Cristina

by Jake Parent

  All-in-all, he felt pretty proud of himself, given the distance he’d traveled. For a long time, he thought he wouldn’t live to see 25. Now he was coming up on 30.

  It had been a wild ride, and he regretted plenty of things he’d done along the way. But if he had it to do all over again, he probably wouldn’t change a thing. His journey had made him who he was. It had shown him a strength inside himself he never thought possible.

  For that, he would be forever grateful.

  23

  Cristina smiled, fighting off a yawn. It was well past midnight. The wind had grown cold. She snuggled closer to Casey, pulling her jacket over the exposed skin of her chest. Her bare legs were numb.

  After he finished his story, they sat in silence for a long time. There wasn’t a hint of awkwardness. Nor did either of them seem in any hurry to go.

  Like with so many other stories Cristina had heard about overcoming addiction and adversity, there was a lot of her own journey in his words. Many differences, too, of course. But she definitely felt the familiar bond between two people who’ve shared similar hardships.

  She wanted to ask him about New Horizon, but decided that could wait for another time. Right now, she was simply in awe of his bravery and tenacity.

  “I don’t even know what to say,” she finally admitted. “Thanks for sharing all that with me.” She leaned in and kissed the rough stubble of his cheek. “You have an amazing story, have you ever thought about writing it down? I bet it would make a great book.”

  He laughed. “Thanks. But this high school dropout can barely even spell, much less write a whole book worth reading.”

  “I don’t know about all that. I’d buy it.”

  She again tried not to yawn, but this time couldn’t resist the urge.

  “You getting tired?” he asked.

  “Yah, mind if we walk back?”

  She hadn’t said where “back” was, and found it pleasantly surprising to hear him ask where she’d parked her car.

  Not only is he a big, strong, sexy man with a huge heart, he’s also a gentleman.

  The happy tingle inside her stomach, the one that hadn’t left her the entire night, now blossomed into a full-blown explosion of happiness, resonating in waves, all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes.

  The two didn’t talk much on the walk back. There didn’t seem to be a need. Neither did they rush. They simply held hands, watching the stars and the moon disappear behind an encroaching bank of fog.

  They stood for a few long moments on the curb in front of her car, eyes locked together. His face seemed somehow different now. More open and inviting. There was a happiness in his eyes that made Cristina realize how much of a wall between himself and the world he was able to put up.

  Oh, how she could relate.

  “I hate to go,” she said.

  “I hate to see you go.”

  Her hands came down gently behind his ears and pulled him forward. They kissed, deeply and passionately. This time with plenty of tongue. Her lips soon moved to his neck. Her hands caressed the hardness of his chest through his shirt. She suddenly wanted nothing more than for him to throw her onto the backseat of the car and do everything she’d imagined that night in the bathtub.

  Perhaps he knew. Perhaps not. Whatever the case, with a level of self-control she’d never known any man to have, he softly pushed her away from his body.

  The sly smile returned.

  “Goodnight, Cristina.”

  There was one more kiss, a short one through the window after she started the car.

  Then he turned and walked into the night.

  ***

  Cristina checked her phone when she came in the door. She was a bit disappointed by the fact Casey hadn’t sent her a goodnight text.

  But, by the time she brushed her teeth and climbed into bed, it was there.

  Hope you made it home safe. Thx for an amazing night. One of the best ever. Let’s do it again soon. Next time it will be your turn to tell some stories. Sweet dreams. –Casey

  She held her phone to her chest and threw her head back onto the pillow, giggling like a teenager.

  There were no bad dreams that night.

  24

  Cristina spent most of the next day trying to get things organized and put away.

  Her goal was to have the place looking like something resembling an actual house by the time her grandmother and uncle arrived to drop off Anise that afternoon.

  The task of unpacking seemed monumental, but between her amazing date and getting her first good night’s sleep in a week, she buzzed with energy. Even before sipping on her first cup of coffee.

  After breakfast, she found the small speaker box she’d somehow ended up with and hooked it to her old laptop. She made a quick YouTube playlist. A little Prince. A little Radiohead. Some Mac Dre. And Tito Puente to add a bit of extra spice to the mix.

  Wearing a tight, white NorCal t-shirt, boy shorts, and her hair up in the same red bandana she’d worn the night before, she set about finally getting moved in.

  As she unpacked, she tried hard not to think about Anthony and Walden Chester III. It proved difficult. She wished she could call the lawyer she used for the divorce settlement. Unfortunately, he charged $750 an hour. She was only ever able to afford him in the first place because, knowing that a big divorce settlement was almost certain, he didn’t make her pay anything up front.

  This time around, it looked like she had no other choice but to represent herself.

  It’s not like there’s anything all that complicated about it, she told herself as she carried the BEDROOM boxes upstairs. Besides, if he wants to waste his energy trying to say I’m not clean, he’s going to have a tough time proving it.

  Good luck, Anthony. Maybe after it’s said and done I can sue your punk ass for another million.

  Still, there was something about the whole thing that didn’t sit right. Her ex was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. There had to be more to all this. She needed to be careful.

  It at least felt good to be thinking clearly, something she reminded herself as she examined the knife wounds in the wall. The wood looked like someone had mistaken it for the girl from the shower scene in Psycho. She decided to hang one of her sketches over the damage – a chalk drawing of a woman sitting on a park bench smoking a cigarette.

  With the upstairs basically done – Anise will be so happy to see all her little stuffed animals perched on the dresser – Cristina was ready to move on to the downstairs.

  But first she took a quick sandwich-and-cigarette break in the backyard. She realized it was her first smoke in 24 hours, and was more than a little annoyed with herself for not giving up the habit altogether.

  Nonetheless, she absorbed what had turned into another perfect sunny day. Warm, but with the usual cool sea breeze that kept it from getting hot.

  Sitting on the single concrete step, she looked around at her patch of overgrown weeds. Their green, earthy smells mixed in the air with the tuna from her sandwich. Despite her knowledge of plants being limited to the fact they need water, she felt inspired to start a garden.

  How hard can it be?

  She made a mental note to ask her uncle about it. A landscaper for more than twenty years, if anyone would know what to do it was him.

  Just the thought of Tío Alberto made her smile.

  Cristina finished her lunch, and then went back to setting up the living room.

  The thrift store couch got a blanket thrown across it.

  On top of the end table, which barely fit between the couch and the wall, she set a picture of Anise. A coned hat poked up from the girl’s head as she laughed hysterically at her third birthday party, right before blowing out the candles on her Finding Nemo cake.

  On the coffee table – another thrift store find – she stacked a few random drink coasters. They didn’t have a TV yet, and honestly Cristina didn’t really care if they ever got one. She’d always been more of a music
person anyway.

  That thought brought with it a picture of Casey. The cute way he got all starry-eyed when he talked about his love for punk. Her chest buzzed.

  “Oh my god, who are you?” she asked herself out loud and laughed

  Working through one of the last boxes, she found Anise’s baby book. It was hard not to tear up a little flipping through it, especially at the picture taken five minutes after Anise was born. Cristina had almost forgotten how small her baby girl was when she held her for the first time.

  Near the end of the scrapbook was a photo of Anthony. At first glance, holding Anise in his arms, he actually looked something close to human. But Cristina knew better. Behind the thin smile, his hollow eyes betrayed an evil lurking just below the surface.

  She tried to remember back, wondering if she’d been able to see that coldness in his soul when they first met. She supposed she might have, but couldn’t be sure. It wasn’t like her mind had been in the best place at the time.

  Without much emotion, she removed his picture from the photo album, ripped it in half, folded it, and then ripped it again.

  She wished she could do the same to the man himself.

  There were a few boxes left, mostly filled with clothes Cristina hadn’t yet worked up the heart to donate. She needed a place to stash them and turned to the downstairs closet. The same place where she’d dreamed of finding the previous tenant swinging at the end of a rope. Dreamed of finding herself swinging. And, worst of all, Anise, too.

  Since moving in, she’d yet to even open the closet door. Had barely noticed it. Like her mind was actively working to ignore its presence.

  Come on, girl, she told herself. After all the craziness you’ve seen in your life, you’re going to be afraid of a damn closet?

  Besides, in the middle of the day, away from the confusing world of dreams, with the bright California sun glowing through the window, the door seemed like, well . . . a door. It was as plain and unremarkable as any other rectangular piece of wood she’d ever laid eyes on.

  Feeling a surge of strength, she walked over and stood in front of it.

  She wasn’t sure what she expected to be there. Some kind of demonic pulsation coming from the other side? Whatever it was, all she felt at that particular moment was an ocean breeze flowing in through the window, cooling the beads of sweat collected between her shoulders.

  Yet, she still couldn’t seem to find the will to reach out and turn the doorknob.

  As hard as she tried to block the image from her mind, it was impossible not to picture the rotted face of Amanda Stewart-Walker. Teeth visible through a hole in her blackened cheek. Orbital cavities sunken in, revealing the decayed remnants of what had once been a living brain. And Cristina would never, ever be able to forget that fruity, cinnamon smell of death. The way it oozed from the woman’s body like some disgusting perfume. Just the thought of it made her gag.

  She knew that if she didn’t open the door right then, she likely wouldn’t.

  At least not that day.

  So, after a deep breath, Cristina grabbed the knob and turned.

  What she saw inside was far from terrifying. Just like the door, the closet itself had an unremarkable aura of plainness. The tall space was empty, except for a bit of accumulated dust. The wooden hanger rod from which Amanda hanged herself had been removed and never replaced.

  Cristina laughed a bit uneasily, not quite able to let go of the tense nervousness inside her. The door and the closet and everything else looked normal now, but there was still some lingering sense of strangeness to it all. Something out of place that she couldn’t quite put words to.

  It reminded her of an old abandoned house in the neighborhood she grew up in. Kids would stand outside its door, daring one another to go inside. The emptiness of the house, or maybe something else, always made being there seem like a really bad idea.

  Before she lost her nerve, Cristina quickly stacked the boxes into the closet and shut the door, making sure to double-check that it was securely closed.

  The experience made her want to take a shower.

  She looked at the time, and saw it was only an hour before her uncle and grandmother were to arrive with Anise. One whiff of her armpits told her that she definitely needed to wash off more than just some creepy closet vibes.

  Upstairs, she took off her sweaty clothes in the bathroom and turned on the shower. While the water warmed, she walked naked down the hallway to do one more check of Anise’s room. She wanted everything to be perfect, and it was. Cristina glowed with anticipation as she pictured the joy on Anise’s face when she saw her toys and animals all in their own little places.

  From the corner of her eye, a flash of something caught her attention. Subtle enough that she didn’t even turn her head. Until she saw it again, right at the edge of her vision. But when she finally turned, nothing was there.

  Suddenly her naked body felt exposed, like someone was watching her. She covered her nipples with her forearms, squeezing her breasts against her body.

  Her first thought was the window. But the blinds were down. And when she peeked through them, all she saw was the glow of the afternoon sun, shaded slightly by a big redwood.

  You’re going crazy, girl.

  But she had felt something, and still did. Enough that she walked around to check the other side of Anise’s bed, even bending down to look underneath.

  A mouse maybe?

  “Hey, Mr. Mousey,” she said into the air, “You better not be sneaking in here messing with my baby at night. I’ll cut your cute little tail off.”

  Before leaving the room, Cristina looked at herself in the Minnie Mouse mirror she’d spent an hour connecting to the top of Anise’s dresser. Holding her hands to her side, she smiled with her eyes and stuck out the fullness of her chest. She ran her hands down the sweeping, streamlined curves of her body. Then she turned, stopping for just a moment to look over her shoulder at the intricate web of scars.

  Happy with what she saw, she headed back into the bathroom and took a shower.

  25

  Cristina heard the car door open, followed by the sound of tiny feet running toward the house.

  “Momma! We’re heeere!”

  “Chica!” Cristina said, opening the front door and stepping into the yard.

  At least two full steps away, Anise leaped forward, trusting fully that she would be caught. Cristina whirled around, swinging her daughter into the air.

  “Eeeeeeeeeee!” Anise squealed, settling onto her mom’s hip.

  “Oh my baby, I think you got even bigger than you already were!”

  Following behind was Cristina’s uncle, who held the door for her grandmother.

  Aba, as she was known to her grandchildren and great grandchildren, was not yet 70. But after six children, more than three decades working double-shifts in a cannery, and her current battle with cancer, she looked much older. Her small frame was hunched over from painful arthritis in her back. Her spine twisted to the right side. She constantly flexed her hands to prevent them from seizing up.

  Despite the pain, she rarely grimaced, and almost never complained.

  She’d lived a hard life. As a teenager, she journeyed alone to the U.S. from the dusty Mexican village she grew up in – a place so poor, she once told Cristina, that even the burros were without work.

  When Aba first arrived in the States, there had been much abuse. From men who wanted to make her do things, and from Americans who treated her like she was stupid and useless.

  She eventually married a mean-tempered borracho, a drunk from the same town as her. A man who was angry at the whole world. He died at fifty of a heart attack. But before leaving the earth, he beat his wife almost every day of their marriage.

  None of this adversity ever broke Aba. Instead of allowing what she’d faced over the years to defeat her, she was stubbornly proud of her ability to withstand hardship. Sometimes to a fault.

  Growing up in Aba’s house, Cristina had always b
een loved and taken care of, but there was little sympathy for the difficulties of life. Aba’s primary advice – be it for a skinned knee or a broken heart – was almost always the same. Some version of, “quit crying and do what you need to do, because the only two choices you have in life are to fight or to give up.”

  Tío Alberto was, in many ways, the complete opposite. He had the kindest heart Cristina had ever known. With no kids of his own – he’d never even had a girlfriend that Cristina could remember – his entire adult life had been spent living in the apartment next door to his mother.

  A deeply religious man, he awoke early, sometimes hours before dawn, to pray and meditate. For the past twenty years, he’d worked every day but Sunday mowing people’s lawns, cutting their trees, and putting up with their righteous pettiness and anger. All with a smile. And he’d never worked for anyone but himself, something he proudly reminded Cristina of many times. He built his business client by client. Job by job. Day by day. He was a man of honesty and integrity, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his family and his church.

  “Hi, Aba,” Cristina said, respectfully kissing her grandmother on the cheek.

  The older woman returned the gesture. She then held her granddaughter at arm’s length, examining her thoroughly. There was no smile, but her eyes held a sparkle of love.

  “Mija, you are a truly beautiful woman.”

  “Aww,” Cristina said, feeling herself blush.

  She turned to her uncle, who was still standing in the doorway holding Anise’s bags, along with a couple of extra ones that looked to be groceries. She kissed him on the cheek as well, albeit less formally. “Hi, Tío. How was the drive?”

  “Oh, very good, sweetie.” As always, his voice came out slow and thoughtful. “I brought you some stuff from the market. Wasn’t sure what you might need, so I had to guess a little.”

  “Thanks, Tío.” She took the shopping bags from his hands and gave him another kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to go put this stuff in the kitchen.”