He exhaled loudly before he coughed uncomfortably.

"Being there for her wasn't enough to stop the fighting. I never understood her pain she was going through and it got harder. Caused a massive rift. It's hard to watch the woman you promised your life to wither away before you, and you couldn't do anything about it. You make mistakes. She wouldn't want us like this. Your mom would've wanted you to be happy."

His voice went quiet, and he ate his pizza in silent. His eyes were vacant, and I frowned because they always seemed happy. I was in a world of ignorance in New York, not even realizing that my parents were financially struggling. It made me wonder what other things Mom hid from me to "protect me."

"You know, I was thinking about doing something this weekend," Dad began suddenly, changing the conversation abruptly. "Visit your mother's family. Do you want to come?"

I did not respond, stunned with his question. Dad's lack of presence upset me. It was not because I had to make dinner for myself. It was the part where the food was always missing, meaning that either he was coming home when I was not there or David was stealing when I was not looking.

Either way, I was not a good cook so whoever is stealing, most likely my dad, it will be sorely disappointed.

"Sure," I nodded."That is fine with me."

I saw a smile etched on his face.

"You know Carlos is also coming back the next Thursday. We could pick him up together at the airport."

"Oh yeah he is." I didn't want to say I forgot about my little brother's sailing camp, so I took another bite.

"Want to pick him up with me?" he asked again.

Surprised by his sudden invitation, I looked at him with shock. He had a pleading look on his face that made me feel oddly suspicious. Part of me asked why now he decided to talk to me. Maybe it's the same part that wanted to scream at him for leaving me alone for as long as he did.

"Sure," I responded instead.

He got up from the table, and threw his trash out. He grabbed his suitcase, and turned to me with a small smile. 

"I need to go to sleep, but I just wanted to ask those things to you," my father began to say before he slowed his pace. He looked at my arm strangely. A nostalgic smile grew on his face.

"Oh hey. Look at this," he commented with a smile. He reached over and pulled my wrist up to show the woven bracelet Abuela gave me. I frowned at his smile.  It was red, white, and green stripes that went all around. It was nothing special or unusual about it to raise eyebrows. "I haven't seen this in years." 

I pulled my wrist back.

I decided to wear it, just as a token of Mom, but Dad's surprise threw me off guard.

After all, something about it made Mom stop coming to Alabama.

"You know what this is?" I asked, becoming a little excited at the idea of him knowing something about this mysterious bracelet. "It's Mom's bracelet, right?"

His eyebrows arched in confusion.

"She bought this when she went to Mexico years ago." He eyed the bracelet with confusion instead of his initial excitement.  "It was a gift."

"A gift?" I repeated. When Dad nodded in confirmation, I asked "A gift for who?"

He looked at me straight in the face.

"You don't remember? Your mom gave this to you."

I looked at the bracelet.

That can't be right.

I have never seen this in my life until now.