Authors: Renee Lewin
“Did you miss me?” she asks as she studies my face. I nod even though I don’t remember the five days that have passed. She runs a hand over my head. I freeze.
“They had to shave it off during the surgery. It’s just hair, honey. It can grow back.”
I don’t even bother to raise my hand to feel it. I’m immediately depressed.
“I must look like
sh
”
“Watch your mouth. It will grow back. You’re being vain and ungrateful,” she says quite sternly. “It could have been worse.”
“Do you have any gum? My mouth feels nasty.” I change the subject. She finds her purse and hands me the gum. “Thanks.” I reach out for it with my right hand and it doesn’t tremble as much as my left, but somehow I grasp for the gum and come up short. My mom stares at me mutely. She then takes the gum out of the wrapper and holds it in front of my mouth. I could have done it myself. I don’t argue because she’s very serious. I frown and open my mouth for it. Afterwards, she holds my hand and silently stares at the door, waiting. I chew and examine the crisp hospital sheet across my lap. My mom is trying to be strong. As soon as Elaine had left the room my composure fell and the panic resurfaced. Mom babying me wasn’t helping me keep my game face on.
Uneager to hear the answer, I break the silence. “What happened to me?”
She tells me I was in a fight with Manny, I hit my head on a stone and it’s why I’m in the hospital and he’s in jail and their father is in Palo Verde. I don’t remember fighting my best friend. I don’t know why a fight started, but I have a good idea who started it.
I want to disappear. I don’t know if I can bear this again. I push my way into their lives, starving for attention and pathetic I reach out to them, and they crumple in my hands. It crumbles and I can’t hold them back together.
Nothing can reattach like once before
.
The physiatrist comes into the room with the doctor trailing behind. I want to detach myself from reality, but he wants to do tests. I have to be helped out of bed and I have to concentrate on walking. It’s too hard. My body is hurting and tired and my vision is weird and my balance is gone.
The physiatrist, Dr. Norton, reminds me of my father for some cruel reason, except this guy is actually concerned about me. He helps me back into bed and encourages me, tells me about this thing called neuroplasticity where other parts of my brain might compensate for the damaged parts. When I ask him the chances of that happening, he doesn’t lie like my father did when he said he was leaving to get a pack of cigarettes and never came back. Then he and Dr. Rice talk with my mom about rehabilitation and medication because I’m no longer paying attention and Dr. Rice leaves again and my father leaves again, I mean, Dr. Norton leaves, and Mom and I are alone. Any man who is tall with brown hair and blue eyes in his early forties is my dad because he might as well be any old stranger.
I laugh at myself. Like right now, when a guy finds out he’ll be able to get around in a few weeks with no guarantee that he won’t walk like a freak the rest of his life, that the tremor in his arm will stop, or the excruciating spasms in his legs will end, or he’ll get used to his ruined eyes, or never play soccer again, or never be acceptable to a girl, he could use a father to remind him to be a man and keep-it-together-son. I chuckle.
“Oh, sweetie, go ahead and cry. Let it out.”
“Mom, I’m not crying!” Then I realize that there are tears running from my eyes, down my temples, and into what is left of my hair and it means I’m crying.
“I want to be left alone. Right now, Mom! Go!”
“If you think bumping your little head is a reason to yell at your mother, you are sadly mistaken.”
“I’m sorry,” I say but my teeth are clenched so the words lose their sincerity. “I want to be left alone. I need to keep it together right now.”
“No one is expecting you to keep it together!”
“I know that,” I say bitterly, “but I do.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” She swats a strand of her curly red hair from her face and crosses her arms. I used to have hair like hers and I used to swat it away and get annoyed with it. I want it back.
“It means that I need to be a man and you’re
not
helping,” I retort. I am surprised when she takes my face between her hands and turns my head.
“I raised a man; I didn’t raise a proud fool. Your father didn’t raise you, Mason didn’t raise you, and thank God they didn’t.
I
, a woman,
raised you. I never left you and I’m not
going
anywhere
. Don’t be too proud to need someone. Do you hear me?”
“Yes,” my voice quakes. “But, I can’t…Please, don’t make me face the world tonight.”
******
I was itching to leave the room, leave his eyes. Some of that wasn’t pretend. What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking. I was just caught up in the emotion and I was grateful to him and I held his hand to my face. Well, we’re pretending to be dating so maybe it wasn’t as inappropriate as it felt. My phone won’t get reception in the hospital so I find an exit to get outside. I take a deep breath of the chilled night air and call the Pima County police department. After being put on hold three different times since Detective Lansbury is off duty, I reach Sergeant Ross who promises to send a deputy to take Joey’s statement. A divine calm falls over me for the first time since the accident. Finally, something has gone right. The message that Manny wanted me to tell Joey pops into my head. I rush back to the room to deliver it.
Joey’s mom opens the hospital room door and slips outside, closing the door behind her before I can get a glimpse of Joey. My sense of calm vanishes. She has tears in her eyes. I take two steps back so we can stand comfortably in the hallway.
“What’s wrong? Is Joey okay?”
“No. He’d rather not have any company right now. He doesn’t want to talk to you at the moment. He is…unable to. I think you and your uncle should go on home and get some sleep. Thanks for being here.”
He is
unable
to talk to me. He can’t stand
to talk to me. He’s angry with me.
She slips back into the hospital room and leaves me in the hall alone to be mauled by my own thoughts.
******
What is the best thing to poison someone with?
The reddish liquid bubbled with pink foam as objects bobbed up to the surface and back down. With a stir of the big wooden spoon, the chopped onions, red chilies, splintered cilantro leaves, hominy, and tender bite-sized pieces of beef stomach rise and fall.
It’s
menudo soup; his favorite meal.
What about bleach? No, he would taste it right away.
He was coming home today. Mom was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, squawking orders, cleaning the coop and teasing her feathers.
Don’t the murderers in the movies always use antifreeze?
“Raul!”
“¿Sí, Mama?”
“¡
Ten prisa! ¡Pon la sopa en la mesa y da una escudilla grande a tu padre
!”
“
Sí
.”
“¡Mira!
He’s here!”
Quickly, I find two medium bowls and one large bowl from the cupboard. I’m not going to eat. No appetite. I pour the soup into the smaller bowls first. I give the large empty bowl a long hard stare. Then I enthusiastically spit into his bowl and ladle the soup over it. I place the steaming bowls around the table and jog to the front door where my mother and brother are standing. I watch as a man steps out of a taxi and looks around at the trailers disdainfully. He’s smaller than I remember. Still, he is bigger than I. When Mom runs out of the door he paints a smile on his face and they kiss deeply after she throws herself at him senselessly.
Teo
gets eager and steps forward to go outside with his mommy and daddy. I put a hand on his shoulder and gently bring him back to me. His body bumps into my leg and he leans against me. He rests his curly head against my stomach. “Mateo, remember what I told you. Don’t ever find yourself alone with him.” He nods against my lurching gut. I bow and kiss him on top of the head. As our parents near the house I find myself gripping the sleeve of his blue
Pokèmon
t-shirt.
He walks into the house. I leave my body. When I come back, we’re sitting on the sofas.
“How old are you again, Mateo?” he scratches at his pockmarked cheek.
“Nine.”
“You got any girlfriends by now?”
“
Eeeww
! No,
Papá
!
” Teo
giggles
.
“
Ew
?
What are you? A queer?” he spits.
Teo
shakes his head, frightened.
Teo
doesn’t even know what queer means. “Good. I haven’t seen you since you were a little baby. Come here.”
My grip tightens on
Teo’s
arm and he looks up at me, his big brother, with his big hazel eyes not knowing who to obey.
“What’s your problem, Raul? Let him see his father!” Mom yells.
“
¡
Maricón
!
Let him go!” he demands.
I force each finger to uncurl and
Teo
leaves my side to walk over to him. He messes
Teo’s
hair roughly and
Teo
laughs politely. I stifle a shout as he picks
Teo
up with his bulky arms and sits him on his lap. He lowers his mouth and kisses
Teo
on top of the head, not once taking his eyes off of me. He knows I’m watching his every move. He bucks his chin out at me, taunting, and smirks.
We need to leave this place. I thought I could do it, stay here, but I can’t. I need to talk to someone. I want to call Elaine, but we’re not together anymore because I messed up. I have to keep it together for
Teo
. I can’t face anyone else about my situation, my humiliation. I have to figure this out alone.
******
A true friend would have asked, “How are you feeling? What can I do for you?” Instead, as soon as he woke up I shoved a problem in his face and pressured him to fix it.
Joey, get Manny out of jail! Joey, help me to lie to your mother!
No wonder he dismissed me from reentering his hospital room. No wonder he refused to talk to the deputy. Manny called this morning and I couldn’t answer it. I failed my brother. I didn’t even give Joey the simple message Manny asked for me to relay. Uncle Frank took the call instead and told me the sentencing hearing was set for Thursday morning. Last night, Sunday, Joey woke up. It is Monday, late afternoon now. I’ve been sitting in my room all day. My first instinct was to call Raul. I feel guilty about it; I shouldn’t. I’ve only been single less than a week. Raul used to make me feel better with hugs and kisses and pet names. I smile sadly as I remember how a few times I’d call him at night and ask him to take me away.
Even though it made him nervous to leave his little brother sleeping by himself, he would leave his house and I’d sneak out of mine. Then he’d give me a piggyback ride. He’s very fit from soccer so he’d run out really far into the sparse desert field with my arms around his neck, his arms holding up my legs, until
Merjoy
was just a group of lights at the horizon behind us. One night he surprised me and threw me over his shoulder, but he quickly learned it wasn’t a comfortable position for me when I bit him. The more I whispered to him “Take me away,” the faster he would run. He’d run top speed and I’d feel the wind against my face and I felt free. Once he was tired he’d stop, let me down, wrap me in his arms and breathlessly say, “We’re away. We escaped. Now what does my
murciélagita
want?” I would laugh or cry to him, “I want to go back.” He’d nod, sometimes laughing sometimes not, and say, “Me too.” He’d take my hand and we’d stroll back home talking about those things that made us want to leave town and the reasons why we just never could.