Atancia

by Figueiro, Wren

  Me: Working hard in the real world, are you?

  Ben: Actually yeah, my dad has me working on a major project of his.

  Me: What kind of project?

  Ben: Nothing you’d find interesting.

  Me: I find everything about you interesting.

  Ben: LOL, thanks. But I’d rather not bore you with work. What are you up to tonight? It’s Friday there, right?

  Me: Yup, it’s Friday, but I’m not up to much really.

  Ben: No big parties? I find that hard to believe. You’re in college.

  Me: LOL, I’m sure there’s a party somewhere. I just wasn’t planning on going.

  Ben: Why not? I know you like to dance. You’re not sitting around there ’cause I’m keeping you, are you?

  Truth be told, I probably was sitting around because talking to him was more interesting to me than any party, but I didn’t really want to say that.

  Me: No, you’re not keeping me. In case you didn’t notice that night at New Year’s, I’m not really good at going to parties by myself.

  Ben: Aren’t your friends going?

  Me: Nope. I don’t have many good girlfriends living in Miami anymore.

  Ben: I’d wondered why you had all that time to spend with me. Not that I minded, but if your friends have all moved, you should try making new friends. College is no fun without them.

  Me: I know. I’m just not really good at making friends. I always feel weird starting a conversation, and when someone else starts one I usually draw a blank as to how to respond.

  Ben: So that wasn’t just for me on New Year’s? LOL I was hoping I’d charmed you into silence ;)

  Me: LOL. I’m just shy.

  Ben: Other than that first conversation, you didn’t really seem shy.

  Me: I know. I’m just weird like that. Once I know a person I can talk their ear off, but if I don’t, I get nervous saying anything. I’ve been like that since I was little. Sometimes my friends forget and then wonder what’s wrong with me when we go out in public.

  Ben: Well, maybe shy is good.

  Me: Why’s that?

  Ben: I’d rather not say. It would make me seem a bit possessive.

  Me: LOL

  I was trying to not get excited by that statement when my phone rang. The caller ID said it was Lizzie. I decided I better stop chatting anyway, especially since I’d probably say something embarrassing soon.

  Me: Phone call, I gtg. Talk tomorrow?

  Ben: Same place, same time :)

  I picked up the phone as I was signing off.

  “So, did you go to the cemetery?” asked Lizzie after saying hello.

  “Not yet,” I admitted.

  “You should definitely go soon; who knows what you could find out,” she said.

  “You sound even more interested than I am. Don’t worry, I plan on going tomorrow,” I assured her.

  I hadn’t really planned on it, but I knew I should go. I decided morning would be best, before I had time to change my mind. Plus, it would be nice and sunny. I didn’t want to be wandering around a cemetery at dusk or something. I found the place pretty easily but had to stop at the reception office to find out where Ms. De la Paz might be buried. It was a really big cemetery. I didn’t think I could go through every name there. The lady told me I should look in section 5A and gave me directions on how to get there.

  I parked my car, grabbed the flowers I’d bought and walked onto the grass next to the sign that read 5A. There were maybe twenty plaques in the section, so I started walking down the line. After about fifteen names, I found her. I couldn’t see anything different about her plaque; it didn’t seem to contain any clues. It just had her name and the dates of her birth and death. Like many of the grave markers nearby, this one had a vase that fit upside down into it. I’d never really left flowers at a grave before, but I figured I should take out the vase and put water in it. It seemed that’s what people had done with the others.

  As I started to pull the vase from the plaque, what seemed like an entire pile of ants started to crawl out of it. I let out a small “ugh” of disgust and dropped the vase. I looked around and saw there was a small faucet with a hose attached to it near one of the small trees in the yard. That must be where everyone got the water for the vases. I went over to it and turned it on, dragging the hose over to Luz’s plaque, water dripping everywhere. I really hoped no one was around watching me because I probably looked like a silly little girl who didn’t know what she was doing, but I kept dragging anyway.

  Once at the plaque, I hosed off the vase to get rid of the ants and then I dropped the hose and decided I should shut the faucet before dragging it back. I’d already watered those graves enough. I pulled on the hose until it was back at the faucet. I walked back to find that the hole where the vase had been was filled with water. I obviously hadn’t paid attention to where I dropped the hose. At least a lot of the ants had been washed away so I could put the vase back. I was about to grab it when something odd caught my attention. In the mud that filled the hole, I could see what looked like the corner of a plastic sandwich bag. I had already made a mess, I might as well finish cleaning it all up.

  I gripped the bag gingerly with my thumb and forefinger and pulled it out of the hole. I was wondering what kind of strange person littered in a graveyard and was about to go take the bag to the trash nearby when I noticed there was something inside. It looked like a piece of paper wrapped around something solid. As I turned the bag in my hand, I almost dropped it. Written on the back in black permanent marker was my name: Atancia.

  I stared at the bag, then looked up to scan the area to check if anyone was looking at me. It wasn’t for fear of looking silly this time, but for fear of looking crazy. I was sure my expression was enough to make someone think I was going to pass out.

  I was worried that if I took the paper out it would get covered in mud. Instead, I quickly placed the vase where it needed to go on the plaque, dropped in the flowers and headed back to my car. I had a box of tissues in there, so I laid some out on the passenger seat and placed the muddy bag on top. Then I drove home as quickly as possible.

  Once home, I took the bag to the backyard and finished hosing it off. I didn’t think Nana would want mud in the sink. I dried it and went back inside. Nana wasn’t there, probably out with one of her friends, so I sat at the kitchen table and stared at the bag. I was sitting there building up the nerve to open the bag when Nana walked in.

  “Hey, Atty! You left early this morning. Anything fun?” she asked.

  “Not quite, Nana.”

  She stared at me for a moment, then looked at what I had in front of me. “¿Qué es eso?”

  “I’m honestly not sure. Remember how I was looking for Luz De la Paz?”

  She just nodded.

  “Well, I found her, and this was inside her grave marker. The bag has my name on it.” I lifted the bag so she could see it and her eyes widened. She walked over to look over my shoulder.

  “¡Ábrela!”

  I glanced at her, then back at the bag. She was right; I needed to open it. It was just so overwhelming. What if this had belonged to my mother? What if there wasn’t anything in there that was interesting at all? So many ideas had popped into my head since I found it that I was getting really anxious.

  Nana was still looking at me expectantly. I opened the bag slowly and reached inside. Whatever was in the paper was small and hard. I unwrapped it and saw that it was a key attached to a small blue key holder with golden letters: CB.

  “It’s the key to a safety deposit box!” exclaimed Nana.

  “How do you know that?” I asked.

  “I recognize the logo for Coral Bank. A friend of mine used to work there. It’s a local Miami bank, has been around for years. Actually, I think it just got bought out by one of the national banks,” she explained.

  “So what do I do with this?”

  “You take it to the bank and ask to open your box. It’ll still be there as long as it’s
being paid for.”

  “You think someone’s still paying for it?” I asked, immediately thinking it would have to be my mom.

  “Maybe, or maybe it was paid for in advance. Who knows. But you should go see.”

  “I guess it will have to wait till Monday though,” I said, a bit annoyed that it was the weekend.

  She nodded.

  “Well, I’ll have to wait. I’m going to call Lizzie. She was the one who gave me the idea to check out the cemetery. She’ll be waiting to know what I found.”

  Once I finished telling Lizzie about the key I asked, “So what do you think?”

  “I don’t know, that’s so strange. I can’t believe you found a bag with your name on it, Atty! I mean, what was your mother doing? And who was that Luz lady? It’s all so strange.”

  I laughed at her repetitiveness. “I know. All these years I’ve wondered why she left me. Maybe something really serious happened. I just wish I knew what it was.”

  “Me too. I’ve never heard of anything like this.”

  We talked for almost an hour, just rambling about what the key could open, but we didn’t get anywhere before Lizzie had to leave for work. I had lunch with Nana and then went to do some homework since thinking about the key too much was not really getting me anywhere anyway. At six o’clock I logged on to talk to Ben.

  Ben: So you going to party tonight?

  Me: LOL, nope. Just been finishing up some homework.

  Ben: Boo! Homework? On a Saturday? Please tell me you did something else too.

  I thought about that for a second. I didn’t want to get into the whole mystery mom thing with him. I thought it might be too much information, not to mention too serious of a conversation. I decided to fudge the truth so I wouldn’t sound like a total loser who just did homework all day.

  Me: Actually, I went to see an old acquaintance who doesn’t live here anymore.

  That was the truth, right?

  Ben: That’s nice. I’m glad you got out a bit. I wouldn’t want you to be extra pale next time I come around.

  Me: LOL. I’ll always be pale, but don’t worry. Even just going out a few minutes in Miami keeps me from looking like a ghost.

  Ben: Or a vampire, LOL.

  Me: LOL. You know what I don’t get? If vampires are always drinking blood, shouldn’t they be rosy or something?

  Ben: But they never go out in the sun.

  Me: Right, but wouldn’t that make them even rosier? All the blood under pale skin.

  Ben: LOL. That just sounds creepy.

  Me: LOL, yeah, it does.

  Me: So what are you up to over there?

  Ben: Not much. It’s Sunday morning and some of my family is visiting. Going to head out to brunch with them in a bit.

  Me: That’s nice. Is it big?

  Ben: The brunch?

  Me: No, your family. I just realized that you’ve never mentioned anyone except your dad.

  Ben: Not too big, although maybe to you it would sound like it since you’re an only child. I have four brothers and one sister.

  Me: There’s six of you? That’s not big?

  Ben: Well, it’s kind of complicated but we weren’t all raised together. My eldest brother is the son of my father and his first wife. My second eldest brother is the son of my father and his third wife. My third eldest brother is the son of my mother with her first husband. My sister is the daughter of my mother with her second husband, and my younger brother is the son of my father and his latest ex-wife.

  Me: Whoa! You’ve got a lot of stepmoms. I hope that doesn’t make you Cinderella.

  Ben: LOL, nope, still clean, no cinders on me. But yeah, my family’s a bit complicated. That’s why I never mentioned them before.

  Me: Well, I’m sure they’re great, even if they’re hard to keep track of.

  Ben: Yeah, we’re all pretty close. Or at least we’re trying. My older brothers and sister live here in Australia too, but my youngest brother just moved here a few months ago. So I don’t know him that well yet. He lived with his mom until then.

  Me: How old is he?

  Ben: Nineteen, I think.

  Me: Wait. How old are you? I thought you just graduated college.

  I hadn’t wanted to ask before, but if his younger brother by his father’s newest ex-wife was my age, then Ben could be thirty for all I knew. That freaked me out a bit.

  Ben: That’s right. I’m twenty-two. My father changes his mind a lot, LOL.

  Me: Wow, OK. But you grew up near him, right? When you talk about your dad, it sounds like the two of you are close.

  Ben: Oh, I didn’t mean he changed his mind about his kids, just his wives. I grew up very close to him.

  Me: That’s nice at least. I have no idea who my father could have been.

  Why did I just type that? Way too serious.

  Ben: I can’t imagine what that’s like. I’m sorry.

  Me: Don’t worry. Nana’s been great. I just wonder sometimes.

  Ben: I can imagine.

  Me: Anyway, I better go. Maybe I can find a party tonight after all.

  I’d typed myself into an uncomfortable corner again and didn’t want to continue with that line of thought.

  Ben: Well, don’t have too much fun without me ;)

  Chapter 8

  Monday morning all I could think about was getting to the bank so I could see what was in the safety deposit box. Unfortunately, I had class for three hours before I could get there. As if knowing how anxious I was to get out of school, my history professor chose one of the most boring stories possible to drone on about in his most monotone voice. It felt like the hour took five. My second class was a bit better but still dragged. By the middle of my last class of the morning I was really restless. I sat listening to my business professor explain a project we would be starting, but I couldn’t stop wiggling my feet. I had blanked out, just staring at the second hand on the wall clock when I heard him say something about getting together in groups. People around me started shifting in their chairs and talking to their neighbors. Uh-oh, I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. Now, on top of the antsy feeling, butterflies had swarmed my stomach.

  I hate group projects. I either get stuck with people who don’t like to work, or if they do work, they don’t really understand what work means. In high school I just finished the project by myself and let them put their names on it. Maybe college would be better, but I wasn’t optimistic. On top of that, I sucked at approaching people to ask about being in a group. Maybe that’s why my partners always sucked; I just got stuck with all the other kids no one else wanted to be in their group.

  I looked around the room. I didn’t really know anyone there. We’d been in class together for weeks, but I had no idea of any of their names or more importantly, grades. I was just beginning to panic when the two girls behind me tapped on my shoulder. “You want to be in our group?” the one closest asked. She had straight black hair and fair skin. “We need three, but we only know each other.”

  I let out a small sigh of relief and nodded. I had no idea if they were good students, but since I didn’t know anyone else either it didn’t really matter. “Great! I’m Christy and this is Ana,” said the same girl who had spoken before. From the way she spoke, I guessed she was probably Cuban. The other girl, Ana, had cinnamon skin, definitely Latin, but I couldn’t place from where.

  “Hi, I’m Atty,” I responded.

  Christy was the more talkative one. She started going over the checklist the professor had handed out and giving ideas for what we could do. She seemed motivated; hopefully it carried over to the actual work. I looked up at the clock several times while we spoke. There were only a few minutes left in class.

  “We’re going to lunch now, you want to come?” asked Christy as the last minute of class came to a close.

  “Thanks for the invite, but I actually have an errand to run before my afternoon class. We’ll meet later this week to talk about the project, right?” I asked.


  “Sure, maybe Wednesday at lunch?”

  “That sounds perfect,” I told her and said bye to them both.

  I rushed to my car so I could get out before the parking lot turned into a maze full of exiting cars. I had printed directions to the bank, and I had two hours before my next class. It would be plenty of time to get downtown and back.

  I got on the expressway and was happy to see there was no traffic. I focused on looking forward as I passed the exit where I’d stopped during the panic attack. I still got a twinge of panic every time I passed it. Luckily, my high school choir director had taught me how important it was to breathe correctly when I sang. That had helped me figure out that I could sing to regulate my breaths. It prevented me from hyperventilating or getting to the point where my hands tingled. Since the panic attacks started, singing was how I kept my head when I drove.

  It was a bit tricky finding the bank. I thought that I was close but then realized the street I wanted to turn on was a one-way, so I had to go around the back of some buildings and do a couple of U-turns before getting to where I needed to be. I was glad to see the bank had a garage because I didn’t know where I was going to find parking on the street around there.

  The bottom floor of the bank building had some jewelry shops and a sub place. I took the elevators up a level and got to the lobby. I had butterflies again, but this time because I knew that I had to ask for something without actually knowing what I was asking for. I signed my name on the list for assistance from a bank rep and sat on the couch next to it.

  There were a couple of people ahead of me, so I looked around the lobby as I waited. It was an old building but nicely kept. It had dark marble floors and grey walls. A long line of people were in line for the tellers, and I distracted myself watching a little girl play with a doll she had in a toy stroller.

  After about fifteen minutes, a dark-haired woman with a big smile called my name, and I followed her to her desk. “How can I help you today, Ms. Clark?”

  I took the key out of my pocket to show her. “I need to open my safety deposit box.”

  She took the key from me and typed something on her computer. “Ah, yes, Ms. Clark, if I could just see your ID. I’ll take you straight to it.” I didn’t miss that her eyes widened a bit as she read whatever was on the screen. I wondered if this was some sort of crazy plot to catch girls with illegitimate keys, but her tone didn’t give any clues, if anything she was even more polite as she stood and directed me to follow her.