Seeds of Hate

by Melissa Perea

  Nathan, not really understanding the conversation at all, had his mouth open and his eyes wide. "Is it bad if I say no?"

  "Yes, yes yes yes yes! I mean no-no. It's not bad. I'll teach you how to make them. It will be fun!" said Javier. He would be able to share something with Nathan that he hadn't tried before.

  I prepped the kitchen to make s'mores. We didn't have a backyard for a fire pit so using the gas burners would have to make due. Thankfully, we at least had that. The apartment before only had electric. This was how I originally taught Javier anyway and he never seemed to complain. I could always taste a slight gaseous flavor to the marshmallows, but I was willing to overlook it. One day I would take them to the beach and they would make real s'mores with wire hangers and gritty sand shoved between their toes. It would be like sharing a part of Javier's father with him. He was the one who taught me how to make s'mores in the first place.

  I touched my lips. I could still feel the ghost of his kiss.

  Almost ten years had gone by since I last saw him and another man had yet to replace him. I shook my head from side to side. He was gone. Long gone. He would never meet Javier. He would never call him son. But he had given him his eyes. Bright green and magnetic. It was the only thing Javier really carried from him.

  I pulled open the graham crackers and unwrapped the foil from the chocolate. I had anticipated this because I knew my son. Even though I was gone a lot, I knew my son.

  Lighting the burner, I proceeded to inform the boys on how to carefully roast a marshmallow on the open flame. I used a long grilling fork and rotated it slowly—showing them how to get it evenly browned and toasted.

  Nathan's interest had grown as he watched me pile the ingredients together. He was confused at first, but watched Javier repeat it all on his own and was excited to try.

  As they chowed down on their s'mores, Javier began to quote portions of The Sandlot.

  "Hey, Smalls, you wanna s'more?"

  "Some more of what?"

  "No, do you wanna s'more?"

  "I haven't had anything yet, so how can I have some more of nothing?"

  Nathan turned to me then back to Javier. "What are you talking about, Javi?"

  "The Sandlot! It's only like the best movie ever," said Javier as excitement splattered his face. "Please, Mom, please, please pleeeeeeease, can we watch it?"

  How was I supposed to say no to those eyes. He was still so young, but I could already tell he was going to be very handsome when he grew up. Or I hoped.

  Opening up the top cabinet, l reached for a bag of popcorn. I grabbed a bowl from below and looked back at Javier. Whenever I indulged him I got a small glimpse of how happy his father had been with me. It was hard to handle at times.

  Javier ran over and enveloped me in a fierce hug. It was sweet moments like these that I lived for. Nathan stood behind, looking a bit uncomfortable. I imagined, more than likely, that Diana—his mom—wasn't an overly affectionate mother.

  I playfully rubbed Nathan's head in the most affectionate gesture I could produce without it being awkward. Deep down, I wanted to scoop the little boy up and shower him with kisses. Children should never have to wonder whether or not they are loved. At times I felt I overcompensated since I was providing the love of two parents, but so far I believed I'd done a good job.

  I popped the VHS into the player and sat down right in between them. I thought they might complain, but since I carried the popcorn they both shifted nearer to me and started eating. No more than twenty minutes in and both boys had passed out. Javier was nestling my shoulder, while Nathan was sprawled out—legs over the side and his head laid against my leg.

  Without thinking, I began to run my fingers through little Nathan's hair. He looked more like Javier's father than Javier did. He nudged into my hand and let out the smallest little grunt. Kids needed love. Physical love, not things that represented love.

  I gave myself a few more minutes to enjoy them both.

  A small, warm tear managed to break away. It was interesting dealing with the repercussions of your choices. Javier was my greatest love, most prized possession and the center of my world. He was also the reason why I would love no one else, prize nothing else and never see the rest of the world. I didn't regret it. At least now I didn't. What I did regret was the timing of it all. Javier would be smarter. Think before doing. I wanted more for him.

  Whispering into the dark, I eased the boys awake. They both yawned and rubbed at their eyes.

  "What time is it?" asked Javier.

  "It's late. Time to go to bed," I said. Pulling out the trundle, I got an extra pillow and sheets from the linen closet.

  "You have a bed underneath your bed?" asked Nathan.

  "You're the first person to officially sleep on it. Well, besides my mom." Javier turned his cheek away from Nathan—the embarrassment over another unintentional confession showering his face. "I mean when I was younger and stuff you know ... um ... she would sleep next to me when I got sick or stuff like that."

  I bit back a smile. Javier's innocence and desire to be liked by Nathan was precious. Little did Nathan know I slept on his trundle more than he would ever admit. Sometimes he got afraid of the dark. Other times he just wanted to be near me. It didn't help that I was gone a lot. Two jobs. Long hours. Single motherhood.

  "Wow, how cool," said Nathan.

  Javier gulped deeply, "Cool about—?"

  "The bed! And your mom. Both?" Nathan suggested.

  "Yeah, both," Javier agreed.

  Oh my heart. "Okay, boys, into bed. Lights out. When you wake up we can make pancakes or waffles for breakfast, and if you promise to not wake me up before 8 AM, I'll let you eat it with chocolate chips or cocoa powder!"

  The boys both screamed.

  "Waffles with chocolate chips and cocoa powder is so good. My mama makes it for me on special days," said Javier.

  "So tomorrow is a special day because?" Nathan's mouth hung open in question. Pulling his blankets up to his chin, he wiggled into the sheets and looked up at me.

  "Because you're here, Nathan," I said in response. My fingers drummed the side of the wall as I watched my words sink in. The apples of Nathan's cheeks hardened as he tried to absorb the compliment.

  Turning around, I stood in the doorway, looked over my shoulder and whispered, "Goodnight, boys. Sweet dreams." I flicked the switch and walked down the hallway pretending to go to sleep. Pausing for a few moments, I backtracked against the coarse carpet and pressed my ear up against the thin door. They were whispering.

  "—was so much fun! I can't believe your mom let us burn marshmallows."

  "Yeah, she's cool like that," replied Javier.

  "She's beyond cool. My mother would never do stuff like that."

  "Really? But at least you have cool stuff like video games and a pool and a dad."

  "Yeah, I guess. I get bored though," said Nathan.

  "You have all that and you get bored?" Javier asked.

  "Yeah."

  "I don't think I'd ever get bored if I had all that."

  "Maybe."

  "I don't know, Nathan, it's pretty cool."

  "Yeah, but you get waffles with chocolate chips and cocoa powder!" replied Nathan.

  "Yeah, you’re right. My mom's the best!" said Javier.

  "She is, Javi. She really is."

  Chapter 13

  Ruby's a Booby

  (Javier)

  The school called and asked me to come in. My probation was ending and it had only been a week. A week of hell. I spent my days walking around and watching. They didn't know it, but every day I walked to school and sat behind the chain-link fence peeking through the bushes.

  On Monday, my curiosity was driven by what Izzy would do in my absence. Would he stay at the wall, eat in his car or just wander? I had come to rely on him relying on me. It made me feel important and worthwhile. Not that he hid in my shadow or followed me around, but he never made a move unless I did. I had been absent from school bef
ore in the past, but I always assumed he just sat there. Now, I felt like I needed evidence. Did he have other friends? Did he converse with other students? Did he do anything without me?

  I never told him to ignore the world around us, but it had become an unspoken agreement.

  I arrived to my new home in the bushes long before students would be pulling in. The school had a strict loitering policy if you were suspended or on any kind of probation. I couldn't risk being caught, but for once I preferred being on campus instead of away.

  It felt wrong. All wrong.

  To pass the time, I weaved weeds into a chain. It was a skill I learned in the fourth grade, by a girl a year younger than me who hated playing during recess. I think her name was Ruby or something that rhymed with booby. It was what the kids chanted out at her whenever she walked by, "Ruby's a booby! Ruby's a booby!" She was nine though and I never figured out why they called her that. Quiet, yes, but weird or unusual, no. I sat beside her on the field one day because I sprained my ankle and couldn't play kickball. She happened to find the only shady spot under a tree.

  I watched her pick up these tiny little flowers and then somehow interconnect them. It would pass the time so I asked her to show me. She made a tiny slit with her finger into the stem of the flower near the root. Then she would stick another stem into the hole and continue awhile before connecting the ends. She formed them into various sizes, a bracelet, a necklace, a crown and so forth. When the bell rang, we had a whole pile of flower jewelry. That was the only time we ever interacted and I never saw her again.

  The sun started to peer through the clouds, and I relaxed against a tree, still shaded against its rays. No one could see me, but I had a decent view of our brick wall. My surroundings were quiet, a couple of squirrels and a bird chirping. Our school sat against the base of a natural preserve, only a few houses nearby. I gathered flowers as the early comers arrived—teachers, staff and the long distance commuter students. Every time I made a slit the stem would break into two. I kept trying.

  Engines rumbled and chatter echoed throughout the parking lot, as more vehicles parked and Monday morning started. I saw Izzy get dropped off by his mom and I threw the flowers back into the dirt. His presence signaled the start of my show.

  He walked, no different than his normal walk—head up, but making no direct eye contact with anyone. I smiled as he held two coffees and a greasy bag. He reached our wall, leaned against the brick and slid down. Placing one cup down to the side, he sipped on the other while eating a sticky bun. Then he looked up and scanned the campus. His behavior repeated for the next ten minutes. Sip, bite, scan. He was waiting for me.

  No one approached him, yelled hi or ran by giving him a high-five in the process. He still only had me. The bell would be ringing soon and I would leave until lunch time. Returning to see the same process repeated. I grabbed a single flower from the floor and spun it between my fingers. When I looked up, that girl, the one from last Thursday, approached him.

  She seemed unsure. I sat back down and pulled the leaves aside, wrapping my fingers around the fence links to get a closer look.

  "Izzy, Izzy, Izzy. What are you going to do?" I said out loud.

  She sat down, picked up my coffee and took a drink. I shook the fence with my hands and spat on the floor. Just a girl. Who cares.

  The bell rang and neither one of them moved. I stood up, trying to make my presence known without revealing myself, but they didn't even glance in my direction. So I left.

  ***

  I came back every day that week, and every night I told myself I wouldn't. That it didn't matter. It was now Friday and I hadn't left campus all day. The final bell rang and students poured out of the doors, flooding the campus and parking lot. Izzy walked straight from his last period to the front of campus and sat on the same bench he did every day waiting for his mom. I scanned the area until my eye caught her frazzled hair, bouncing around and blowing in the air. She stared at the ground as she walked and held a book close to her chest—making no acknowledgement of the students around her.

  Her face distorted with fear as she tripped on a crack, but caught herself before falling. I laughed. She made her way down the steps and fumbled around in her bag while watching the ground ahead of her. Pulling out a set of keys, she clicked the alarm off and then I noticed them.

  The triplets. Britney, Sarah and Jessica were a dozen steps behind Selah and walking straight toward her. I moved closer behind the fence and trailed my hand against the metal as I followed it, standing almost directly in front of her car. The bushes still concealed me, but if anyone looked up they would notice.

  Selah paused right before her car, and I placed my fist in my mouth to prevent from calling out. I couldn't get involved. Shouldn't. Wouldn't. Mr. White was strict. My appointment to clear my probation had been scheduled for exactly thirty minutes post the final class. He didn't want me interacting with anyone.

  I didn't know what to expect from the triplets, but one final whisper and a shove from Sarah pushed Britney forward. Her hands were then on Selah's back and Selah's face slammed directly against her driver side window.

  Her eyes popped open, and in the process, she dropped her bag and keys. Then she squeezed them shut again, her mouth moving silently. I couldn't tell what she was saying.

  I felt like a coward for not intervening, especially once Nate arrived. But I had barely saved myself from their humiliation. I didn't have time to save everyone else too.

  The handle clicked against the wood as I stepped into the office and waited for Mr. White to speak with me. Our school secretary sat at her computer typing away with angry fingers.

  "Did the computer misbehave?" I asked.

  "Huh?" She stopped her progress and swiveled in her chair. "Oh, hi, Javier. How are you?" she asked.

  "I'm good, Miss Moss. And you?"

  "Oh, same old, same old. Just inputting a bunch of paperwork and documenting the week’s activities." She pulled her glasses off of her face and smirked. "You know, you'd make my job a lot easier if you'd keep your hands to yourself."

  My shoulders fell. Miss Moss was one of the few people I liked at school. "Sorry. I mean, really, I am. I just, he just, it's complicated," I said and looked at the floor.

  A loud thump hit the counter. "Trust me," she said, fingers grazing a large manila folder four inches thick. "I've read your entire file. I know how complicated it is." She bit the edge of her glasses while tapping her pen on a pad of paper. "Can I ask you something?"

  "Of course," I replied.

  "Why do you do it?" she asked.

  "Do what?"

  Her eyes held mine, and her forehead creased at the center. "Protect him?"

  "I don't—" I began to explain and she stood up, cutting me off.

  Her hand smacked the top of the file and the sound echoed throughout the empty office. A small printer worked hard in the background, the only thing moving faster than my heart.

  "I've read everything. Everything. Don't think I haven't put it all together. Three years of problems and yet none of them confirmed by you or presented by you. Don't act stupid. Why are you protecting him?"

  I looked up at the clock and then down at the floor. "I'm not protecting him," I said to the white tiles scuffed with black shoe marks.

  "Fine. But you're protecting someone. These situations, these scenarios, they just don't add up."

  Some things in life never added up. Or made sense. Or should have ever happened, but they did.

  The large wooden door with a cloudy glass panel in the center opened up at the back of the office. "Javier, let's get this over with," said Mr. White as he stared at a piece of paper in his hands.

  I stood and walked away. When I got to the edge of the counter, I stopped and placed my hand on the corner, running my thumb back and forth over the pointy end. "I'm protecting myself," I said.

  Miss Moss didn't reply, but I heard her chair squeak as she sat down and rolled across the floor. I stopped just outsi
de Mr. White's office. It was always hard walking through—no matter the times I had done it before.

  "Close the door, Javi," he said.

  Grabbing the handle, I looked back up toward Miss Moss one more time and she was staring at me. Her head tilted to the side and her face fallen, no rise to her cheeks or mouth. I shrugged and went inside. Nothing more to say.

  Chapter 14

  The Bakery

  (Selah)

  Frank and Carolyn weren't home when I left for Izzy's bakery, so I wrote them a note. My head hurt from the night before, a mixture of tears and alcohol still floating around my system. I drove the long way, taking side streets with the windows rolled down. The sun was still opening its eyes and I relaxed against the cool air, the chill cleansing my mind.

  The bakery appeared on my left and I pulled over and parked on the opposite side. The streets were lined with storefronts, all of them beginning to turn on their lights and get ready for a day of business. I pulled down my visor to block the sun peering over the rooftops. And then I sat and waited. And waited. And waited, until the sun was higher and the sleep from the night before had disappeared from my eyes.

  The bakery had a large line out the door, but there were several empty tables inside. Most people grabbing and walking with a better destination in mind.

  I got out of my car and smiled. Loud noises and a various array of scents hit me all at once—Chinese food, cinnamon, coffee and fresh flowers. It was an odd combination. A large delivery truck sped past me and my hair, which I spent hours taming, blew with anger. I turned around, calmed what I could with my reflection and then crossed the street, dodging a bicyclist and a child kicking a ball down the sidewalk.

  A break in the line existed right at the entrance, so I squeezed in and found a spot in the corner looking out the window. The table sparkled in the light and a small arrangement of fake flowers sat next to a broken napkin dispenser. I felt something poking me as a crack in the aged 1950s vinyl itched its way through my skirt.