Chapter 9

"Her blue eyes show the saddest tears"

- Nathaniel's Lyric Journal

"HOW ARE YOU?" Dad asked me.

I looked up from my hardly touched food, looking around the kitchen rather than his face. More boxes were unpacked, and items were cluttered around. It felt more like a home. Dad finally hung all of Mom's paintings around, looking nice against the blue wall.

"Good," I lied, toying with my spoon in my soup. My appetite was not there, but Dad insisted we should eat together. I don't see Dad often, so I accepted his invitation for dinner. Hence, why I was forcing dinner down my throat.

"Do you still talk to your friends in New York?"

I shrugged.

"Yeah."

He eyed me. 

"I haven't heard from Esteban or Javier in a while," he asked, referring to my best friends since grade school.  "What about Alyssa?"

I shrugged again when he asked about my close friends.

"They are fine. I still keep in touch with them," I bit off, thinking back to the texts I have not responded to time to time. They have been insisting on calling and keeping me updated on the drama that was happening in New York. I just didn't have the energy to hear about it all the way from here.

My father nodded, taking another spoonful and swallowed. He watched me for a moment, flickering between the outside world and me.

"I can't make gazpacho as good as Mom or Abuela can, but it's pretty good. Right?" he continued, waiting for my response.

Suddenly feeling obligated, I took a spoonful of the soup.

"It tastes fine Dad," I droned, not caring about the soup in front of me. Mom loved making gazpacho, but it was more than making food. It was her taking her time with the right spices, humming an old Spanish tune. Sometimes, she would be on the phone, laughing loudly throughout the apartment.

At the mention of Mom in front of Dad, however, I refused to discuss her in front of him. Part of me resented his casual tone about her.

It made me rethink about that day again.

The dreams that reminded me that I found her dead in our bathtub.

Be reasonable Nathaniel . It was hard on all on him too.

Dad suddenly got up, and washed the bowl and spoon. I glanced down at my full bowl, not realizing he was finished and knowing that he will return to work.

I was use to the disappointment anyways.

After he put everything away in the dishwasher, he grabbed his leather jacket from the chair and his black brief case. He looked at me with pleading eyes, silently asking me for forgiveness.

"I need to head out. By the way, Carlos is coming home next weekend, so I'll send you his information. I will see you tonight," he coughed. I remained silent as he left the door, slipping once again away from my life.

When he slammed the door, the silence fell over the table as it finally came to the realization he went back to work.

Typical.

I took another spoonful of the warm gazpacho, and almost gagged at the bitter taste that was growing in my mouth. Frustrated, I got up to toss the rest out in the garbage.

I returned to my room. My eyes immediately landed at the boxes that I had not unpacked that were tucked away in the corner. I walked over to the box, opening the box to pull out the guitar Mom gave me for my eighth birthday. When I started singing and joined my local community youth choir, she thought it would complement my singing well and was something passed down her family for generations.

Now, it was just sitting in a dusty box.

Too painful to even think about, I pushed that box aside.

I fell on my knees, and took the other closet box right next to it.

When Mom died, Dad immediately started to pack her stuff away to get rid of it because it was too painful for him. Before he could get rid of everything, I managed to grab a few items and shove them in boxes before he could put them away for good.

I pulled out her name tag she wore to work. My finger brushed over her name and picture.

Don't do this to yourself, Nathaniel.

I then pulled out the golden cross necklace she use to wear.

Don't think about how you could've stopped her from dying.

I grabbed fists of her scrubs as a stray tear slipped from my eyes.

I grabbed the black notebook that was nearby, flipping to the next clear page. 

There were so many thoughts that were scourging through my mind, desperate to break out. Lyrics that were embedded in my mind, itching to come out. As if controlled by my inner conscience, I reached for a pen that was in my vicinity. I opened to the first clean page, and felt lines crossing my mind.

Trying so hard to forget the pain

Stealing your page off my wall

I will never go back to that day

Where all I see was your face

I stared back at my words, imagining moms face. My eyes watered, but I scribbled it down hastily before the tears slipped onto the page.

Why did you leave?

I looked at the words, seeing my feelings in front of me. I felt my eyes feeling heavy, and put the notebook to the side.

Why did you leave me?

"What the hell is this?" David asked, peering into the bowl in front of him. He stirred the soup with his spoon warily, wrinkling his nose.

"Gazpacho," I replied. He gave me an uncertain look before tasting it. "It's just cold soup. People eat it on hot days."

David nodded silently, taking another spoonful of soup to his mouth. He ate it slowly before picking up the speed. Next thing I knew, he finished the entire soup.

"Tastes good. I feelin' like a freezer because it's that cool," David responded sarcastically, emphasizing his southern drawl.

I snorted, "Obviously. You finished the damn thing."

"I didn't eat supper so cut me some slack." He put the bowl on top of the unpacked moving box before starting to peek at the unopened boxes. He turned to me with an uncertain face. "Did you not unpack yet? You've been here for three weeks."

I shrugged. "I did most of it. Just left a few unopened."

Before I could tell him not to open it, he opened the flaps of the box closest to him. His eyes widened when he pulled out a golden trophy with a music note sitting on the top. Reading the engraving, he looked at me with shock.

"You sing?" he asked with shock.

I nodded uncomfortably while he shook his head with awe. He turned to the box and rummaged.

"There are so many trophies and medals here."

"Yeah I use to sing a lot," I confirmed. I was about to change the subject when David pulled out come CDs in the box. Mom always made Dad record all my singing performances and collected them. 

David pulled out a CD case. "Can I watch?"

I blinked, immediately feeling the tightness in my chest again. I nodded silently anyways, and watched David opened the CD-ROM of my laptop to put it in. After a few moments, David was watching me at eight-year-old, singing into a microphone on a stage.

It was Christmas Day, and our community wanted to do have a party and asked me to perform a Spanish carol. I was watching me and my choir friends singing in harmony. My eyes were becoming hazy as it got to the end.

After the applause, David paused it to look at me with a new sense of shock.

"You are so good. You never mentioned you sang," David exclaimed. He pulled out another one and put it in the computer. This time, it was an eight-year-old me singing for a talent show this time singing the national anthem at Yankee Stadium. They were looking around my area for a child singer and asked someone from my choir group.

I was chosen.

"Holy shit, Nate. You are amazing"

I shrugged, feeling the tension leave my chest as the video ended. I closed the laptop when I saw my younger self smiling.

"I use to do it. I just don't do it anymore."

David shook his head. "You should. From the trophies to the CDs, you seem good. In the video at least, you look happy."

I don't deserve to be happy.

David took the CD out to put it back in the box. I saw him peering at the unopened boxes that were items related to Mom I was not ready to encounter yet.

Sensing my gaze, David looked at the opened boxes.

"Is that a guitar I see?" David asked with interest. I stiffened immediately because I knew what he was talking about. The golden-brown guitar shined from my lamp light, pulling me up from my bed in alarm to look at the guitar that was laying in the box.

I wanted to grab it back, shove it into the box, and toss it out of the goddamn window.

Mom's grandfather gave the guitar to his son after Mom's father passed it to her. It has been passed down for generations through easy times and hard times. It was a constant in their lives.

"I got it for Christmas," I casually explained instead, ignoring my throat beginning to tighten. "You play?"

He rolled his eyes. "I sing at a diner with a guitar. What do you think?"

I ignored at his sarcastic comment, and stared at the instruments in his hands. A smile grew on his face.

"This is a really nice guitar," he complimented, touching the guitar and not noticing I was spacing out. "How's Elise. Any progress with her?"

I frowned. "Progress?"

David placed the guitar to the side. "Progress of banging her."

I wrinkled my nose.

"We only talked. Aren't you friends with her?"

"So? We don't talk about boys." He frowned. "I told you she would reject you."

I shook my head. "No one rejected anybody. We just talked. That's all."

David's frown only grew deeper, picking up the guitar once again. "You are not into her or somethin'?"

My eyes widened at what he said.

"Just because I didn't bang her doesn't mean I don't find her attractive," I insisted, thinking back to her. Something about her was addicting. Her soft voice was intoxicating. She covers her hand when she smiles, but a part of me wanted to see her natural smile.

Especially under the stars.

"Huh," David muttered, rubbing his chin in thought at the idea of being friendly. He shrugged. "Well you're not fun. She's pretty hot." He continued to play the guitar. I frowned at his comment, and rolled my eyes.

"Sounds like you dig her," I observed with a smirk. He snorted, and continued to play some melodious tunes.

"She's not ugly, but definitely not my type," he explained, waggling his eyebrows. Clearly trying to imply something, I tilted my head in confusion.

"What's your type? Easy?" I asked with sarcasm.

He stopped playing to give me the middle finger. "Ass," he grumbled. He stopped playing to look at me. The smile originally on his face disappeared.

"Are you okay, Nate?"

I heard the wary tone in his voice, and I felt the familiar sadness pang in my chest. Usually it was a stabbing sensation so hard that I start to cry, but it was not like that anymore. No, it was just sadness that ties with nostalgia and it sat in my chest until I took my mind off it.

I made a face. "You really don't need to ask that," I maintained because to say that is okay would've been a lie, and David would have known that. "We are doing okay. I wouldn't know about my dad. He works a lot."

David got up to put the guitar back into its original box before turning to me. He gave me an understanding nod.

"Death does that though. It just makes you feel hollow deep down inside. You mope around, probably pitying yourself for a bit. Suddenly, that becomes who you are. It affects other parts of your life like hobbies and relationships. You pretend that you don't care, and focus at the thing in front of you. Then after, you feel like absolute shit because it hits you that they are not coming back. You realize that you will never go back to normal, and this is the new normal." He said this initially in his normal voice, but as he continued his monologue, his voice became quiet until it was a whisper.

His face was etched with pain. His eyes hardened, and his jaw was tense. He blew out a frustrating breath.

"Maybe I should be asking are you okay," I asked carefully, diverting any dark feelings that invaded my mind. He rubbed the bags under his eye.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just know that feeling you have. That's how I felt when my mom left," he explained with a sudden harshness.

"How is she now?" I asked.

"Don't know. Don't care," he snapped. David's face suddenly softened at his words, and exhaled deeply. "Moral of this story is that my own father did the same thing. Your father at least sounds like he's bouncing back. Maybe slowly, but he's bouncing back. All my dad does is drink and work."

David shrugged after finishing his thought. "Don't worry. This is my new normal. Remember?" He gave a twisted smile that only left me unsure about my own family.

I nodded. "All I remember from that time was that I thought you were irritating kid." Sensing the lightheartedness in my tone, he took the hint and chuckled.

"You were the fucking annoying one. Always talking and chatty."

David and I laughed at the familiar memory. David kept laughing, looking around until his eyes focused on me.

"Hey. You still have that," David commented suddenly, getting from his spot to walk towards it. He picked up my arm to observe Mom's bracelet that on my wrist.

"You know what that is?" I asked with surprise.

David nodded vigorously.

"Of course," he said.

My eyes widened, and I pulled my wrist back. "How does everyone know about this bracelet except me?" I looked at the simple green, white, and red banded bracelet that held so much meaning.

David grinned. "I use to have one too before it fell off. She gave it to us. Do you remember? I think I was trying to cut yours off because mine started to unravel already."

I shook my head, unable to recall the memory. "I don't remember this. Why do you?" I asked with curiosity.

David pulled out his phone out of his pocket. "Funny enough. I have a couple of old childhood pictures from a project a long time ago," he explained, unlocking his iPhone to search for the picture. David's eyebrows scrunched while he concentrated on finding the photo. After a few moments, his eyes brighten with recognition and a smile appeared on his face.

"Yeah, look see," he said, showing his phone to me.

Taking the phone, I looked at the zoomed up image of me, holding out the bracelet with a goofy smile. I looked at my shorts and dragon shirt in the photo before staring back at the familiar bracelet.

"This is my bracelet then," I confirmed. I looked up at David. "I found it attached to an empty notebook she gave me for my birthday. My grandmother said she insisted on never coming back here again, and I don't know why. All I know it has something to do with this."

David's eyebrows shot up in alarm, turning to the picture in confusion. "I don't remember much about this day. She gave it to us," David recalled, scratching the back of his head.

I looked back at the imagine, and zoomed out of the photo. The image showed three of us, standing and smiling with identical bracelets hanging in front of me. David was on one side with his blonde bowl-cut hiding his blue eyes and dorky smile. The thing that interested me more was the girl on the other side.

She was much older, probably in her late twenties early or thirties, and she had a hand around the both of us, smiling at the camera freely. Her brown hair was tied back into a ponytail while she was smiling with blue eyes.

"David, who is this?" I asked, showing him the picture. David looked at the family, eyebrows furrowed and shrugged.

"I don't know."

I nodded silently, looking at our grinning faces in the picture. "Have you seen her around here?" I asked curiously.

David shook his head "I'm not really sure. We were young, Nate."

I couldn't stop looking at the picture.

"What are you thinking?" David asked, breaking my train of thought on the picture. I shrugged.

"Something about this bracelet made my mom not want to come here. I need to figure out why," I said, focusing on the girl in the photo with a bracelet around her wrist as well.

"You need to know or you want to know?" David asked, shoving his hands in his jeans. "This was almost fourteen years ago, and you are here now. This town is small, but this is old."

I shrugged, thinking back to my mother. Something was pushing me to wonder why we stopped coming to Alabama. Suddenly, that was the only question I wanted to know. The idea of my mother never want to come back to the point of an emotional breakdown did not settle well with me.

"I just need to know, David," I simply said.

I just couldn't let go of her.

"Do you think she has something to do with Aunt Anita not wanting to return to Alabama?" David asked curiously.

I shrugged. "I don't know anything. You don't seem to know anything about it. That just leaves her, right?"

David nodded, though his face still appeared confused. "How do you suppose we do that?"

I looked up with a new sensation growing inside me. My mother appeared in my mind once again, and I stood up straighter.

"I am going to find her."