chapter three
isabel martinéz
It's summer in Mexico, and the scorching sun beats down on my bare shoulders, moments before the sudden cloudburst cools down the earth. Tiny droplets of rain almost evaporate as soon as hitting the asphalt, an indication of just how hot it is today. Mexico is not for the weak, is what my abuelo would have said.
The rain provides a momentary relief from the relentless heat, but my breath still trembles as I stand there once again. Autódromo Hermanos Rodríquez, home of the Mexican Grand Prix.
Dahlias bloom alongside the entrance, the salmon-pink petals adding some colour to this colourless day. Somewhere in the distance, the sounds of a Mariachi band playing traditional songs fill the air, and my father hums along. I know it should make me happy, but returning here feels like stepping into world haunted by painful memories, a world I tried so hard to avoid, a world that was once my childhood.
This place used to bring me happiness. I used to love coming here, it was my second—my third home. But memories of my brother are woven into every inch of the track, encapsulated in every turn and every straight. It's sad to think that a place that used to drill happiness into my very soul, now holds such bad memories.
My mother's hand is on my shoulder, and she squeezes it a little, telling me all is going to be fine. We have a rocky relationship at times, but she means well.
"You can do this, mijita."
"I don't know, mom."
"Sweetheart," The sound of melancholy echoes within her voice, "this is going to be difficult for all of us, but remember what we are doing it for, who we are doing it for."
I hate it when she pulls the Diego card.
So I sigh. "I know, I know."
She squeezes it another time, before she lets go again. "Hay que imponer nuestra voluntad a nuestras debilidades, we need to impose our will over our weaknesses."
I take a deep breath, and acknowledge that she is right, because mothers are always right. I need to overcome my fears, but those fears have become such a part of me, that I'm afraid to let them go. What will happen when I don't think about him every second of the day? Will I forget what he looks like? Sounds like? Talks like? Will I forget his smile? The sparkle in his eyes? The way his face lights up when he laughs?
I refuse to forget him, so I hold onto those fears like they are my most cherished possession.
"Okay." I force myself to say.
My eyes trace the curves of the track, each twist and turn holds a reminiscence of the thrill and danger that took Diego away from us. Images of the crash come flooding back like waves, threatening to drown me in sorrow. The screeching tires, the shockwave passing through the crowd, and then the silence. The silence that followed my brother's passing still echoes in my mind with haunting clarity.
"Is Felipe almost here?" My father asks, his voice snapping me out of my thoughts. It doesn't really seem like he has any qualms about being here, unlike my mother and I.
I shrug my shoulders and think about my boyfriend. "I'll text him our seats later."
My father doesn't really like Felipe, because he is arrogant and full of himself, and to be honest, I have been trying to find the right moment to break up with him. But that moment remains to exist somewhere in the future.
"Or," I continue as I shove my phone back into the pockets of my shorts, "I'll just pretend to have forgotten to text him."
"That's my girl." Dad grins widely as he pats my back, and my mother rolls her eyes at us.
Standing before the grandstands, I find myself torn between wanting to honour my brother's memory and the overwhelming fear that engulfs me. I know attending this race is something I must do. It's a chance to commemorate his love for speed and his passion for racing. It's a moment to celebrate his indomitable spirit and cherish the memories we shared.
With trepidation gripping my every step, I slowly make my way towards my seat, between both of my parents. As I settle into my spot, surrounded by hundreds of passionate racing fans, I feel a sense of solace in their collective energy; a reminder that I can do this.
But throughout the race, emotions ebb and flow like a turbulent river. Moments of excitement intermingle with moments of grief, with each roaring engine passing by. As each lap unfolds on the winding circuit below, a simultaneous battle rages within me—one between sorrow and resilience. This battle makes the somber air heavy with grief and longing, each passing minute reminds me that this sport took my brother from us. It weighs me down. I cannot be here any longer.
"Excuse me," I tell my parents as I stand up, and my lips turn into a wistful smile.
Tears form in my eyes. I'm sure they will understand, but I can't help but feel an insane amount of guilt. My parents must wish they had a normal daughter, but the one child they have left happens to be the one with issues. Ugh, if it weren't for those nightmares.
—
When I am outside, the rain embraces me like a warm hug as it kisses my cheeks; a few tears dance with them. I close my eyes, and start to think about my brother. But then, in the midst of my reverie, I feel the touch of a hand warm up my bare shoulders, and it brings goosebumps to my skin.
"Isabel,"
An all too familiar voice breaks through the silence, shattering the wall of solitude I have built around myself. As this voice reaches my ears, memories of shared laughter and camaraderie rush back, mingling with the sorrow that marks the past year.
Is it really him?
"Charles?"
This is not how I had imagined our great reunion to be: on the verge of tears, at the place where my brother died. Charles is my childhood best friend, or...was. I don't really know what we are at the moment, because we haven't spoken to each other ever since the funeral.
We used to be inseparable, you know, whatever life would throw at us did not matter because we had each other. He knew me better than I knew myself. When I suffered from a serious stomach infection, he drove me to the hospital in the middle of the night. I was there when he won his first award in go-karting, and he cried on my shoulders when his father died. Charles used to be the most important person in my life, and to him, I was too.
That was until the crash. Our friendship faded ever so quickly, all those beautiful memories were flushed down the drain, as if it meant nothing. It breaks my heart thinking about it.
Turning to face him, I am met with a sight that both comforts and unsettles me. Our eyes meet again, and in that fleeting moment, a whirlwind of emotions course through me. There is guilt for having distanced myself from my best friend, for allowing grief to isolate me. There is sadness, aching and profound, for the time lost and the bond strained. But there is also a glimmer of hope, a tiny spark that whispers of the possibility of rekindling what we have lost. That same spark I can see within his brown eyes.
They glisten under the small amount of sunlight peeking through a curtain of clouds, carrying the same depth of familiarity and generosity that has always drawn me in. And they welcome me home. It is this moment that makes me realise how much I have missed him in my life. All I want to do is wrap my arms around him.
So I do.
His stiff racing suit is somewhat in the way, but I manage to hold him tight. He does the same, and I feel his lashes rub softly against my cheek as he blinks a couple of times, which kind of tickles. Charles has long lashes, one of the many things I have always admired about him, complimenting his eyes so well.
"Long time no see, Belly." he whispers, holding me even closer than he did before.
We stand in the aftermath of the heavy rain, our arms wrapped around each other like there is no one watching, protecting each other from all the pain that is the world around us. I try to breathe along with him, because his breathing is stable and calm. Something I am not.
A lone tear—one that I have fought so hard to hold back, makes its way out and slides down my cheek. I have always thought that seeing Charles again would be easy, and for but a fraction of a second, it feels like we have never been apart. But the thought of what could've been hurts too much, and I am taken back to reality.
We both take a step back, and I realise what I have just done.
"I am so sorry, I shouldn't have—"
"No, it's fine. I'm also—" he stutters.
There is an awkward atmosphere in the air, one in which we pretend to be strangers, pretending to not have a thousand words to say to each other, when we so obviously do. But they remain unspoken.
"So, what are you doing here? Don't you have a race to...race?" I quaver as I put up a weak smile.
He scratches the back of his neck. "Engine failure, so I had to retire."
"Damn."
"Yeah. Didn't you see?"
"Eh, no. I left a couple of minutes ago."
"Ah, and then you bumped into me." Charles squints his eyes as he smiles, and he looks so lovely when does so.
"Correct." I chuckle.
As he smiles, those dimples etched delicately beside his lips reappear, invoking a cascade of memories that flood back with a rush. Guilt droops over me, it almost seems to reside within the raindrops landing on my cheeks. Charles is so goodhearted, and so pure; he does not deserve any of the things I put him through.
I take another deep breath, and think about our last conversation. I should've fought for our friendship. Charles meant the world to me, and one doesn't just let their world go like that. But I did.
He looks at—no, studies me.
"I've missed you, Belly."
His words are powerful, having the power to heal things between us, very much unlike mine, that are the cause of things needing to heal.
"I've missed you too." I mumble.
With that simple gesture, the weight on both of our shoulders lifts, leaving behind the hope of reconciliation. The thick barrier of clouds makes way for the sunlight again, casting a warm glow over the wet streets. I feel a sense of vulnerability as Charles offers a hesitant smile.
"Truce?" he asks, extending a hand.
I chuckle, reaching out to shake it. "Truce."
The last few raindrops land on our shoulders, and on the top of our heads. A few of them cling onto Charles' brown locks, eventually falling to the ground beneath us. Charles holds my hand a little bit longer than I expected him to, gently caressing it with his thumb, before letting go.
"Wanna come along to the paddock? Maybe we can catch up a little." He rakes his hands through his hair, and points to the commotion behind him. There is hope in his eyes, making it nearly impossible to refuse his offer.
But I still hesitate.
My first instinct is to say no, because it's way out of my comfort zone, but maybe this is good for me. Besides, who knows what I would miss?
So I say, "Sure. I would like that."