Seeds of Hate

by Melissa Perea

  "Let's get out of here first," he said with rushed steps and a fevered whisper. "Then we can talk."

  I followed him toward the parking lot. My eyes twitched as I focused in and out—wondering who had seen me, what they would think and what would they say. I shouldn't have touched him. When we neared my car, I clicked the alarm and jumped in.

  "What the hell just happened?" I asked through clenched teeth. My hands began to shake as I backed out of the stall.

  "Stop!" Izzy yelled. My feet pumped the brakes and we jolted in the seats.

  "Hold on," he said. He got out and started picking up little pieces of white paper that dusted the hood of my car. His body bobbed up and down alongside it, picking up more that had fallen to the ground.

  He got back in, I hit drive and we took off. Nathan stood at the corner of the fence, flipping us both off as we passed him.

  "I hate him," said Izzy, both of us staring at his statuesque form. Not a hint of remorse written on his face.

  "I don't even know him, but I'm jumping on board," I replied.

  "So did you see anything?" Izzy asked.

  "Only the tail end of it, but I'm not sure much else happened before I turned the corner."

  I pulled out of the parking lot and headed south.

  "Make a left on Madison and head toward the bakery. Unless you want to go to your place?"

  "No. They're home," I replied. The air was stifled inside, so I opened a window. "Is it his letter? The paper you picked up?" I asked.

  Izzy looked down at the stack of shredded paper with light blue lines. "Oh, I don't know."

  "I saw Nathan rip it. He tore it into a bunch of pieces and then tossed them into the air over Javier."

  "Did Javi do anything?" he asked.

  "No, he just stood there. His back was to him and I could tell he was breathing hard. But he didn't react."

  Izzy's knee bounced up and down. He looked at me and then past me out the window. "Wonder what set him off..."

  "Oh," I said, clenching the steering wheel and swallowing my own spit. "That was me," I replied.

  "You?"

  "Well, when I saw him walk by, a piece of the paper was sticking out of the back of his shirt right along his collar. I don't even know why, but I reached out and grabbed it. It just felt wrong for it to be there."

  "You touched his neck?" Izzy asked.

  "Yeah, my fingers grazed it. And then ... well ... he just started running."

  "He doesn't like to be touched," Izzy replied.

  "I noticed." I made another left and headed down the bakery's street. "What's wrong with him?" I asked.

  "Many things. And at the same time, nothing."

  We sat in silence. I didn't know what to say or what questions were safe. My thumbs strummed the steering wheel and I made bubbles out of the spit in my mouth. I should've minded my own business that first day of school.

  A slow whistle exited Izzy's lips. He was looking out the window and smiling. The whistle turned into a song and he began to bob his head. His carefree acceptance of the day relaxed me.

  "Izzy," I began. "Is he okay?" I tapped the temple of my head with my finger while I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye.

  "Of course he's okay. He's just tired. Spent. Overwhelmed." He continued whistling.

  "With Nathan?"

  He stopped and thought for a moment. "Nate's a part of it, but he's not all of it. Javier's life is complicated. He carries a lot with him and it weighs him down."

  "Do you know where he lives?" I asked.

  "Why?" Izzy's voice was curious, but lined with protective restraint.

  "I think I should apologize. I feel like it's my fault." It actually was my fault, but I had a feeling Izzy believed there was more to it.

  He cracked his knuckles and played with the pieces of paper that sat in his lap. "I don't know," he replied. "I'm not sure that would be okay."

  It seemed like nothing with Javier was okay.

  "Why does he do it, anyway?" I asked.

  He dropped the paper and looked at me. "What?"

  I looked back at him before returning my eyes to the road. "Toss his shoes like that up on a telephone wire. I've seen him walking around school barefoot before. It's ... odd."

  Izzy snorted. "You should ask him."

  "Like he'll tell me," I replied.

  Izzy started whistling again. "You never know," he said.

  I pulled over as we arrived at the bakery. The store lights were off and no one was inside.

  "It looks closed."

  "It is. That's why we're here." Izzy opened the door and got out. Then stuck his head inside the open window. "We can piece together the letter and see what he told Nathan."

  I followed, rolling up the windows and locking the door. "How come you're so curious? I thought Javier would've told you."

  Izzy smiled. "Javi is selective in what he tells me. Especially in regards to Nathan. He worries."

  "Nathan didn't even read it though." We reached the outside of the bakery and Izzy took out a large set of keys. "Why would he respond like that?"

  He began to unlock the four different deadbolts. "It's not the first time Javier has had to write an apology to Nathan," he said. "I'm fairly certain they've all said the same thing."

  "Have you ever read one?" I asked.

  "No," he replied. The last lock clicked open and he pushed on the door. "But there's a first for everything."

  The inside was quiet and eerie. It felt wrong. It felt empty. "Are you sure this is okay?" I asked.

  "I wouldn't have the keys if my parents didn't trust me. I do this a lot when I need a quiet place to study."

  I took a seat in the far corner next to the window. The same seat I was in the first time I came.

  "Want anything to eat or drink?" he asked as he emptied his pocket of the ripped paper.

  "Water's fine."

  He walked away, stopped and turned back. "Food?"

  My stomach growled at the idea of a sticky bun.

  Izzy smiled and then left. "I'll see if we have any day-old muffins or buns," he said from the behind the counter. "Sometimes we don't sell out."

  I heard cupboards open and close and the clinking of glass. Pushing the paper into the center of the table, I scooted myself against the wall. My eyes drifted out the window, the streets were still awake with people. Watching the lives of others had become an obsession. I would stare until I found a couple or a family that looked worthy of being a part of. Then I would imagine myself in the shoes of one of them. How happy they were, fulfilled, excited with life. I'd do this for hours on the weekends, even at school when I became fixated on another student. One who seemed popular, but not mean. Accepted, but not bitchy.

  It always left me feeling emptier than before, but those few moments of bliss were worth it. Life seemed so full of hope for them—their possibilities and potential endless.

  "Did you figure it out?" Izzy asked. I jumped at the sound of his voice, his words pulling me from the family of four playing peek-a-boo across the street.

  "Oh, no. Sorry," I replied.

  "Daydreaming?" he asked.

  My face flushed. I didn't like being so transparent.

  "You don't have to be embarrassed. What were you thinking about?"

  "Nothing important," I replied.

  Izzy took his seat, sliding a water and a muffin in front of me. "It's not fresh, but they still taste almost as good when reheated."

  I licked my lips, not realizing how hungry I was until I smelled the muffin. "I'm sure it's perfect. Thank you."

  "Of course."

  We both took a few bites and began to spread out the paper. The rips were easy to match, but it looked like he had written something on the front and the back. We kept flipping pieces over until the words lined up.

  "Do you have any tape?" I asked as we figured out the final pieces.

  Izzy got up and ran to the back. "Here, this should work."

  He threw a small thing of cl
ear tape on the table and sat back down. Three more pieces moved into place and Javier's message was clear.

  "What does it say?” I asked. I was looking at it upside down, the words too hard to decipher.

  Izzy sat and stared, not responding.

  "Izzy, what did he write?" I repeated.

  He moved a hand to his forehead and rubbed his face back and forth. His eyes became two large pieces of coal as he said the words out loud.

  "I still care. He wrote, I still care," Izzy replied.

  "He still cares? About what? What does that mean?" I asked.

  Izzy grabbed the tape and stuck two more pieces across the torn edges. When he turned it around he smiled.

  "Well?" I asked.

  "But I hate you even more," he said as he read the note again.

  "How can he care when Nathan treats him the way he does?"

  "They have a long past, Selah. A very long past. Imagine if you had a sibling that did horrific things to you—no matter how horrible they got, there's a small part of you that would always care."

  "But they're not siblings. It's different."

  "Yes and no. They grew up together. It was an intense friendship for a young age." Izzy kept flipping the paper over and over again. Reading the words with his lips, but not saying them out loud.

  "So are you going to explain to me how this all fits in with the shoes? I still don't get that."

  Izzy strummed his fingers on the top of the sparkly diner's table and looked out the window. He paused for a moment then looked back at the paper, turning it over once more.

  "I can't tell you much of anything, but let's walk through what happened." He lifted his eyes to mine and strummed his bottom lip with his finger. "When did Javier really freak out?" he began.

  "When I touched him," I said.

  "Yes. And where did you touch him?"

  I swallowed hard at the question. "On his neck," I replied.

  "Correct." Izzy stopped strumming his lip and picked up the paper. "And what happened next?" he asked.

  "He screamed and ran to the front of campus," I said, my heart replaying the scene as if it were occurring now. "I followed him and watched as he took his shoes off and threw them up on a telephone wire."

  "Correct again," he said.

  "Okay, am I missing something because I don't get how hanging his shoes from a wire correlates to any of this?"

  "Repeat what you just said."

  I pulled my hair back out of my face and breathed in. "Which part? All of it?"

  "No, the part about his shoes."

  I said it in my head before voicing it out loud. "He hangs his shoes from a telephone wire," I repeated. Looking into Izzy's eyes I saw nothing—no more clues, no more clarification.

  Taking his pointer finger he touched it to the tip of his nose and smiled. Then grabbed our plates and cleared the table, taking the apology letter with him and tossing it in the trash. When he returned, he gestured to the front door.

  "We should go. It's getting late," he said.

  I stood up and followed behind him, stopping at the trash can.

  "Are you going to tell me where he lives?" I asked.

  "Let me think it over as you drive me home," he replied.

  I reached in and grabbed the letter, folding it twice before placing it in my pocket and exiting.

  "One man’s trash, another man’s treasure," I said as I patted him on the shoulder.

  "He won't be happy you've seen that. You sure you want to keep it?"

  "Nathan left it on my car," I replied, my voice quiet and staggering, unsure if I was overstepping a double-yellow line.

  Izzy turned and locked the four deadbolts behind us, checking them twice before nodding and walking to my car. We both got in and I drove him home, following his one-worded directions. When I pulled up to his house, he got out and shut the door. Before walking away, he tapped his knuckles against the glass. I rolled down the window and he handed me a scrap of paper.

  "Be careful," he said and then was gone.

  Chapter 17

  A Gift

  (Javier)

  I didn't run home after I lost my shoes. Instead, I ran to the swings. My heart needed to be calmed, and my mind needed direction. A few kids speckled the park, enjoying an afternoon snack before their mothers would take them home and prepare dinner. Their fathers would arrive five minutes before the oven bell dinged and everyone would take their place. The way of the normal always seemed so easy.

  As I entered, the gate creaked open and slammed back into the fence, rattling the peaceful atmosphere. Yes, I'm here. Again. Don't judge me. The kids looked away, and the parents whispered amongst themselves. No doubt speculating about the drugs in my system or the lack of involved parenting.

  "Don't worry," I whispered into the air, my words directed at them, but my eyes capturing the swings. "I'm safe. There has never been drugs. But you're right about the latter. There has never been parenting either."

  I rested on the first open seat and breathed in and out, my fingers knotting themselves into the metal links. The sun sat low in the sky, but its entire circular edge was accounted for. My mother would be expecting me soon, but as I looked down at my bare feet I couldn't acknowledge her face. Disappointment had plagued my childhood, not her in me, but me in her. I thought I would feel vindication or some sort of repayment allowance when I returned the favor, but I just felt more disappointment. In myself and in knowing that I wasn't better than she had raised me. Instead I was exactly what I was expected to be.

  My toes dug into the sand and pushed back, sending me slow and steady into the air. My freedom. My strength. My peace. Every good memory of my childhood could be found on a swing with my mother or with Nathan. The only two constants in life.

  I pumped my legs back and forth, picking up speed and letting go, but still holding on. My eyes closed and I took no account of the time. As my hands grew tired, the air became cold and the sun no longer a circle. I stopped pumping my legs and let the swing come to a rest on its own. I felt better.

  The streets were busy with cars as I exited the park and headed home. My feet twitched against the pavement as I turned the corner and looked ahead into my window. I saw lights, but no movement. Gio's place was dark, but that meant nothing. He would be home.

  I began to make my way up the stairs, but stopped on the third step when I heard my name.

  "Javier?" she said.

  I wanted to just walk away and leave her there, but my reason for going home was sitting next to her. I headed toward Gio and stopped right in front of him. His head hung between his shoulders and he wouldn't make eye contact. I kneeled down and squeezed his hand. His eyes looked up at me, but his head stayed in place.

  "How did you know?" I asked him.

  He shrugged, a small smile pulling at the side of his face.

  "Gio ... how did you know she was safe?"

  He looked up at Selah and pointed to the box in her hands. She handed it over to Gio and he opened the lid—inside sat a pair of black shoes with white laces. His face ignited with light and he gave Selah a thumbs up.

  I turned to Selah, my voice stern and my face emotionless. "How did you know my size?" I asked.

  Selah and Gio burst into laughter. A repetitive stream of giggles and cries that made no sense.

  "I'm sorry, we're not laughing at you," she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "It's just that when I got here—" As she attempted to explain herself, Gio cupped his hand and covered her mouth. His head shook from side to side as he cut off her words. He waited a moment before pulling his hand back, but then pressed a single finger against her lips.

  "Okay, I won't tell him," she replied.

  I looked at Gio then back at Selah, my mind lost in their transaction. Gio handed me the box and then grabbed Selah's hand, leaving the bench and heading toward the apartment.

  They stood outside my front door, waiting for me. Gio waved me up as he bounced on the tips of his feet. My hand rubbed acro
ss my eyes and I scratched the back of my neck as I walked up the stairs and pulled out my key.

  "I can leave if you don't want me here. I just wanted to drop off the shoes. I felt responsible," said Selah. But Gio wouldn't let go of her hand, and he moved to stand in front of her. She laughed in response, but her eyes fell to the floor as she waited for me to open the door.

  "Responsible? Responsible for what?" I asked. Gio coughed and then pulled on my shirt sleeve.

  "What?"

  He lifted his right leg and stepped on my bare foot.

  "She thinks she's responsible for losing my shoes?" Gio was shaking his head before I finished asking. As I pushed the door open, Selah walked in and hovered before following Gio to the couch. He ran and plopped down without hesitation. She took a seat, slow and gentle, and then crossed her legs at the ankles.

  "Did you change clothes?" I asked.

  Selah and Gio both looked up at me and then to each other. Her neck heated with splotches as she turned.

  "It appears so," she said, while pulling the hem down further trying to cover her knees.

  I set the shoes down on the coffee table before heading to the kitchen. I pulled out the food my mother had prepared and several plates. The drawer with the silverware slammed shut as I peeked around the corner. They were whispering together.

  "Anything you want to share?" I asked.

  Gio continued snickering, but Selah stopped. Leaning back against the couch, she folded her arms across her chest and stared out the window. Neither responded.

  I finished throwing together dinner and then sat down at the table.

  "Food's ready."

  My fork hit my mouth before they filled the other seats. I ate to keep from talking, and since I only had to fear words from Selah I figured the meal would fill with silence.

  Fork. Plate. Scrap.

  This continued for several minutes until our plates were empty. I couldn't decide what to do next. Gio made the decision for me when he got up, cleared the table and started the dishes.

  I pushed my chair back and stood. "What are you doing?"

  He kept washing without looking at me.

  Selah picked up her plate and followed.

  And I sat and watched. The temperature of the room shifted as anger built up inside me. I didn't even know why. Washing dishes wasn't harming me, if anything it was helpful. They worked together as a team, their movements and interaction rhythmic.