Authors: Renee Lewin
“Tomorrow night is nothing but one long sleepless wrestle with yesterday’s omissions and regrets” William Faulkner
-------
I graduated today. Mom was proud of me. Mario is leaving for Stanford and naming me the captain of the
Chupasangres
. They’re giving me a decent job at
PiCo
automotive factory and I’m taking it.
-------
The team isn’t the same without Mario. I can tell my teammates wish he was here instead of me. I’m trying to keep our wins, but when we play the
Tormentas
I lose my cool. Seeing her sitting on the sidelines under her pretty blue umbrella and cheering them on doesn’t help. My anger is coming out at work too. Everyone is frightened of me. They don’t know that I’m scared too.
-------
I have an opportunity to do something that could change everything. Because I’ve wanted this chance for so long, it’s hard to flat out dismiss it. God knows I’ve tried to deny my feelings and bury them again and again and it never worked. The plan I have in mind would work for everyone. And if I don’t win her heart then at least I’ll know she has all the good things she deserves in her life. I just need permission.
-------
Following that entry is a poem. Every line of it settles inside my chest until finally I burst. For a few minutes, I sob. My hands numb and moistened with tears, I close the leather-bound journal and drop the book into my handbag. Without looking back, I leave the suffocating hospital room for home.
EIGHT
“You sound like your nose is stuffed up. Are you okay?”
“I don’t know. I was at St. Mary’s a while ago. Maybe I caught something there.”
“Yeah?
How is he?”
“Joey could be awake as soon as tomorrow.”
“That’s…,” he exhales slowly, “really good. Thanks for being there in the hospital with him. If I could, if I wasn’t here, I would be in that room every day to ask him to forgive me when he wakes up. Thank you for being my eyes and ear, and my voice. I know it’s hard to see Joey lying there with the tubes and monitors connected to him; in the same hospital where mom passed. But you go there whenever you can to check on him and read to him. I appreciate that.”
“I’m just hopeful he’ll be okay and you’ll be able to come home soon.”
“I miss you guys a lot. How’s Frank?”
“He hasn’t come back yet from visiting some old friends in town.”
“I’m sure he won’t be gone too late. If he does, it’s not because he forgot about you or anything. He has a lot of friends and catching up to do.”
“I thought I finally would have someone here to confide in and the first thing he does is leave me in the house alone.”
“Sorry, Laney.
How about Dad? You could talk to him. I’m sure he wants you to.”
“I’m not ready to go back there yet.”
He makes a low sound in his throat to convey he understands my reluctance. After a quiet pause, he says “I can’t believe Joey could be out of the coma by tomorrow. I thought he’d be under for weeks, not just five days. He got hurt bad when I pushed him. I’m surprised he healed so quickly.”
I didn’t want to remind him we would have to wait for Joey to wake up to see if he had healed normally. Sitting up in bed, I shake my head. “You didn’t push him, Manny. He tripped.”
“I’m sure choking him didn’t help him with his balance. I screwed everything up so bad. I don’t know how I’ll ever make it up to him. I hate myself for being such an idiot. I turned on my best friend over some girl.”
“Over Denise,” I state.
He pauses. “…Yes. I guess you figured that out. I’m really ashamed. I kept holding out for the day she would change for the better. I thought I could be the person in her life to help her. If he never wants to talk to me again, that’s understandable. I did a pathetic, immature, irreversible thing. I wish I was the one in the hospital bed.”
“Manny, you don’t have to beat yourself. You’re incarcerated. Okay? Isn’t that punishment enough? Do you have to punish yourself as well? Gosh, you and Joey are so alike, so hard on yourselves. I mean, did you know that Joey…” I sit in bed staring into the dim corner of my bedroom. What question did I really want to ask?
Did you know that Joey thought I hated him?
I never hated him. I just never took him seriously. I never really listened to him.
Did you know that Joey’s really hard on himself and not at all full of himself?
That Joey wasn’t a womanizer; he was a shoulder for girls to cry on and protective to a fault?
That Joey started the rent drama, but he did whatever he could to stop the chaos, and he did?
That he’s a poet?
That he was good friends with Mom?
That he was the only one not too self-absorbed to notice that my father was mistreating her, our own mother? And the abuse he knew my father committed was the reason he was so adamant about my safety when I was taking care of Dad?
That he…cares about me a lot and it’s terrifying?
That he’s friends with you, I think, to get closer to me?
That I can’t tell you about these things because you don’t need anything else to worry about while you’re surviving this ordeal?
“Do I know what about Joey?”
“Did you know that he’ll forgive you? He’s that kind of person.”
He chuckles.
“Probably.
Though I doubt it would make me feel any less guilty.”
“I was wrong about him.”
“Wow. Not too long ago he was, and I quote,” he clears his throat and imitates me with a high pitched voice, “Scary, nosy, rude
and
conceited.”
I laugh and roll my eyes. “Did I say that?” I ask innocently.
“What’s in those stories of his that made you change your tune?” he smiles.
“He doesn’t write stories. He writes poetry, surprisingly.”
“A troubadour!
I should have seen that coming. He’s a charmer.
So, a whole book of thoughtful poems?”
“No. A few sprinkled between his diary entries.”
“Diary entries?”
He grows quiet. Before he can say more, the automated operator voice informs him he has one minute left on his call. “I have to go. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
“And tell Uncle Frank I love him and that I said thanks for his support.”
“I will.”
“Bye.”
I hang up the phone and get out of bed. I walk into the kitchen feeling the cool tiles against my bare feet. I pour myself a glass of water and carry it into the living room where I watch a few reruns of
Frasier
, followed by the nightly news and a late night talk show. It is 12:42 PM when I look at the clock. Uncle Frank still hasn’t come home. Worry flows and ebbs within me. As I ready for bed, I remind myself to relay Manny’s message to Uncle Frank tomorrow morning. In the bottom drawer of my nightstand, under a photo album, I place Joey’s journal. Hiding the journal wasn’t going to change the history of Joey’s feelings. It’s silly of me to hide it from him, but it feels so therapeutic to tuck the past away.
******
The next morning I walk into the bathroom and lather and rinse my face clean of sleep. I dry my face with a washcloth. The cloth has the comforting smell of the fabric softener my mom used and that I still use. Placing the cloth down on the counter, I look into the mirror. What did Joey see when he looked at me? What’s so special? I lean in closer to examine my features. I have a round face of a cinnamon or, I guess, an allspice complexion with high cheekbones, dark shapely eyebrows, and brown eyes. Full lips pout beneath a round nose. I’m average, cute at the most, which isn’t a complement when you’re twenty years old.
Once you hit your late teens, a girl is supposed to look more womanly, more sensual and appealing. That never quite happened. My body grew into it, becoming an overall pear shape on my trim frame, but the clothes and the shoes and the makeup never happened. Although with my hair down and without my glasses on I was heading towards a more mature look. Still, I see only plainness. In his mind, Joey put me up on a ten foot high ivory ionic Roman column with gold leaf in the molding, painstakingly built over five years. He hyperbolized my appearance and my personality to the point where once he really gets to know me, I will have terribly far to fall from that pedestal. It would leave a bruise. A twinge hits my stomach just thinking about it. After reading the entirety of his journal there is now a selfish voice inside me that doesn’t want him to wake up just yet.
The sound of silverware clanking together brings me out of the bathroom and into the dining area. A florescent yellow omelet so large it smothers half of the plate’s surface is on the dining room table.
“I made breakfast,” Uncle Frank smiles sweetly as he rests his arms on the back of the dining room chair. He stands barefoot dressed in a red Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts. I wonder whether he’s changed into them or whether that’s his idea of pajamas. I frown at the
omelette
, hurt that he’s forgotten how much I hate eggs. I open my mouth to remind him, but smile at him instead.
“Thanks, Uncle Frankie. Nobody has cooked me breakfast in a long time. Usually I’m the one doing the cooking around here.”
Uncle Frank laughs. “It’s not for you! I know you hate eggs. Ah, you should have seen the look on your face!” he chuckles. “You’re too nice, Laney.” I watch him seat himself and dig in to his continental breakfast. As he gulps his orange juice he glances up from the glass to see me glaring at him jealously. “Oh,” he grins, “
Your
breakfast is on the stove.” I bat my eyelashes at him gratefully and find my plate. It’s laden with all of my favorite breakfast foods. I hereby pledge to start cutting back on calories, right after I eat the buttermilk and ricotta pancakes, crisp bacon, and golden hash browns that Uncle Frank prepared for me.
“
Mmmm
.
These pancakes are so good,
Unc
.”