by Tessa Vidal
Vickie’s lips touched my eyelids, and then she gathered me into her arms. My chest heaved and a choking sound escaped my throat. She held me, thankfully not demanding any more than I could give.
When I reached for Vickie the next morning, I found nothing but a cold pillow. I pulled it tight to my chest and drifted off a little longer and then the click of a door handle jolted me awake.
Pushing the blankets back, I got out of bed and walked naked to the bathroom, unashamed for the first time in my life to be seen naked. She wasn’t there, so I turned to face the room, wondering if she was on the other bed, perhaps wanting some space. I felt my way back to the bed in the dark and found the lamp on the wall and turned it on.
Vickie was gone.
Immediately I searched for her backpack, hoping she’d just gone to the convenience store, but my gut feeling was right. My stomach trembled and clenched in on itself. I raced to the bathroom, just making it in time before the contents of my stomach emptied into the toilet.
“You deserve it. You deserve to be alone with your sin.”
“Shut the fuck up!” I screamed at my inner voice, then curled up on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest as the chill of the tile seeped into my skin.
Finally, I pulled myself off the floor with my hands on the sink and splashed cold water on my face. I was about to brush my teeth when a horrible thought crept through my mind.
“Oh my god, what if she’s stolen my money?”
I raced back into the bedroom and found my clothes scattered on the other side of the second bed, not where I had left them. I emptied my pockets and found my wallet and a folded white envelope with my name on it. I opened the wallet first. Every bit of cash was gone. Dread filled me, because if she knew about my secret stash of money in my backpack I was in trouble.
“No, you’re not in trouble, You’re Fucked.” I moaned. I upended the bag on the floor, spilling the contents. I reached into the compartment where I’d hidden the money, breathing a sigh of relief when my fingers made contact with it. She hadn’t found it, thankfully. I leaned back against the chair, my stomach turning flips again, but this time out of hunger. I glanced at the envelope with my name on it and picked it up.
Opening it, I found a bus ticket, and a note addressed to me.
“Dear Amber,
I’m sorry, I thought I’d make it, but I can’t, the will has no way. I’m coming clean with you, because you’ll probably never see me again. I’ve been clean for a few days, but I can’t hang on. I know I was supposed to leave today and head home with the bus ticket. It’s yours. My place is here, and I don’t know when I can leave, though I really want to.
Now for some advice, not that I’m all that smart, but this is what you should do, or at least what I would do if I wasn’t so fucked up in the head.
Get the hell out of here. Your family doesn’t know shit about you. Neither do I, but after last night I know you are possibly the most caring, trusting and innocent girl I’ve ever known. You gotta stop that by the way, that trusting stuff will only get you in trouble. Don’t ever lose the innocence though, because it’s what makes you so special.
Take that ticket, get on the bus, and never look back. Raleigh’s not a bad place, and who knows, maybe we’ll meet again one day. Make a new life for yourself, choose a family that cares for you, because that’s the one that matters, not the shitty one you’re leaving behind.
Vickie
Simona
The lobby of The Chatwal Hotel was bustling. I loved staying here. I remembered walking by the expensive hotels as a kid, wishing I was rich enough to live in one. Ornate and sophisticated, the lobby was sheer elegance at its best. It made the purpose of my visit fade into the background of my thoughts for a few, blissful moments.
I used to feel sorry for myself, not having the picture-perfect family I thought everyone else did. Eventually, I figured out they were the exceptions, and most people struggled with their parents and siblings. I’d done the best I could and mostly ignored their existence. Painful memories had a way of derailing success.
I’d checked in to my room and was starving, and the lunch served here was a delight. The restaurant was full, and despite my hunger I was impatient to get to the point of my visit. I exited the lobby and found a food truck two blocks away serving tacos. The wonderful thing about growing up without money was you appreciated basic, delicious meals as much as you did more expensive dishes. Street food was a personal favorite, despite owning my own chain of top-dollar restaurants. It was fast, delicious, and it hit the spot.
After I was done eating I threw the trash away and pulled my phone out. No calls or messages from Amber. I felt the urge to contact her, to hear Amber’s voice, soft and steady, but resisted. She wasn’t going to call, especially after I ordered her to take the day off. I pictured her face, and then her dirty-blonde hair falling into her eyes hidden by thick glasses. She was shy, but in a confident way that showed self-sufficiency and independence. Amber seemed to need no one in her life.
I couldn’t stop wishing she’d want something more.
Fuck, I really need to be more professional with her.
She was my employee, not anything more or less. Knowing my luck she was a closeted drug addict. In fact, I usually only liked people with a skeleton or two lurking in the background. That I like her at all should be enough to make me walk wary. Whatever, I didn’t have time to waste. Better to get this over with before you chicken out.
Flipping through my contact list I spotted Uncle Ricardo’s number. Staring at it made me queasy, knowing I’d have to speak with the man who’d been responsible for so many of the bad things in my life. I put my phone away and strolled back to the hotel. I wanted to sit in the bar, drink a glass of wine or two before speaking to him. Like most people, he had his good and bad sides. I needed to square away how I felt before I spoke to him face to face.
“What may I get for you?” A beautiful young woman with magenta hair took my order. The dining room was packed, but the bar was surprisingly empty.
“House red. Thanks.” I pulled my phone out, then slipped it back into my pocket. It was so easy to put off the inevitable, even with the knowledge that getting it over with would make things better, faster.
“In town visiting friends?” The bartender placed the wine in front of me. Her eyes were warm and friendly. I could tell her the truth, that I was here to watch my father die, or at least absolve myself from guilt due to my absence from his life. She had no way of knowing me, and she was a bartender, the underpaid shrink of the restaurant industry.
“Family - my father is ill, and my uncle is... not trustworthy. I’m evaluating the situation to see if there is anything more we can do to help him, and, sorry I said too much.” I sipped the wine, grimacing at the temperature, chilly for a red.
“I’m sorry about your Dad. I’m guessing you aren’t particularly close.” She polished glasses while chatting. Her guess was spot on. I wonder how she knew that?
“What gave it away? That we aren’t a tight-knit family, that is?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I spoke out loud when I should have kept my mouth shut.” She blushed, turned around and started to walk away. I spoke quickly, before she could get far.
“You’re right, you shouldn’t have said that, but I’m glad you did. You come from an objective place since I’m a stranger, so what you say is more truthful. I need that right now, so I can... shit, I can’t come up with the right words.” I took another sip and continued.
“I’ll be dealing with suffering people. I don’t need to add to it, and I’m self-aware enough to know I keep people at more than an arm’s length away.” The words spilled out, betraying my biggest fear, that I’d project the wrong image to my family. Distance had become the norm, physically and emotionally. That distance needed to be breached, at least temporarily. The bartender looked up and down the bar which was empty. She placed both hands against it and leaned in closer, speaking softly.
&nbs
p; “Speak from the heart. You use big words to describe simple things. Your language is emotionally distancing, like you are an observer, instead of family.” She looked down, then spoke once more.
“I’m studying to be a therapist. Sorry.”
“No worries. Your current job is excellent training for it.” I drained the contents of my glass and indicated I wanted more. She refilled it. We stared at each other for a beat too long. I raised my glass in silent salute and sipped.
“I’m scared. I’ve spent the last twenty years away from the people who need me the most right now. Circumstances out of my control played a major part in that. It’s difficult not to resent those who are responsible, but I have to pretend like nothing bad ever happened.”
“Why hide it? Why not give those you care about the gift of honesty? If you don’t enjoy giving it as a gift, be selfish and state what’s really on your mind for a change.”
I’d given her permission to be forthright, so I felt compelled to answer, despite the repulsion I felt toward inner reflection. Self-absorption ran rampant through modern society, and I was leery of it, to say the least.
“I’m always honest, so I end up biting my tongue most of the time. Can I say what’s on my mind if Dad is on his deathbed?” Asking a stranger how to deal with this was bizarre, but then the situation itself was out of the ordinary. Nothing I’d ever said or done had improved my relationship with my family. Was it selfish of me to try now, at a time when all of us were vulnerable? What good would it do them or me?
“To be honest, there’s no simple answer.”
“How is he, tio?” I asked Uncle Ricardo. We were the same height and build, similar features, but the effects of time and worry were obvious on him. His hair was almost solid white, and lines were etched deeply into his face. No hug or handshakes. We’d barely spoken in twenty years, neither of us sure how the other would react. The two of us whispered in the hallway outside of Dad’s room.
“The tumor has spread, and they can’t operate. He’s been through chemo twice already, and Juan’s refusing a third course of treatment.” My uncle’s eyes were red. “He will come home. Juan doesn’t want to die in the hospital. I’ve made arrangements for hospice care.” Mom and Dad were the only family he had besides me, and he’d spent most of his life taking care of her. My father had burnt my Uncle too, and it surprised me he’d been able to forgive him and move on.
“Should I stay at her place instead of a hotel?”
“No, I mean, there’s no room. Juan has been living there for the last three years while he’s been going through this. You’d have to stay on the couch.”
His words cut like a knife. My father, the one who drove me away all those years ago was living under the roof I provided for my mother. When Dad fucked up my life she sent me packing, despite only being a teenager. What made that man so fucking special?
I glared at my Uncle, wanting to put my hands around his throat and cut off his words. He reached for my shoulder and I stepped back, fists clenched and forced myself to relax, not give in to the anger I felt.
“Simona, you don’t understand everything that’s been going on. I get why you’re angry, but it... it’s been out of my control.” He shook his head slowly, and I saw a darkness in his watery eyes.
“How? How is it out of your control? If Dad hadn’t sent me on that delivery, that fucked up drug deal, Jessica would still be alive.” I growled, my voice louder than I thought. A nurse walked by and gave us the evil eye.
Uncle Ricardo put his face in his hands for a moment. He looked up, then jerked his head toward the exit.
“Let’s go for a walk. We can’t do this here.”
He walked to the door and held it open for me. My feet felt glued to the floor, yet I followed him outside, wanting to speak to him alone, but praying we wouldn’t be. The exit led to a courtyard, with only one other person inside it. It was an old woman not paying attention to us, until Ricardo threw himself against the concrete wall.
“Take a hit. C’mon, I know you want to deck me! If it makes you feel better, just do it.” The old man stood there with his arms open, and without a thought my fist flew through the air.
“Fuck you!” I screamed. My knuckles hit the wall inches from his face. My uncle’s eyes were squeezed shut, and I could see spit spraying across his cheeks. Pain flared from my knuckles up to my shoulder. Fuck me, I turned away, tears burning down my cheeks. I was pissed off at myself, Mom, Dad and Ricardo, for events I had no control over. My stomach churned, and I prayed I wouldn’t get sick.
My Uncle’s arms came around me from behind. My first thought was to throw them off, to hit him for real this time.
Instead I turned around and sobbed against his shoulder. He held me up, and when his shoulders shook, I held him up too.
“Juan’s not been right since you left. When he got sick with the cancer it got worse. It’s a mental thing, always paranoid that someone will kill him, or your mother, or come after you. I’ve told him so many times we are safe, that if those guys who stole that shit from you wanted us dead, it would have happened a long time ago. But, you gotta know, he’s only kept you away to keep you safe.”
His words made sense, but left me cold.
“Are you still in the business?” I asked. He shook his head no.
“What are you doing now? Have you heard from… never mind.” I stood, unable to stomach the smoke from his cigarette. I paced back and forth, then looked down at my knuckles, skin scraped off in places, red and sore.
“No, I stopped dealing right after you left us. Told your father I couldn’t stomach it any more. He kept at it for a few more years, then he disappeared. I got a job at the factory where Jessica’s parents worked. And no, I haven’t heard from them.” He took a long drag on his cigarette, hands shaking and then he coughed, phlegm thick in his throat. I wanted to snatch the butt out of his hand, but knew it wouldn’t do any good.
“So, what happened to her parents, you know, after Jessica was killed?” Questions I’d had for decades would now be answered. Maybe.
“What do you think? The girl’s folks went crazy. It killed me not to be open with them, and they knew we had something to do with it. But, I couldn’t say anything. I had to protect you and your father. We didn’t know if the killers thought you were dead or not. After a few months, once her parents realized they’d never know the truth about why she was shot, they packed up and moved.” He dropped the butt to the ground and stomped it out and then he pulled another one out of his pack and lit it.
“I don’t know where they are now.” My uncle sighed, and I could see remorse stamped on his face.
Jessica, the only girl I’d ever loved. Murdered for the drugs I was delivering. She insisted she come with me despite the dangers. The thing was, we didn’t know how dangerous it was. We were teenagers, and nothing could hurt us. It was like a part-time job, something I did to help my dad out, like delivering newspapers. Not a day went by when I didn’t think about her, about the life she could’ve had if she’d never met me.
“C’mon, I want to see him.” Ricardo glanced at me. I could tell from his expression it worried him that I’d make a scene or something in front of Dad. I held my hand out to help him up. He took it, squeezed it, and didn’t let go until we walked back into the building.
“Dad. It’s me, Simona.”
His dark brown eyes filled with tears, the flecks of gold in them glistening like tiny stars. He said nothing, a tube in his nose making it difficult to speak. He reached his hand out and hesitated, then I took it in mine. It was smaller than I remembered. My vision blurred, tears clouding my vision.
“We’re going to take you home tomorrow, me and Uncle Ricardo. Everything will be fine.” He seemed to understand what I said, and a hint of a smile made his tragic, lined face brighten for a split second.
Dad reached a hand up to the tube attached to his nose, trying to remove it.
“Stop Dad, don’t worry about talking. We can speak
tomorrow, once we get you settled, okay?” I had to get out of there, because I was one or two minutes away from losing it completely. That would hurt him. Despite my animosity, I didn’t want to see him in more pain.
I had to ask myself, did I really love this man, the one who’d fucked my life up so damn much? Thing is, I couldn’t tell him how I really felt. Not when he was so close to death. He might have been thoughtless about my life but I could be the better person about his, which was about to end.
Dad’s grip on my hand tightened. I squeezed back, leaned down and kissed him on the cheek, damp with tears. There was a box of tissues on the table next to his bed so I pulled one out and dried them.
“Amber, it’s me Simona. I’m sorry to be calling so late. I was just wanted to see how things were going. Hope you had a good day off. I’ve, um, got a lot going on here, so don’t worry about calling me back. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Damn, I really wanted to hear Amber’s voice.
I put my phone on the nightstand and took a sip of Scotch. Then I curled up on my side, opened my favorite book Mrs. Dalloway, and settled in for a long, sleepless night.
Simona- 21 Years Ago
Jessica lived in a real house, not an apartment like ours. Her folks both worked full time at a factory making kitchen appliances, usually the second and third shifts now that she was older, so they were rarely at home when I came over. They were pretty cool as parents go, leaving us alone most of the time. It was a small, two-bedroom house, but with a big yard for Queens. In the middle of it was a huge tree. Jessica and I hung out in the treehouse her dad built for her when she was a kid. Yeah, we were a little old to be sitting in a treehouse, but we’d been doing it for so long now it had become our meeting place. We’d usually head inside after a few minutes in the branches.