We Are All That's Left

by Carrie Arcos

  We find a spot by the rail and lean over, watch as the flames dance on the water. It is beautiful and eerie. The little boat with the volunteers who tend to the fire rows past us. People cheer, and the volunteers wave like they’re part of a small-town parade.

  After about ten minutes, we leave the rail and start walking, passing street performers.

  “Hey, Z, take my picture,” Sibyl says, and poses for me.

  The last time I took pictures of my friends, the world was a different place. But something about all of us being together, tonight, makes me say okay.

  Click.

  Natasha and Audrey join her.

  Click. Click.

  We’ve done this a million times. We’re just hanging out. Being silly. Being us. Being me. It feels so good. I get inspired and start positioning shots.

  “Over here,” I say, and point to the spot I want all three of them to stand.

  Afterward, we crowd around my viewfinder, laughing at most of the shots.

  “Ooh,” Natasha says. “Send me that one.”

  The girls take their turns claiming the pictures they want.

  “Let’s go eat,” Sibyl says.

  I feel hungry, like I could eat a huge meal.

  “Yeah. Let’s go eat,” I echo.

  We find a restaurant and decide to sit outside. But as the server leads us to our table, the section where all the street vendors are set up catches my view, and I suddenly feel woozy. There are rows upon rows of white tent tops, exactly like the farmers market.

  I can’t move.

  My mouth is dry, and I’m sweating. All these people. Milling about. Talking. Laughing. Eating. Completely unaware of the danger they’re in.

  My eyes dart around.

  Why is that guy just standing there? What’s he carrying in his backpack? Who’s he talking to on the phone?

  “Zara, what’s wrong?” Audrey says. All three of them have stopped and are looking at me.

  My fingers are on my face. Suddenly everyone around us turns. They are staring. They’re all staring at me. I pull my fingers away, and they’re wet. Is it raining? No, there is blood seeping out the bottom of my bandage. I hold my face and run. I run and run and run.

  July 10

  MY BACK BURNS. The fire climbs up toward my face. But I’m safe in the backseat of Natasha’s car. Safe from all the people. The girls are quiet as they keep glancing at me. They’re afraid of me.

  I’m afraid of me.

  I dab the blood from my face with the tissue Natasha gave me, careful not to cause any more damage. It still hurts from where I scratched at it earlier. I didn’t even know I was hurting myself. That’s how messed up I am.

  My whole body is sore, as if it’s just been steamrolled. I lean forward. Audrey holds my hand. She was the one who found me curled up, hands over my ears, hiding against the side of some building. I was crying, and then she was too. Natasha and Sibyl stood there frozen and worried, not knowing how to help.

  Natasha turns the radio on, rescuing all of us from the silence.

  The burn on my back has faded, and now it just itches. How much longer will these stitches be in? It has already been a week—more than a week.

  It feels like they’ve been holding me together for years.

  I start to cry. Again.

  “It’s okay, Zara,” Audrey says next to me. She makes me lay my head on her shoulder. She holds me.

  But it isn’t. I’m not a person who cries. At least, I didn’t used to be. Now it feels like tears are always hovering at the top of my throat, and I have to force them down or let them out.

  Before, I didn’t even cry when Mike broke up with me. And it wasn’t a mutual thing, even though that’s what I told people, including Audrey. He told me that he liked me, but he just didn’t think it was working.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “You’re awesome. And I’ve really liked getting to know you, but I don’t think it should be this hard. People either click or they don’t. And you’ve kind of got a lot of walls.”

  “I don’t have walls,” I said.

  He gave me a sideways look that, in the past, I had found charming and cute. But in that moment it made me want to reach across the table, grab him by the neck and slam his face down.

  “Everyone has walls,” I tried again. Don’t they?

  “Let me put it this way,” he said. “I feel like I’m always playing offense and you’re playing defense.”

  I picked all the olives off my slice of pizza. Mike always ordered olives, even though he knew I didn’t like them.

  “I get it,” I said. “I know what you mean. I’ve kind of been feeling the same way.”

  “Really? We can still be friends, right?” He smiled. Cocked his head to the side.

  “Right,” I said.

  I watched him eat his pizza while mine got cold on the plate.

  We remained friends. Distant friends. And when he started seeing someone just a month later, it was okay. I was over him by then.

  The worst part of all of it was that Mike was kind of right. I do have problems letting people in. But it’s not my fault. Mom is the one who taught me to be like this. Hard to get to know. Walled up. Too difficult for a boyfriend to want to scale. She’s the one with the silence. The one who has kept parts of herself locked away for years.

  Except I have this one memory.

  Last year, Audrey and I had a bit of a blowup over something that seems stupid now, but at the time it was epic. I asked Audrey to come over and hang out, but she said she couldn’t because her mom needed her to do something. Then later I saw pictures of her and Christine online. They’d gone to the movies and didn’t invite me. Audrey had lied to me. Obviously, I was hurt. I didn’t talk to her for over a week.

  By the start of the second week, Audrey came to my house, but I wouldn’t see her. Mom told her I wasn’t feeling well. A few moments later, Mom knocked on my door with a small tray of Turkish coffee in two small cups. There was also a stuffed Totoro doll on the tray. She set the tray down on my desk.

  She handed me the stuffed animal.

  “Audrey brought this by for you.”

  I tossed him on my bed. Audrey and I had been going through Miyazaki films. Our favorite was My Neighbor Totoro. He was this huge gray mystical animal that a girl found in the forest. We loved him. But looking at him next to my pillow, he seemed kind of small and insignificant as he stared and held on to his tiny umbrella.

  Mom sat in my small green armchair, and I sat on my bed. We sipped coffee, and she asked what I was working on. I showed her the photos I took of Natasha and Sibyl at the mall. We had walked around asking random strangers to pose with us. It was fun, but not as fun as it could have been, because the whole time I was thinking about how it would’ve been better with Audrey. Sibyl and Natasha just didn’t have the same intuition that Audrey did. She normally went along with any crazy photo session I devised.

  “That’s a cute animal,” Mom said, nodding to Totoro, who lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, just like he did in the movie.

  “Whatever,” I said.

  Then Mom told me a story. “You know, I was once in a fight with my friend Uma. We argued about a game. She said I cheated, and I didn’t, but she wouldn’t believe me. She told everyone I was a cheater. So we stopped being friends. I was angry, but after a while, my anger faded. I didn’t know why I was so angry. I just missed her. But it was too late. I didn’t know how to bridge the waters between us. And then she walked by me one day at school and asked if I wanted to work together on our homework.” Mom shrugged. “I said yes.”

  She drank her coffee.

  “So what happened?” I asked

  “We were friends again.”

  “Then how come I haven’t heard you mention her name before?”

  Mom’s eyes darken
ed over the edge of her cup. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Well, this isn’t over a stupid game,” I said. “And Audrey knows what she did.”

  I turned my attention to my computer screen then. I didn’t want to talk to her. I wanted to be mad because I felt like it was justified, like anger gave me a strength to fight the loneliness and hurt I felt.

  Mom placed her empty cup down on the tray and stood up.

  “You will regret cutting people out. It takes a stronger person to let others in,” she said, and she walked out of the room.

  * * *

  ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙

  Mom’s words now ring through my head, and I can’t deny the irony. In that moment, she was trying to be kind and reach out. She was trying to help me, trying to warn me. And instead of meeting her halfway, I ignored her. I treated her just like she treated me when she was hurt.

  Maybe I’m the reason we’re not close.

  And suddenly, I’m angry at her all over again. I don’t want to be this way.

  I think of Mom. Lying in her hospital bed. Twitching. Her eyes betraying her state of mind. What if I never get the chance to know her? Never get the chance to let her know me?

  Tears sting my cheek.

  Natasha parks in front of my house.

  “Can we just wait a little?” I say.

  Of course.

  Sure.

  Absolutely.

  The four of us sit there in the car looking out our respective windows. The air is thick, humid, not even a breeze. I make us wait until my heart calms down, until I’m breathing regular again.

  When I’m ready, they walk me up to the door. We walk inside, and my dad says hello, but I keep going, head straight to my room. I hear my friends talking to him, but I don’t stop until I reach my bed. I collapse into it. My fingers find the prayer beads around my neck.

  “Help me,” I whisper. I say the words again and again until they rise like an incantation and I drift off to sleep.

  July 11

  THE NEXT MORNING my phone buzzes with a text, waking me up. My head throbs.

  Grann loves the pictures. Come to the hospital?

  I look at the time. It’s only eight. And then a bunch of texts come in one after the other.

  I mean when you want to

  Here all day

  No rush

  She wants to thank you in person

  I close my eyes and try to get back to sleep, but my back itches and my head aches.

  The phone buzzes again. Does he ever stop?

  And thank you from me too

  I didn’t tell you that.

  Sorry.

  I sigh.

  Welcome

  And now I’m awake. I groan and remove the covers, stepping slowly, carefully out of bed and down the hallway.

  “Morning, Zara,” Vovo says to me when I stumble into the kitchen. “Coffee?” he asks.

  “Sure, thanks.”

  He pours me a cup from the pot.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “Your grandmother is on a walk with Benny, and I believe your dad is here somewhere. Maybe still asleep.”

  “Oh.” I take a sip of the coffee. “This is good. Thank you.”

  Vovo is reading the paper, like an actual newspaper. He removes the entertainment section and hands it to me.

  “I didn’t sleep well,” he says. “Pillow’s too hard.”

  “Me neither.”

  He doesn’t ask me how I’m doing. He doesn’t stare at me. Even though my bandage is off. He treats me the same way he always has. And I settle more comfortably into my seat.

  We’re reading quietly when Dad enters.

  “Zara, how are you feeling this morning?”

  “Fine,” I say. I don’t look up. I wish he’d quit asking me that. I’m reading this article about a woman who is motorcycling around the world. I wonder if I could just take off like that. Escape from everything.

  I feel his eyes on me, so finally, I give in and meet them. He’s got dark circles.

  “Your cheek looks like it’s healing okay. Any headache?”

  “A little bit. Not a migraine, though.”

  He rummages through a cabinet and gives me some ibuprofen. “Take two of these.”

  “Are you leaving soon?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay,” I stand up. “I can get ready quick.”

  “You want to come?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure? After last night, I thought maybe—”

  “I’m fine, Dad,” I say with more conviction than I feel.

  * * *

  ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙

  Mom stares at me. I can’t tell if she’s really seeing me or if she’s just changed focus from the ceiling. Her eyes never leave my face, though. She is not able to speak yet, or have much range of motion, but she seems more aware. I sit in the chair next to her bed, feeling awkward. It’s just us because Dad is working. The hall outside is so quiet, it’s almost eerie. But I stay because I’m trying. Because I want to try.

  I clear my throat, but “Hi, Mom” comes out thin, like crinkled paper.

  I keep going. “I want you to know that Benny and I are doing okay. It’s been hard . . .” I feel my eyes water, look away. “But we’re going to be okay. And so are you. The doctor is really hopeful.” I touch her hand and look back at her eyes, which rest squarely on my face. “And I’m sorry for shutting you out. I’m sorry for a lot of things, really. So you have to get better. Please. Get better.”

  Mom’s nurse comes in then to check on her vitals. But the way Mom’s looking at me, you’d think she and I were the only ones in the room.

  “Hello, Nadja,” the nurse says. “You’re looking beautiful today. How are you feeling?”

  Nothing from Mom. Can she understand what we’re saying?

  “Well, you are looking better each day. Yep. Each day. One step at a time. And, Zara, you seem to be healing well.”

  I nod as it dawns on me that Mom has been here long enough for the staff to know her loved ones’ names.

  “It’s good that you’re here,” the nurse says. “That you’re talking to her. It can really help.”

  The nurse leaves, and Mom finally closes her eyes. I wait until I think she’s asleep and then I stand up slowly, careful not to disturb her. Her eyes remain closed. I lean over and give her a kiss on her forehead. My fingers grasp the beads around my neck, asking God to heal her. I leave her room and head to Flora’s.

  * * *

  ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙

  “Knock, knock,” I say to announce my presence. I peek my head into the hospital room.

  “Zara,” Flora says from her bed.

  “Hey.” Joseph puts down the book he’s reading and stands up from the chair.

  “Hi,” I say.

  He stands there awkwardly, like he’s uncertain of how to greet me. Then he waves and shoves his hands into his pockets and smiles goofy at me, almost like he’s nervous.

  Suddenly, I’m fully aware of how good he looks and of how I look with my messed-up, bandaged face.

  Flora holds her hands up to me, so I go over to her. She gives me a kiss on both cheeks, careful to avoid the spot that’s injured.

  “The pictures are beautiful. You made me look like a movie star,” she says.

  “You’re very pretty. I didn’t do anything at all.”

  “That’s very sweet, Zara. Now, why don’t you take my Joseph to get something to eat. He shouldn’t be spending all his time with an old woman.”

  “Grann—”

  “I’m tired. Go on.”

  He bends and kisses her and follows me out of the room.

  “We don’t have to hang out,” Joseph says. “I know you’re probably here visiting your mom.”


  “I am. I went to check in on her before coming here.”

  We stop a couple of rooms down the hallway, both of us unsure where to go.

  “Want to get something to eat?” he asks. His voice cracks a little.

  Am I actually making him nervous? The thought gives me confidence, until I remember I have a huge scab forming on my face. He’s probably just being nice.

  “You don’t have to hang out with me,” I say, giving him an out. “I can, you know, go back and see my mom.”

  “Oh, yeah. We don’t have to.”

  We both stand there looking everywhere but at each other. I should have known he was just feeling sorry for me.

  “So—” I start to say.

  “Look,” he says, “I don’t want to keep you from your mom, but I am pretty hungry, and I love my grann, but you know, there’s only so much we can talk about. It’d be cool to hang out with someone more my age, you know, like you. And why not? We’re both here now. And just standing here, doing nothing. So let’s go get some food.”

  He says all this in an awkward rush. His hand on the back of his head, which is now cocked to the side.

  “Okay,” I say. “The Au Bon Pain?”

  He lets out a big breath like he’s been holding it. “Sounds good.” He motions for me to lead the way.

  We take the elevator down to the first floor.

  At the counter, I order a coffee.

  “That’s it?” he says. “Come on, let me get you something else.”

  “No, I’m okay, really.”

  He gives me a look like he doesn’t believe me. “You can’t have any of my food.”

  “Good. I wasn’t planning on it,” I say.

  “Great, because just so we’re clear, you can’t play the I’m-not-hungry card and then pick at my sandwich or something.”

  I laugh. “Oh, my gosh, are you kidding me?”

  “I’ve seen the move before.”

  I hold up my hand. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to eat your food.”