Seeds of Hate

by Melissa Perea

"Are you going?" he asked, hands in pockets jingling his loose change and car keys.

  "Not sure. Still got time."

  "Think it through. Don't be irrational."

  "I will."

  A teacher walked in our direction and called out his name. He looked over his shoulder, waved and then returned to me.

  "She'll be okay. They always are." His words were meant to be reassuring, but they sat burning my throat. I just nodded and watched him go.

  I knew she'd be okay, but would I? My mother had wanted me to go to college since I was born, but after everything I didn't know if I could.

  Classes went by faster than normal, and when the final bell rang I headed straight to the parking lot. When I found Selah's car, I took a seat on the bumper and waited. She was easy to spot with her old t-shirts and assortment of skirts. And the fact that she only wore red shoes—different styles and shades, but always red.

  When she spotted me, her hand moved to her hair and she tucked it behind her ears. She kept her eyes on the ground, but didn't stop walking. My body relaxed as I watched her nervous gestures. This wasn't going to be hard. She was a simple girl.

  I stood as she neared me, my height towering over her shorter frame. "Can we talk?" I asked.

  Selah looked up, her nose wrinkling in confusion. "Okay," she replied.

  "Not here. Too many eyes."

  "Where?" she asked.

  "There's a park down the street. I go to it when I need to think."

  She unlocked her door and got in, I followed her lead and we left. Out of curiosity, I looked into the backseat, but they were gone. I hoped she had returned them.

  "Which way?" she asked.

  "A left five blocks down and then two rights."

  The car felt smaller inside than it looked. My knees grazed the passenger dash and there was no place to lean my left arm. Neither of us talked on the drive, but Selah kept both hands on the wheel, eyes on the road and her fingers strumming the edges.

  She pulled in the lot and parked. By the first left I realized how nice she smelled, so I hopped out before she had a chance to turn the car off. I walked straight to the swing set and took a seat. A minute passed and then she followed, sitting in the empty swing next to me.

  We both began to pump our legs quick and hard. Building momentum. Building height. The park was empty. Isolated. It was just me and her. Us.

  The way I wanted it.

  Clouds were sparse, as the blue of the sky dominated my vision. Birds lined up on the telephone wire across the street. The merry-go-round screeched an inch left and then an inch right. The breeze was coming in strong tonight.

  Leaves tumbled by against the chalky gravel covering the ground, and the metal rings of the empty swings on our left swayed with simple movement.

  We continued on for several minutes. Flying. Soaring. Breathing. A car drove by and I found my calm.

  "Thank you," I said to Selah. The words came out less powerful than I had anticipated.

  Her legs stopped pumping and her momentum slowed until she sat—still, waiting and quiet. But I had to keep swinging. She turned in her seat and watched me while I stared at the empty sky.

  "Thank you for what?" she asked.

  I lowered my feet and drug them across the pebbles. Three more sways and then I stopped.

  "For my shoes," I replied.

  She smiled, her cheeks doubling in color. "You're welcome."

  "Can I ask you a question?" I said while wrapping my fingers across the metal rings.

  "If I have the answer," she replied.

  "How'd you know my size?"

  She lowered her face and began to twirl in her seat, the chains twisting above her head. "Lucky guess."

  I laughed. "Lucky indeed."

  "Question?" she replied.

  I watched as she lifted her foot and let herself spin out of control. The swing going round and round and round. "If I have the answer," I said with a short smile.

  When her swing stopped, she lifted her hand and ran it across the base of her neck. "Where are they from, the scars?" she asked, tilting her head to the side and exposing the underside of her throat.

  My brow hardened, and I pushed myself from side to side. "Why?" I asked.

  "Why what?" she replied.

  "Why do you want to know?"

  "Because," she said.

  "Because..."

  "You touch them. A lot."

  They were hard to notice. Unless ... unless you were paying attention. She sat there playing with a strand of loose hair, her fingers twisting the studs in her ears. Was she curious, concerned or confused?

  "Please," she continued.

  Breathe, Javier. In and out. Breathe. I twisted to the left and began to wrap the metal rings, while rotating in a circle. The metal strained against the pressure. Pulling, grinding, wrenching. I twisted until I couldn't twist anymore, looked Selah in the eyes and then let go.

  My hands gripped the metal as I unfurled and spun in the opposite direction. Building speed. Building confusion. My thoughts tumbled around with each quick rotation.

  Should I. Shouldn't. Should I. Shouldn't.

  Eventually the metal wrapped back around in the opposite direction and I catapulted back and forth as the spinning slowed. And then I stopped.

  Selah grabbed my swing and pulled me to her.

  "Please," she repeated.

  Do I trust her? I don't know.

  Standing up, I moved away from the swing and sat down on a cold concrete bench. I leaned back and stared up at the sky. Selah followed and took a seat. With her right hand, she grabbed my left and squeezed.

  "Please," she said one last time.

  I released her hand and wiped my face—the fear of her response and the frustration of my past building along my forehead.

  "Sophomore year, I went to a dance. A girl asked me and I said yes. I liked her. A lot. She was sweet and made me laugh." I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees. "Nathan felt the same way."

  "Is she still here?" Selah asked.

  "Yes," I replied.

  "Who?"

  "Doesn't matter."

  "Did she ever find out?"

  "Find out what?"

  "Whatever it was that happened."

  I looked at her from the corner of my eye. "What do you think happened?" I asked.

  "I don't know. I'm assuming something did," she replied.

  "Something did," I said and I began to kick the loose rocks, the chalky dust turning the tips of my shoes white. "I arrived early but never made it to the dance."

  "Why?"

  "Because."

  "Because what?"

  "Nathan came."

  "And—?"

  I ran my hands across the top of my head and stood up. "Nathan came," I repeated.

  "So it was Nathan?" she asked. Selah stayed sitting, her eyes wide, but turned down at the corners. "Nathan who gave you those scars?"

  "No. That ... that was me." I rubbed my neck, reflecting on that night. The years seemed like decades now. "How much has Izzy said anyway?" I asked.

  "About you and Nathan? Not much. That you have a past. Been friends since you were little."

  "Are you ready then?" I asked.

  "For what?" she replied.

  "The end of my past and the beginning of my present." I walked over, grabbed her hand and started to explain.

  Chapter 22

  Homecoming Dance - The Past

  (Javier)

  My mom told me to sit down on the bathroom counter and hold very still. She was filling the sink with warm water and opened the medicine cabinet, pulling out a pink razor and shaving cream.

  "Mama!" I screamed with shock as my thick Spanish accent took over my words. "Ay dios mio! Do you honestly think I am going to help you shave your legs? Tu estas loca!"

  "Calmate, mijo!" she replied in frustration. "I do not need you to help me shave my legs. I can shave them quite well on my own. I am, however, going to teach you how to shave your face
." Her hands squeezed my cheeks and then she jiggled them from side to side in excitement.

  "But, I don't need to shave yet, and it'll hurt." I rubbed my hands on my face trying to make the ache from my mother's aggressive touch disappear.

  "Nonsense. It's about time you learned and since tonight is your big night it’s the perfect opportunity."

  "Okay, but how are you supposed to teach me if you've never done it? It's not like you shave your face. Unless you do and you're just that good at keeping up the maintenance." I grinned at her in amusement. Teasing her was something I had always enjoyed, but the opportunity rarely came. The opportunity for much of anything rarely came.

  "Don't be silly. I used to watch my mother shave your abuelo's face all the time. It was very sweet." My mother ached as she recalled the memory. She hadn't seen them in a very long time, and she hardly, if ever, spoke to them. They hadn't approved of her decision to stay in the States and raise me.

  "Well, if you think it’s necessary, then by all means, show me." I smiled down at her in acceptance. There wasn't a single person on the planet that I cared for more than my mother and if she wanted to teach me how to shave my face, then she could teach me how to shave my face.

  ***

  An hour later and I was all ready to go. My face was freshly shaved, but it didn't look a single bit different. My mom argued otherwise. Nicole and I had arranged to meet at the school, since neither one of us could drive. We both lived in opposite directions of campus. I had my mom drop me off at seven. I wanted to get there before her so she wasn't standing around waiting. My boutonniere was in place and her corsage sat in my sweaty hands. I went over to take a seat on a bench near the front lawn. Cars were coming and going and the headlights flickering in the dark started to make me dizzy.

  A large group of walking feet echoed out to my right. Turning my head, I saw four guys with no dates. In the dark, I couldn't make out any of their faces, but their bodies were square and the one on the far end cracked his knuckles. I continued to sit, staring at the cars as my foot bounced up and down.

  Their leader approached me first. Funny, how in a matter of seconds an entire reel of your life can flash before your own eyes. It's also funny how you can care about someone deeply, even when all they do is hate you in return. I still had no idea what I had done, but as I looked up into his eyes, I saw my best friend. He, however, didn't see the same. Over the years his eyes had continued to grow with anger and hurt.

  Nathan, I thought to myself, when did I lose you?

  Not being able to find my voice, I just sat there. I was in no mood to fight, but I could tell he felt otherwise. Apparently, our non-verbal agreement to just ignore each other had expired. We hadn't spoken in forever.

  "Did you not hear me the first time, wetback? Did Nicole ask you to the dance tonight?"

  I wanted to get up and run. Go home. Anything that would make his anger stop. I hadn't been able to understand Nathan for many years now. It was like one moment we were friends, and the next our entire childhood never existed. The best I could do right now was answer the question.

  "Yes, Nicole asked me—" And that was all I could say before my best friend since kindergarten took his fist and punched me straight in the face.

  My head flew back and to the left. Pain radiated throughout my body. I could taste blood in my mouth and felt my lip throb at the corner. My eyes blinked against the dark, detecting no sign of light.

  One minute I was sprawled over the side of the bench, and the next I was being lifted to my feet and dragged across the concrete. Nathan and his friends walked a far distance before depositing me on the floor. They sat me up and my head fell back against a hard surface. I smelled oil and gas.

  I didn't even attempt to fight back. What was the point? There was nothing inside me that wanted to hurt him, so I lay there and welcomed him to do his worst. Silently hoping that somewhere deep inside, the Nathan who liked to dip his Oreos in hot chocolate and put cocoa powder on his waffles still existed.

  My eyes opened out of curiosity, but I still couldn't see straight. Searching, I found him and pleaded for answers.

  "Nathan?" My voice garbled with pain. "What did I do? Just tell me. Tell me what I did!"

  There was a brief pang of silence and all I could hear was my labored breathing and the shuffling of many feet. The conversation becoming too pink to handle. I could sense the testosterone drop as my words squeezed their balls. Maybe they would all walk away.

  I sat on the dirty asphalt, with my new tux picked out to match Nicole's blue dress, and all I could think about was where everything went wrong. I knew she was out there waiting for me, thinking I had stood her up. Little did she know I was no more than a few hundred feet away, sitting down, in the dark, bleeding.

  Silence fell upon my ears, but I could feel him. His rage. His anger. He wasn't done with me yet. Up until now, I had forgiven him for everything he'd done to me. I had no friends. No place to belong. I was a total outsider on campus and he made sure it stayed that way. Confusion outweighed my desire to retaliate, and I tried my hardest to give him the benefit of the doubt. But what he did next. Could I forgive him for this humiliation?

  They ripped my clothing off into shreds. Piece by piece they stripped me down to nothing. The night was cold even for early fall, and I began to shiver. Nathan then approached me and whispered into my ear...

  "I'm not supposed to want to be you. I have everything. You have nothing. A world where you have something that I can't have ... will never exist."

  He kicked me one last time in the stomach. And then they dragged me to a dark room. My head fell against the floor and I curled up into a ball—for protection or warmth, I wasn't sure, maybe both. I heard the door close behind me, and a lock clinked into place.

  This was the moment the scales on our friendship shifted. My love for him slowly stepped aside and made room for my hate. It was a response that I couldn't control, and the change happened so fast, I was beginning to think we had never been friends at all.

  My eyes grew heavy, and as I breathed, I swallowed the scent of bleach and metal.

  Three minutes later, everything went black.

  Chapter 23

  Lullaby

  (Selah)

  I sat there wondering how a human could be so cold, calloused and violent. What made Nathan think he could get away with that? What did he gain from it? I had been on the receiving end of bullying and knew firsthand the backdoor horrors of dark high school hallways, but this ... this ...

  Javier stopped walking. He dropped my hand and faced me, but he didn't say anything.

  "I don't ... I have ... where do I even begin?" I asked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I have so many questions, and yet none of them seem important. Who found you? How did the school not find out? Did your mother press charges? I don't get how he got away with it all."

  "What makes you think he got away?" he asked.

  "His attitude. His current treatment of you. He's never been punished for a single thing in his life."

  Javier smiled, full and wide. For once, it touched his eyes. "That's partially true. I've seen him get punished, but it's been awhile."

  I took a seat on the sidewalk. We had been circling the park for the last thirty minutes, and I needed a moment. The ground was cold, but it felt good. I crossed my legs and pulled my knees up, resting my chin on the edge.

  "Are you okay?" Javier kneeled beside me and rubbed his eyes, exhaustion covering his face.

  "Are you okay?" I repeated.

  "I wasn't for a long time. I'm still not sure if I'm going uphill or downhill yet."

  My watch beeped twice. I turned it off and looked up at the sky. The sun was gone and the moon was bright.

  "Are you going to be late?" he asked.

  "No, just dinner. 6 PM. Every day." I stood up and brushed off my butt. I'd never been late for dinner before. A part of me was worried, and another part of me could care less.

 
; "You should go," he said.

  "Go? But—"

  "Don't worry. We can talk later."

  "Tomorrow?" I asked.

  "Tomorrow is Saturday. No school."

  "Do you have plans?"

  "No."

  "Me neither," I said. "My godparents will be out most of the day. Want me to pick you up?"

  Javier paused, thinking it over. "Can I come over?" he asked. "My mother will be sleeping most of the afternoon. She works nights."

  I hesitated. There were no rules about boys in the house because I never had boys in the house, but somehow I knew it wouldn't be okay. Lie. It was harmless. They wouldn’t know.

  "Sure," I said with heat on my cheeks. You're not doing anything bad, Selah. You're seventeen. You've been a good kid. I repeated these words in my head as I handed Javier a slip of paper with my address.

  "What time?" he asked.

  "After 11:00?" They'd be home around 5 PM, but I didn't want to time it too close.

  "Sounds good," he replied and placed the paper in his pocket. "I'll see you tomorrow."

  We stood there staring at each other, not knowing how to leave. My eyes couldn't focus on his face without feeling transparent, so I kept looking back and forth. Ground. Face. Ground. Face. Then I started bouncing on the heels of my feet.

  He just pursed his lips and walked away. I watched him as he went, his steps long and his stride slow. Bringing my hand to my face, I breathed in. It smelled like him. Clean. Boy. Happy.

  Even after everything he had said to me, I headed to my car, hoping tomorrow would come quick.

  ***

  The doorbell rang, and I tucked away the last and only letter from my mother under my pillow. I rushed downstairs and stopped at the mirror, checking my hair and overall appearance. We were just friends. Just friends.

  "Hey," I said with a calm face and my knees shaking underneath my skirt.

  His left hand rubbed his head. His back was turned toward me as he looked out at the neighborhood. After hearing my voice he faced me, his cheek pulling to the left and he dropped his hand, placing both in his pockets. Black shirt, dark jeans and black shoes—he never wore anything else.