Daryl's Lullaby (A Daryl Dixon Fanfic)

Chapter 3: LEANING INTO THE AFTERNOONS

DARYL'S LULLABY

A WALKING DEAD Fanfiction

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Chapter 3: LEANING INTO THE AFTERNOONS

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"Leaning into the afternoons I fling my sad nets

to that sea that beats on your marine eyes.

The birds of night peck at the first stars

that flash like my soul when I love you."

— Excerpt from Pablo Neruda's Leaning into the Afternoons

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Estella's father died one night of May in the year 1980.

They didn't have a telephone so the night Señor Perez's truck hit a road sign near a cliff, it was already afternoon of the next day when Señora Perez and Estella-with young Daryl linked to her by hand-rushed to the hospital to identify the body. Estella's mother went inside the dreaded room while she and the young boy waited in the silent hallway.

Estella was quiet, staring ahead with an unreadable expression on her face. Her mother had cried-was still crying, but if reading poetry had taught her something, it was that death was the most natural thing. It didn't make her numb, though. No. Losing her father was so painful but it made Estella accepted its inevitability. And for this, she didn't cry. Right now she just wanted to remember him, make an inventory of all of his memories and keep them in organized pigeon holes of recollections categorized from alegre to zonzo.

"Estella...it hurts."

Estella snapped out of her thoughts. She glanced at the young boy beside her. Daryl had glassy blue eyes with depth that couldn't have belonged to a six-year old. His brown hair had reached his neck once more and it wouldn't be long until Merle would make a huge fuss over it.

"Perdon, mi tesoro," Estella whispered endearingly after letting go of Daryl's hand. She had unconsciously gripped the boy too tightly in her attempt to grasp what her father had left behind.

The dark-eyed girl looked away from the boy and sighed. Whatever she was doing it did not entirely work. She could already feel herself giving in to the pain. What would they do from now on? What would she do? Her face might have contorted into grieve because the next thing she knew, young Daryl had slipped his hand back right under hers and said, "here. Ye can squeeze however tight ye want."

Estella had to smile despite herself. This boy. Daryl. This young angel had always been her salvation and this moment was no exception. She would survive-just like how young Daryl had been doing. She just needed to be strong just like him.

"I wish Señor Perez stayed longer until I learned how to ride a bike. Ye know, so we ain't gonna walk every time we visit him. But ye ain't gotta worry 'coz I'd be with ya."

Estella allowed herself a soft chuckle as she looked at the boy in awe. It was very charming: young Daryl had always spoken with a sense of ownership and responsibility. His voice was still squeaky and boyish but he was always serious. And at that time, he was acting more like an adult than her. Estella planned to be strong for her mother, what she didn't expect was young Daryl being strong for her.

Her father had grown fond of the kid however hard he had denied it. She had a conversation with him a few months back about Daryl, how the kid was robbing her of her youth. Her papi said she should be with friends, socializing, even falling in love but she couldn't because she was trapped with the boy constantly being dumped in their house. Estella had barked a playful "¡piérdete!"—get lost!—to him. And after a couple of days, Señor Perez brought home an old, small bike for Daryl. He said a co-worker's kid no longer wanted it and since it was old and already in a bad condition, Señor Perez was able to take it home for Daryl. Her father spent his afternoons before going to work at night teaching the young boy how to ride the bicycle. Estella was quite sure her papi did that not just to give Estella time to socialize (which she also was not able to do because it was fun watching them), it was apparent Señor Perez also wanted to spend time with the kid.