Breathe

Ch 3: Jose

Jose wasn't what I expected. The arrogant, chunky Hispanic snob I thought I was meeting actually was a handsome, tall, athletic guy that kept a friendly grin on since I arrived off the plane.

He walked up to the bottom of the plane stairs where I stood, and embraced me in a full bear hug.

"I’ve been waiting 17 years to do this." He whispered as he broke into sobs.

I froze in his sturdy arms. Even though I never seen this man in my life, I knew it was him perched beside a black stretch limo. I saw myself in his face. I looked almost identical to him. Besides the pale skin. We had the same grey eyes, and natural dark brown hair that I hated. A stranger would think I'm his youngest ugly sister. Mom told me he was 45, though he looked like he was in his early 30s.

I embraced the stranger back and wept in the sturdy shoulder.

It’s funny how you can hate someone you've never met, but as soon as they embrace you-as if you've known them your whole life-all the hate and demise you've felt for this person is completely wiped away with relief. Relief that they actually love you. For years I pictured what it was like to actually leap into my father’s arms. Or run to him for comfort or protection. Mom’s bad taste in men always denied that craving. I judged this man before I even met him. His readiness to love me as if I've been around his whole life gave me a feeling I haven't felt in months.

Alive.

Ever since the accident my family has done nothing but yell at me, scream, accuse me of hurting our family name-again. But Jose knew everything. Well not everything. Millions of details were securely stored away in my head. Away from the police, the news, and definitely away from mom.  He knew just enough to hate me and not want my emptiness around him. He's the only one that wants to help me. If I knew this before, I would have come running from Allendale to his warm arms a long time ago. With Tyler.

He finally sat me gently to my feet.

"I'm sorry." His country accent laughed while he wiped his tears with the back of his tan hands.

"I just-I really dreaded not being there for you." His grey eyes reflected guilt, as if he blamed himself for everything that's happened. I just stared at him and wiped the tears welling in my eyes before they crashed down my cheeks.

__

"Your mom warned me that you don't talk much anymore." His uneasy voice broke the silent car ride. "Well-never actually."

I simply nodded while I stared out the dark tinted window, deep in thought.

I wondered how he and mom even met. These people-from two different races and two completely different backgrounds-came together and made me.

What I heard from Aunt Cathy when I was 12, I came from a summer fling.

Jose was climbing the cooperate ladder, when one day his associate friends decided to celebrate his achievements by hiring strippers.

Yep, mom used to be a stripper. She was only 18. Paying her way through college when Jose came along. She instantly took liking to him. And now that I've met him, I couldn't blame her.

There were so many unanswered questions left in the empty space between us. He probably wanted to know why I tried to commit. I wanted to know if he was the one that introduced my mother to heroin.

I have a strange feeling that we'd both never know each other’s answer.

Landscapes changed dramatically the farther we drove from the airport. It seemed the farther we went the larger the estates become. Some ranged from just huge houses to mansions the size of malls.

After about 30 minutes of driving, we pulled into a circular cobblestone driveway.

I softly gasped at the first sight of the gigantic mansion. The huge house was pebbled brown with an enormous glass doorway entrance made for giants. Its roofs was arched and pointed like old church buildings.

It was beautiful.

My eyes widened at Jose's grinning face.

"I'm glad you like it." He chuckled. "I wanted something that reminded me of the grand churches in Brazil."

 "Took 5 years to make."  He admitted proudly.

The driver stepped out and opened our door.

Jose motioned his hand for me to leave the limo first. "I'll have my servants get your bags."

Servants?

Stepping out of the limo, I quickly shook my head in protest.

I don't like people touching my stuff. I wanted to explain to him as he looked at me with suspicion. No matter how relieved I felt to know he's not as bad as Aunt Cathy described him when I was younger, I still couldn't muster up the courage to speak, afraid that I'll say something he wouldn’t want to hear..

"Okay then," He shrugged, "Hurry up though, your sister is waiting for you."

Sister?