I got out of the car and stared out into the barren fields.
Barren. That’s how it felt. That’s how I felt.
I found myself on my knees. I was wordless and lost, and I had never known anything that felt like this, this, this hurt in the heart, this emptiness, and I wished right then I didn’t have a heart, but I knew I had one and I couldn’t wish it away. I couldn’t wish away the hurt or the tears. I don’t know how long I knelt there on the winter soil. But I felt myself taking a breath and let myself feel the cold air on my face.
Cemetery
I FOUND MYSELF HELPING to carry Mima’s casket at the cemetery. I was between my dad and Uncle Mickey.
I still see the casket being lowered.
I still see myself pouring a fist of dirt over her casket.
I still see my Uncle Mickey sending some men away after everybody else had left.
I still see my dad and my uncles taking shovels and burying their mother. I still see my dad handing me the shovel and nodding. I still see myself shoveling dirt. Shoveling dirt, shoveling dirt.
I still see myself falling into Sam’s and Fito’s arms, crying like a little boy. But the strange thing was, I didn’t feel like a boy anymore. It had been such a strange time since that first day of school. So many things had happened, and I wasn’t in charge of any of them. I didn’t control anything, couldn’t control anything. I’d always thought that adults had control. But being an adult had nothing to do with control.
I wasn’t an adult. I wasn’t a man. But I wasn’t a boy anymore.
Me. Alone. Not.
AFTER THE FUNERAL, there was a reception. Lots of people. People, people, people. If I heard one more very nice person say, This is your son, Vicente? God, he’s handsome, I was going to fucking scream.
I was sitting in Dad’s car again. Alone. Everybody was inside, and I thought maybe I’d pick up smoking. Then I heard a sound and looked up and saw Sam and Fito knocking on the window. “Get out of the car. We have you surrounded.”
I got out of the car. “Very funny.”
“Word for the day,” Sam said. “Isolating.”
“Guess so,” I said. “Let’s sneak some beers.”
“I’m not so sure that’s such a great idea.”
“Yeah, there’s nothing worse than a reformed partier.” I shot her a look. “Humor me.”
We walked over to Uncle Mickey’s house. There were people there, too. We didn’t really have to sneak anything. My Uncle Mickey was more than happy to unload a few beers. I drank mine down. Then I drank another.
“Slow down, Cowboy.”
I shot Sam another look. And then I downed a third beer. And then a few minutes later, I was feeling those beers. I was like, Whooaaa. “I don’t think that was such a great idea.”
“No bueno,” Fito said. “Beer isn’t what you need, vato.”
I nodded.
“What you need is us,” Sam said. “So don’t fucking run away.”
I offered her a crooked smile. “I won’t run anymore,” I said.
“Let’s put some food in you,” Fito said.
“Yeah, good idea.”
We walked back to Mima’s. I was feeling a little lightheaded. “Chugging three beers on an empty stomach. No bueno,” Fito said.
I was kind of leaning on him. “No bueno is right, vato.”
“Just keep leaning into me, dude. That’s all you need to do.”
Dad was at the stove warming something up in Mima’s kitchen. Marcos and Lina were at the sink, washing pots and pans. Lina? I guess I hadn’t noticed. I waved at my dad. “Hi.”
“Where have you been hiding?”
I guess I was a little drunk. Yeah, I was a lightweight. I walked up to my dad and put my head on his shoulder.
“Have you been drinking?”
“Yup.” I really held on to my dad just then. “No Mima in Mima’s kitchen.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, Dad,” I whispered. “I had a moment.”
“Don’t drink, son. Don’t do that.”
I nodded. “Okay,” I said.
My dad took me by the shoulders and looked at me. “Do you want to see something really fantastic?” Then he cocked his head like, Follow me. So I followed him, and he motioned for Sam and Fito to follow too.
So there we were in Mima’s bedroom. My dad pointed to Mima’s bed. “Sit.”
Sam and Fito and I just looked at each other.
He handed me an envelope. “Open it,” he said. “Be careful. It’s fragile.”
I held the envelope in my hand and opened it with all the care that was in me. And there in the envelope were some dry leaves. Yellow leaves. And there was a note. I stared at Mima’s handwriting: These are the leaves that my Salvador gave me one Saturday afternoon when he was five.
I knew then that that day had been just as beautiful for her as it had been for me. She’d remembered.
My dad was smiling.
I handed the note to Sam. She and Fito read it. And then they were smiling too.
Dad. Grief. Marcos.
ONE MORE THING I remember about that time. The day after we got home, Marcos came over in the late afternoon. I answered the door. “Hi,” I said. “Dad’s in his studio.” I walked with him to the back door.
He went through the door, and just as he stepped into the backyard, my dad came out of his studio. I turned to go back into the house, but I don’t know why, I stopped, turned around, and looked out. My dad stood there talking to Marcos, and then he was crying. Marcos took him in his arms and held him.
I thought of what Mima had said.
Déjate querer.
Yeah, Dad, let yourself be loved.
But there was something else. In that moment I saw that I wasn’t paying attention to my dad’s pain. I was only paying attention to mine.
I was ashamed of myself.
Dad. Me.
I COULDN’T SLEEP. Maggie was in Sam’s room. I wished Maggie were here, lying next to me. I couldn’t stop thinking about my dad’s face while Marcos held him. Wasn’t it my job to take care of him like that?
I got up out of bed and walked toward my father’s room. I knocked on the door and slowly opened it. I could see his lamp was still on. “Dad? Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
I sat on his bed. “Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“It’s hard,” he said. “Grief is a terrible and beautiful thing.”
“I don’t think it’s so beautiful.”
“The hurt means you loved someone. That you really loved someone.”
“Dad.” I reached for his hand. “I’m here, Dad. I mean, I’m really here.”
My dad took my hand. “This is a good hand,” he said. “A very good hand.”
Going for Normal
I THOUGHT THAT MAYBE life would never be normal again. Not ever. And this time I was definitely going for normal. Too many things had happened, and I was tired. Sam sat across from me and said, “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what again?”
“Isolating.”
“No, I’m not. I’m sitting across from you.”
“You’re in your head.”
“Yup.”
“So spit it out.”
“I was making a list of all the things that have happened.”
“Keeping score?”
“Well, maybe. It doesn’t feel that way. It just feels like remembering.”
“Remembering is overrated.”
“And I’ve decided I’m going for normal.”
“Too late for that, Sally.”