roberto & nia

14. nia+robert

when robert rolls onto garden street, the night has reached the height of its darkness. the street lamps are hazy and dim above him. he parks his car at the beginning of the street and walks blindly down the road, his steps crooked, zigzagging past trashcans and mailboxes and strays animals prowling on the sidewalk. he feels drunk, and strange. his mother never had alcohol in the house for fear of his teenage exploration — beber es un pecado. ¿quieres ir al infierno?

he trips on his own feet after a few steps, connecting knees first with the pavement. pain holds him in place for a while, readjusts his vision. with his right hand he feels first around his face—wet and bumpy around the jaw. blood and a bruise. he breathes hard through his mouth, then inhaling the cool, sharp night air. he can't move — his limbs feel stiff and leaden. robert could feel himself practically melting into the grass, a puddle of a boy, with his cellphone floating on top of him. 

"roberto! ay, Dios—¿què estàs haciendo en la calle? Jesus Cristo –levàntate, mijo, rapidó! ¡ven acà!" 

harsh yellow light points directly into robert's face. it takes a moment for his brain to register the words: levàntate. get up.

robert doesn't know how he moves from the ground to the linen couch of his father's home. he paces the room, cutting sharp glances at him. robert fights to stay present, to keep his head from floating away. 

a woman sits in a rocking chair nearby. she splits her time between looking at robert's father, and then at robert, offering him a tight smile. when robert squints she doesn't look like a real woman. her features jumble into a blur. when he widens them, blinks, he is confronted with a stranger staring at him with a strange familiarity. 

"¿estàs luchando con tu mamà, sí?" he asks, continuing his pace. robert nods numbly.

"and she — ¿ella te mandó aquí? she sent you to me?"

"yes," he lies. "she said i should go see the man who made me like this." 

robert's father narrows his eyes into silvers, as if to crack him open with his gaze. 

"is that really what she said?"

"yes," robert says, swallowing thickly.

his father clucks his tongue.

"mentiroso."

robert feels his heart sink to his feet.

"constanza," he continues, turning to address the woman, "please, help me get a towel and bandages for the boy's face. bring ice, too."

constanza peers at his father quizzically, before nodding and leaving the room. 

"who is she?" robert asks bluntly. 

his father tightens his jaw and looks away. "mi novia. we've been together for three years now." 

robert nods. "cool. do you like her better than mamá?" 

"cállate, mijo," he chastises him roughly. "you'll sleep outside if you're not careful."

something reckless flickered quietly in robert, but he dampens it. it's cold outside, and his body feels so heavy. 

"¿què pasó, mijo?" his father questions uncomfortably. "your face...you're not — you're not in the streets, are yoy, mijo?" 

"no, papà," he answers quickly. "it's just a small school fight. i was in a fight, that's all."

"with who?" 

robert stiffens his back. "just someone from school." 

his father nods. "stay out of the streets, mijo. i know that, being a man, the temptation is strong, but — stay away. stay inside, if you have to. there's nothing for you there."

robert takes the advice he doesn't need from his father with a girlfriend of three years. he smiles with all his teeth like it means something to him, like a strange, passive clown-boy, until his father covers his face with his hands curses under his breath, and leaves.

• • • 

"ow. ow, can you please stop, just for a second? it — it hurts." 

constanza frowns deeply, her eyebrows bridging above her honey brown eyes. they're lighter than his mother's, almost as a light as his, twice as light as nia's. 

robert doesn't know why he remembers this, but he does. the thought lingers in the back go his mind. 

"where, cariño? where does it hurt?" 

everywhere, robert thinks. in my heart. in my brain. i am filled only with pain. 

"my mouth. it hurts around my mouth," he answers. 

constanza smiles and presses ice to his jaw. "mejor?" 

"yeah. better," he tells her. better to feel nothing at all. the ice makes his whole face feel numb. 

"geraldo says you got into a fight, sí?" she questions, washing her hands in the sink. robert sits idly on the toilet seat behind her. there's a photograph of her and a little girl, and his father, all smiling, shining in the photographed sun. the girl looks at him curiously with her eyes the same color as his. robert blinks and turns away when she begins to jump out from the frame.

"it wasn't so bad. i just bleed easily," he tells her. lying was easy when he couldn't feel anything at all. 

"can i ask why?" she continues. "you don't look like a fighter, roberto." 

"robert," he corrects. it comes out of him like a painful reflex. like a hand squeezing words out of his throat.

"robert. lo siento," she amends. "why were you fighting, robert?" 

"well, i was fighting for my friend," he begins to tell her. "his girlfriend—she treats him badly, sometimes. really, really bad. i think he doesn't realize, but i think she – she knows it. and today — she wanted to do something very bad to him. something awful. he would've been killed if she went through with it. i couldn't just stand there and watch my friend die, could i?" he asks. constanza shakes her head firmly. his voice wavers, before he clears it. 

"she – his girlfriend says she loves him, but then she does all this stuff — she lies to him and hits him, then she kisses him — my friend was so confused! and — he couldn't fight back because, you're not supposed to hurt people you love, right? and she kept saying that she loved him," he trails off weakly. "she said she loved him."

constanza stares at him worriedly, her gaze dripping with silent sympathy. robert can see the argument flash through her eyes—there was no reason for her to believe him. it was lie too real to be untrue. but she doesn't pry him open – she just pats his shoulder and squeezes it tightly. robert can't help but stiffen in her grip, and she releases him quickly.

"you're a good boy, robert. you're a very very good man," she tells him. she collects the tools she has used to clean his wounds swiftly, as if she was in a hurry to go. 

"thank you," robert says quietly. "for my face. I appreciate it." constanza shakes her head again, turning off the lights.

"sleep — sleep in this room, over here," she calls, pointing to the space beside the bathroom. 

robert hesitates. "but papà said—" 

"your father is high and confused, mijo, he doesn't know what he's talking about, sending his only son to sleep on the couch like some sort of stranger," she snaps. "duerme aquí, roberto. please." 

robert waits for constanza to leave the hallway before he trudges to the bedroom. when he settles down on the bed, his entire life's weight seems to sink with him into the mattress. and even still: he's afraid to sleep. he's afraid of what his mind would conjure when he couldn't numb it with ice and lies. afraid, afraid, afraid, afraid. fear wraps his arms around him and pushes him through the mattress. he'll wake up underneath the bed.