After that night, life took on a circular motion. Sometimes it reminded me of a dog chasing its own tail. Other times it was more like water—and other things I'm too polite to mention—circling the toilet bowl when you flush. Either way it was hardly a pretty picture.
When I woke up, Delilah made me pancakes with berry syrup, and then I took the subway to Maria's neighborhood, where I mailed my second letter to Grandma Annie and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
I knew it probably wasn't near the time Carl would have to go to work, but whenever a man walked down the street past me, I looked into his face and wondered. Silently. Carl?
I saw older men who looked civilized and younger men who looked tough. I saw scared-looking guys and nondescript-looking guys, and I realized I really had no idea of what kind of guy could do the things Carl did. I guess I had this image in my head of some big, macho bruiser. But then I'd see a guy go by with neatly combed hair and a suit, and I'd look into his eyes to see if he could do that. Be that. And it seemed like the potential was there.
Maybe all of us could. Maybe it's not that most of us couldn't. Maybe it's more that most of us don't.
The spiraling was something that happened in my head.
I would think, She's in trouble. She's hurt, she's scared. She can't get to me. She's thinking of me and worrying I'll give up, and then she'll never see me again. And then I'd vow to never give up. To be there whenever she came out to find me again. And for a few minutes I would be this brave Romeo who could swim the widest, deepest ocean to be there for her in her time of need.
Then the doubts would set in. I'd remember her voice and her face when she said, If we go away. And, I think so. And, It just feels so scary. And then this voice in my head would say, Wake up. Grow up. She changed her mind. She doesn't want to see you again.
Then I'd get angry because she didn't even have the decency to come look me in the eye and tell me the truth. And I'd vow to stand here on this corner forever, because sooner or later she had to come by. Sooner or later she had to go to the market or something, and then I'd get to look her in the eye and say, How could you do that to me? Not even have the heart to tell me the truth?
But hours went by, and she didn't come out and walk to the market, and I'd start thinking, She's not coming out because she can't come out. She's hurt, or in trouble. And the cycle would swirl all over again.
It was making me dizzy. It was actually making me sick.
I tried checking all the names on all the buzzers on all the apartment buildings on that block. Maybe they would have first and last names on their buzzers. But they didn't. Last names only.
I was in love with this woman, had offered to share my new life with this woman, and I didn't even know her last name.
And if I didn't know her last name or where she lived, I couldn't call the hospitals to see if she was hurt. And I couldn't call her or see her at home. So there was this very real chance I might never see her again.
That's when it hit me that she was my new life, and I could never go back to the old one.
Until I met her, I'd had no life. Nothing had ever happened. Suddenly things had been happening, and now I couldn't go back to the old nothingness. I couldn't.
The rest of my time on that street, I was too tired to pace. I sat on a fire hydrant, feeling the sun burn the back of my neck. I thought about animals in a zoo. About the importance of being born in captivity. I could believe that the animals were happy enough in their cages, if they were born in captivity. Because they knew nothing else. How can you want something if you don't even know it exists? But if one of them got out. Spent a few weeks running free. How would it feel to be caught and caged again?
I was pretty sure I knew.
In time I went back to Delilah's to wait out the midday sun.
THE LETTER FROM MY MOTHER was waiting for me.
Delilah handed it to me without a word.
This time I found my own way over to the couch and sat down. Turned it over in my hands. Read the return address. Celia Vicente. A Spanish-sounding street name I couldn't pronounce. Port Hueneme, CA.
I opened it all by myself.
I could feel Delilah watching me, but not in a bad way. Never the way my father watched me. I can't explain the difference but on a feeling level it was very clear.
I read it out loud to her. On the first time through. That's how much I trusted Delilah. Whatever my mother had to say to me after all these years, she could hear it, too. Funny how when someone insists on knowing everything about me, like my father, I want them to know nothing at all. When someone lets me have as much privacy as I want, like Delilah, sharing everything starts to sound like a good idea.
My dear son Sebastian,
I can't tell you how scared I am, writing this back to you. I keep thinking about what you said in your letter to Grandma. That you wanted to ask some questions about me. I keep wondering what questions you wanted to ask. In my mind you're asking things like, How could you? Where were you? How am I supposed to forgive you now?
I don't know, Sebastian, but I hope you'll try. I hope you can understand that I was afraid of him. Of what he'd do. Afraid not just for myself, but for you. I guess I thought it would be best for you, too. To just grow up with him and not be torn apart by the fighting. But maybe I wasn't being completely honest with myself. I hope you'll believe what I'm about to tell you, because I've never said a truer thing in my life: Not a day has gone by that I haven't wished I could have that decision to do over again. I thought we'd at least be in touch the whole time you were growing up. I thought we'd write to each other and talk on the phone. When you didn't answer my letters, I thought you hated me.
Maybe you do.
Can we still start over, Sebastian?
You're almost a man now. That's a hard thing for me to accept. What's even harder is that you're a man I barely know. I'm not going to try to say much more for right now. I'll just say that I want to know you. I want you to be part of my life again. If you want to know me, just say so. We'll start from there.
I love you, Sebastian. Always have, always will.
Your mother,
Celia Vicente
I looked up at Delilah and saw the softness in her eyes. She didn't ask me any questions, but I could hear the one she wasn't asking.
“I don't know,” I said.
“She's your mother.”
“She could have fought for me.”
“You never really know why people do or don't do what they do or don't do. Until you hear their side of the story. At least hear her side.”
“She just told me her side. What does it change? She could have stood up to him.”
“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe she could have. Or should have. I don't know. I don't like to render judgment, ‘specially when I don't know. I'm just saying this to you: Think long and hard before you turn your back on your own mother.”
A long silence, during which I said nothing. Because there was really nothing to say.
Then she said, “Ever had Chinese food?”
I shook my head.
She sighed. “Why do I even ask? Come on, child. We're ordering in.”
I DON'T WANT TO TALK TOO MUCH about my time at the subway station that night. Just that I got there not too long after dinner and sat right there—in our special spot near the stairs—until four A.M. I guess I don't mind telling you the part where I saw people get on the train, ride away, and then hours later look surprised to see me still sitting there waiting when they got back. From wherever.
What I can't tell you, don't want to, couldn't explain properly even if I tried, was the inside of me. The way my thoughts swirled, the huge leaps from blackness to hope, back to blackness. I'd be ashamed to say I started to bite my own lip out of sheer nerves. Until I made it bleed. But I guess I just did say that, didn't I? Shame and all.
There were too many thoughts to try to recall, and nothing I want to relive anyway. And they didn't make a lot of sense. It was like raw emotion, running around in my head where clear thoughts should be. It colored everything.
I couldn't remember a time when my life hadn't felt exactly like this. I thought of holding her hand on the street, kissing her in a doorway, but it felt like something I dreamed. Like something from a previous life. Maybe none of it had ever happened at all. Maybe my brain invented her to keep from going crazy.
At four, I gave up. Got on a train and rode home.
When I came up the stairs to Lexington Avenue, there was the moon. Floating up there in the sky, looking unusually low and bright. A crescent moon, about a quarter of the way to full. I stopped dead and looked at it. Remembered what Delilah said. About something bigger.
“Thanks for nothing,” I said.
Then I walked back to Delilah's place.
THE SUN WAS JUST COMING UP, and I hadn't slept at all. The pillow and blanket Delilah had left out for me were still all neat and folded on the couch. I hadn't even bothered to lie on the couch and try.
I was sitting in her window, looking out. She had one of those windows with a sort of bench. You know, a window seat. We had that in our apartment, too, in the living room. But no way I would sit staring out the window in front of my father.
My eyes felt grainy, like they were full of sand, and my stomach was a little unsettled. I wished I could sleep, to feel better, but I knew it was pointless.
I watched people bustle out of their apartments to go to work in the morning. Watched cabs bunch up and honk and scrape too close to pedestrians. Watched all these people go about their lives.
They had lives.
They went places, and did things, and never thought twice about it.
I wondered how that would feel.
After a while I felt Delilah's hand on my shoulder. I hadn't heard her get up. She was in her bright pink robe with the big many-colored flowers embroidered around the bottom, and on the collar.
“Still no Maria, huh?”
I shook my head.
She looked out on the street with me for a minute. Like she was seeing the world through my eyes. But Delilah had a life. Always had, as best I could figure. So I couldn't imagine we could see things the same.
I said, “What if I never see her again?” But then, even as the words were coming out of my mouth, I realized I had asked Delilah that question already. A long time ago. Or, at least, it sure seemed like a long time ago now. And she had answered me. The answer had seemed impossible even then. Even back when I didn't know Maria's name. Had never touched her. So imagine how impossible it seemed now. “Never mind,” I said. “I guess we've been through all that already.”
I felt her hand ruffling through my hair.
Next thing I knew, I heard her in the kitchen making breakfast.
IT ONLY TOOK ME about two more days to completely lose hope.
Well, maybe I shouldn't say completely. Maybe I should say almost completely. Because I still walked up and down her street all day. And I still sat by the stairs at the union Square station at night. But all the time I was doing that, I was sure I'd never see her.
It's funny how fast these things flip over. That first night when I was supposed to meet her and she didn't show up, I was just positive she would show. She always had, so I knew she would again. And when she didn't, it was so hard to wrench my brain around to that truth. I almost couldn't believe it.
Now it was just the opposite. I sat for hours by the stairs, never believing for a second that I would actually see her.
I guess that makes it hard to explain why I was even there. Well, where else would I be? I couldn't just sit at Delilah's all day, doing nothing, while she was trying to have a life. I couldn't go home. I couldn't move to Mojave without Maria. The only solution was to find her. So I sat there, trying to squeeze something impossible out of thin air.
But she didn't show.
? ? ?…
IT WAS BEFORE BREAKFAST one morning. About eight o'clock. Delilah was sleeping in, later than usual. I was scrubbing the kitchen floor. Not that it was all that dirty. But I thought it would look really nice if I could strip off the old wax and put down one fresh new coat. I thought I could make it look better than she even knew it could look.
I heard the phone ring.
I figured it was Delilah's daughter. And that she would answer it in the bedroom.
A minute later she came out in her big flowery robe, with the phone pressed to her shoulder. As if to keep what she was about to say from the person on the line. She had a surprised, almost startled look on her face.
“It's for you,” she said. My stomach went cold. The blood in my veins went cold. I thought, It's my father. He found me. Or it's the police. He called them. They found me. “It's your grandma.”
But the icy feeling didn't move off right away, and my head was still spinning when she handed me the phone. I said, “Hello?” Kind of stupidly, like I didn't already know who it was.
“Sebastian? It's me. It's your Grandma Annie.”
The words got stuck in my throat. I was trying to think if her voice sounded familiar, but I couldn't honestly claim to remember after so many years.
She went on. Somebody had to. “I got Delilah's number from information. I hope it's okay. She said she didn't mind. But oh, I hope I didn't wake her up. I think I might've woke her up. I wanted to talk about you coming out here.”
That woke me up. “Can I? Is it okay?”
“Well, of course you can. We'd be thrilled. I told Celia you asked. She comes out to visit every other weekend. But she says it'd be every weekend if you were here. Thing is, right off the bat I don't have a real private space I could offer. You know, for you and your friend. I got that little guesthouse—I don't suppose you even remember that. But it's been so long since anybody used it. It's really fallen into disrepair. It'd need to be cleaned and probably painted and new carpet put down or at least the old carpet tore out. That'd take you a couple weeks at least and meantime I got nothing to offer but a fold-out couch in the living room. But if you're willing, you're welcome to what I got.”
My thoughts were spinning so fast, I could hardly think what to say. She said yes. She said yes. To me and Maria both. Then my heart fell down into my shoes, remembering. How could I leave for Mojave without Maria? “I'll get a job,” I said. “I won't live off you.”
“If you're not too picky,” she said, “they're always looking for young people to clean rooms at the motel. It's something to start you off, anyway. Maybe you could do better later on. So, when do you want to come?”
Her voice sounded too cheery. Eager. Almost to the point of being scared. It struck me that this was hard for her, too. That she was scared about how it would work out. Just like me.
I swallowed hard. “Well, I'll have to talk to Maria. See how soon we could leave.”
I caught Delilah's glance and watched her cut her eyes away. And felt ashamed. But what could I say? I can't find my girlfriend because I don't even know her last name or where she lives? I wanted badly to change the subject, so I said, “You know I'm still not eighteen. He could make trouble.”
“I know. But I talked to a lawyer friend last night. Well, friend of a friend. She says if he never went to court to get legal custody, which he never did, then he'd have to fight through the courts to get you back. And that'd take longer than four months, probably.”
“He won't,” I said. It hit me as clearly and suddenly as watching the sun come up in the morning, and I knew it was true. He wouldn't go to court to get me back. Because he knew I would tell the truth. Tell everybody he lied to me and told me my mother was dead. He was ashamed of that truth. And his shame would be the best weapon in my own defense. Especially since he knew I'd be gone in just a few months anyway. There wasn't much to gain. “He'll just let me go at this point. I really think.”
“Well, we'll see,” she said. “Got a pen? I want to give you my number. Call me as soon as you know when you're coming.”
I ran the phone over to Delilah's work desk and wrote the number down.
“Okay,” I said. “I'll let you know.” Then, realizing how much I was leaving off, I said, “Thank you. Really. Thank you. You don't know how much this means to me. I don't know what I would have done if you'd said no.”
A brief silence on the line. Then, simply, “We love you, Sebastian.”
I wanted to say something back but it stuck. Froze. Did I love Grandma Annie? Did I even remember her well enough to love her? I sure appreciated her right then. But all I could say was “Thank you.”
And then we said good-bye.
I stood there with the phone limply hanging off one hand, her number in the other.
I looked up at Delilah. “Sorry it woke you up,” I said.
“It didn't,” she said. “I was awake almost an hour ago. Sometimes I don't get up right off the bat. Sometimes I just like to lie there and think my own thoughts for a bit. What were you doing down on your knees on my kitchen floor?”
Though, frankly, it was obvious what I had been doing, just to look.
“Stripping off the old wax.”
“How come? Who said you had to clean?”
“Well, I have to do something to pull my weight. I don't pay for food. I've been sleeping on your couch for days. I have to do something to make myself worth having around.”
She hobbled up to me, took the phone out of my hand. “We're friends,” she said. “You and me. You don't have to be my maid. Just my friend.”
“Well, I have to finish now. I can't just leave it half-stripped like that.”
We both looked at the mess of her kitchen floor in progress.
“Yeah, I'll go along with that,” she said.
So I got back to work on the area around the refrigerator, and she moved the coffee machine over to the stove and made coffee in an area that was already stripped. I worked hard and fast because I knew she'd want to make breakfast soon. I knew we were both hungry. I figured I could put down the fresh wax after breakfast.
I looked up to see her watching me. She seemed lost in thought.
“What?” I said. Because she looked like she needed permission to say it.
“How long you gonna wait on her before you give up and go?”
Something heavy twisted back into my stomach. Amazingly, I'd been stripping wax and managing to have an empty head. I'd been forcing myself not to think. Probably because I knew my thinking would lead me here.
“I don't know. How long can I stay on your couch?”
“Well, long as I have this couch for you to stay on, I suppose. But I should warn you, I was fixing to move back to San Diego in about three more weeks. Maybe four, tops.”
I sighed. And went back to my work. About a minute later, I said it. Something very hard, but very true. Something we were both thinking anyway. I had to be brave enough to spit it out. “Well, if she hasn't turned up by then, I guess she's not coming.”
“Sounds about right to me,” Delilah said. “Sounds like you're using your head.”
And we spoke no more about it, all the way through breakfast.
I didn't go stand on her street that day. It just didn't feel like any use. I stayed home on Delilah's couch and read Romeo and Juliet straight through. I know she must have wondered. It was unlike me. But she didn't comment, or ask any questions.
I was so out of hope that, after dinner, I nearly chose not to go to the subway station at all. It seemed safe and friendly at Delilah's. We could watch a movie. Make popcorn. I could try to be happy. I was never happy sitting by the stairs in the station all night. Because she never showed.
I was just about to open my mouth and tell Delilah my decision. But I didn't. Because I remembered something. Something Delilah had said to me. While we were watching West Side Story. She said, “If I was you, I'd start learning to trust what you feel.” Or words to that effect.
I thought, What do I feel about this? What do I believe is true? And the answer came back right away. If she could come meet me, she would. That's what I felt. That's what I believed. She'd meet me if she could.
So I showered, and changed my clothes. Walked to the subway and took the train to union Square. And sat under the stairs.
I THINK I'D PROBABLY BEEN THERE for about an hour when I heard a strange voice say my name.
“Sebastian?”
I jumped up and spun around.
In front of me was this strange woman. Maybe in her mid-thirties, wearing a huge muumuu sort of dress in wild colors. Her hair all piled up on top of her head.
“Yes, I'm Sebastian,” I said.
She handed me a letter. I looked down at it. On the front of the sealed envelope, where the address would be if you were going to mail it, was written “Sebastian/Tony.” So there was only one person it could be from. My heart leaped up to where I thought I could taste it.
When I looked up, the strange woman was halfway up the stairs.
“Wait,” I called, and she stopped and turned around. “Who are you?”
She gave me a funny look. A quizzical sort of look. Like she was surprised I would even ask. “I'm Stella,” she said.
Then she walked on. Like that explained everything.
I woke up the next morning to find Stella sitting on my bed. Staring at me.
“I gave him your letter,” she said.
“Oh, my God. You're an angel. I could kiss you. I mean, if I could move.”
I had six cats sleeping on me. Six. Good thing I'm only allergic to flowers.
“I'm going to ask you a point-blank question. And I want an honest answer. Because, honestly, kid. I'm busting my ass to help you here. Which I do not care to do any longer if you're not at least going to help yourself. So you tell me right now. Are you going right back to Carl when this is over?”
“No,” I said. And I looked her right in the eye so she would know it was true.
“Then why did you let him take C.J.?”
“I can't separate Carl from C.J. They're too important to each other.”
“Ever?”
“I wasn't planning on it, no.”
“So every time you want to see C.J. you'll have to see Carl.”
By this time I was looking down at the sheets. So she couldn't see into my eyes. So I wouldn't give myself away. “I did what I did for a reason,” I said. “Is it fair to ask you to just trust me for now?”
“Not really, no. Do I have a choice?”
“Not really, no.”
“Well, then. What will you be wanting for breakfast?”
CARL STALKED STELLA'S BUILDING for about three more days before the building super knocked on the door and wanted to talk to Stella.
The bedroom door was open, and I could hear most of what they said.
“He's following guys into the building. Every time a man comes in the door he follows him to see which apartment he's going to. It's starting to make some of our tenants a little edgy.”
Stella said, “Call the goddamn cops and have him arrested.”
The super said, “I'm not sure if following somebody up in the elevator is illegal.”
Stella said, “It is when it's in violation of his restraining order.”
The super said, “We were hoping you could just talk to him.”
Stella said, “Sure. Sure I can talk to him. I can talk to him till I'm blue in the face but the stupid bastard won't listen. Believe me. If you want it to stop, you better call the police.”
“Well, okay, then,” he said. “If that's what you want. If you really think that's best.”
“Can I say something?” I yelled out as loud as I could. It hurt.
Natalie did her ostrich routine with the covers. I could see half of Stella's feather boa sticking out.
Silence. Then a minute later Stella and the super stuck their heads through the open bedroom door. Stella had her hair up in curlers. The super was a weirdly short guy with a bad comb-over.
Stella said, “This is his wife, my sister, who he put in the hospital, the son of a bitch.”
I wondered why she said we were married when she knew we weren't. Maybe she was trying to make me sound more respectable than I was. Maybe Stella was embarrassed that I wasn't married to the father of my kids. Ashamed, even. I didn't know. I had never asked her before, so I didn't know.
“Pleased to meet you, ma'am,” the super said with a little wave.
“What did you want, Maria? Why were you yelling for us?”
“I'd like to ask a favor of you,” I said. “I would like to ask that you wait a few hours and have him arrested later this evening.”
Silence.
Then the super said, “Why this evening?”
“Because it would help me. If he was under arrest this evening I could go out of the house without him following me. I wonder how long it would take for his mother to bail him out again. How long did it take last time, Stella?”
Stella was looking a little confused. “I don't know. A few hours, I guess.”
“Yeah, I guess I could wait a bit,” the super said. “Probably take them a long time to show up, anyway.”
Stella said, “By the way, Mr. Parseghian, I hope you understand that it's only because of this dreadful family emergency that I have my sister here with her six cats. It's only for a few more days. Then we'll be back to three cats, like always. You can overlook our breaking the three-cat rule for just a few days, right?”
“I never saw the extra six cats,” he said. “I didn't happen to see them. I'll call the police on that wife-beating son of a bitch when it gets dark tonight.”
I PUT NATALIE DOWN TO SLEEP in Stella's bed. And I got dressed real carefully. And then I watched out a two-inch opening in the window for the police to come and take Carl away.
As soon as they did, I was out the door. Slowly. Gingerly. But with plenty of enthusiasm.
I was praying Tony hadn't given up on me already.
No, wait. Not praying. I'm an atheist. At least I think I am.
Or maybe that was always more about Carl than it was about me.