The Same Stars (#Wattys 2016)

Death Don't Us Part

Part Four

Una

"She had a heart too big for this world, giving others pieces of it that they didn't deserve."

"Eros's voice shattered the silence, and I could think of no better interruption to end this perfect moment. "Cate," He'd said the pet-name he'd assigned to me slowly, thoughtfully, as if savoring the taste of each letter on his tongue. Within a single breath, my full attention was on him, only him. It was always him, it seemed."

The two boys are totally enthralled by Lou's deep voice, rumbling with the throaty rasp of age. Miguel sits cross legged, leaning back on his fair-skinned arms, his fingers splayed on the carpet below him. His position is causal, but his ears are perked, his eyes set on Lou intently, every bit of him captivated by the tale. Though, his laser concentration was occasionally broken by David, who would glance at him periodically. Miguel would always return the look with a warm smile. I'd sometimes catch my son peeking at his friend, despite David never having initiated the intimate staring contest.

David himself sits on his legs, his feet tucked under him, his mismatched zebra stripe and dinosaur patterned socks a burst in color in the otherwise dull living room. He also seems to eat up every word of the myth, a story that had burrowed in my own heart about seventeen years ago. Gods, seventeen. I was twenty at the time, having known Juno for two years previously.

A lot had happened before I'd met my wife.

I was raised by an abrasive mother and violent father, both constantly locked in conflict, taken from my homeland of Barbados at the age of ten to spend the majority of my years in America. Growing up with immigrant parents, raised in Austin, Texas - it wouldn't be the upbringing of choice for someone, simply put, as gay as I am. My love was a sin, even though I'd seen the ugly face of hatred and knew nothing could be worse. This evil reared its head once more when my parents bitterly split, living in separate houses but too poor and impatient to afford divorce, my father picking up some southern belle who was far too young and far too attractive to be anywhere near his arms. It wasn't as if we were rich, either. At fourteen, I'd wondered why she even bothered with this old man and his baggage.

I'd soon learned that it wasn't out of the kindness of her heart.

Amara was desperate for a man to take care of her, having chased away her previous fiancé, who had ended up in jail at just twenty-three. Bipolar and completely dirt poor, she could find no better husband material than my five-foot-five-barely-english-speaking father, who was missing teeth in six places and recently divorced. He made enough to buy her shoes, and she made dinner every night, in an absolutely miserable deal that had nothing to do with love. I couldn't feel bad for either of the two bound in this gods-awful pact, having gotten all of the backlash of their bitterness throughout my childhood.

My one safe haven was my school, which wasn't exactly a wholesome place. In a big city like Austin, the public schools were filled with druggies and bullies and all the 'ies' your parents tell their kids to avoid.

However, I didn't have good parents.

So, I didn't avoid them.

To put this as lightly as possible, I fell in love with a girl who was about as clean as the dirt under her fingernails. She was older, and she had money - being the self-proclaimed drug dealer of the school, she could stand on her own two feet. When I was sixteen she'd already graduated, and with neither of us having a better plan, she bought us a studio apartment that was about as low quality as they come.