August 2014
Erica
I followed my grocery list rigorously. I walked thru the aisles, humming the old songs that played from the speakers. This was my relaxation time, after going to school, and just before getting to work. Not my actual job, but a side one. I had to make a big order of empanadas and hojarascas.
Besides, Memo would be coming over. Usually, when we had the day off, Memo would cook for both of us at his house every Friday. But today, I wanted to get an early start on the order I had for the following night.
As soon as I arrived home, I put on my baking apron, and my thick hair up in a high ponytail. I started cooking white rice, which would go together with some chicken chipotle. Something simple, but delicious, to be able to follow thru with the desserts.
Memo arrived carrying a couple of bottled sodas, sitting on a stool in the kitchen island. His hair was still wet, combed to the side, for he had taken himself to the gym and showered before coming in. He wore a grey anti drip shirt and a pair of black basketball shorts and tennis shoes.
His small eyes smiled as he saw me trying to do everything at once.
I was making a lot of noise, taking out the pots and pans that I stored in the oven.
"Mother said hi. Father is getting late from work and Amanda is out with a friend, so my house would be more peaceful than yours for once." Memo remarked.
"Invite her over. I can make enough food for all of us." I answered, while I stirred the chicken around the pan.
I appreciated Mrs. Lucia. She had always been nice and welcoming to me. I didn't want her to think I was avoiding her today. Even if we knew each other for years, the concept of a regular and healthy family was still new for me.
"I think she said she was going to enjoy her freedom today. What a way to tell me she can't wait for me to get out of the house." Memo buffed out.
I chuckled at his comment.
A few minutes later, I pulled out a griddle to heat up some tortillas. I preheated the oven and turned off the stove.
I made a plate for Memo, who happily started eating. Whenever I began a task, I didn't like to get off track, until I finished it. Memo knew that, so he ate his food without remorse.
"I don't think so." I added. "When Tommy left to New York she didn't take it so easy. I can't imagine how she would feel when her baby boy leaves the nest."
I got all the ingredients for the desserts ready.
I had started to bake since I was in high school, following recipes I found on the internet to the dot, to earn extra money.
I first sold the empanadas to Regina's mother, Mrs. Julia, who would sell them in her taqueria.
I had so much demand that some customers would order in big quantities, for parties or special occasions. Mrs. Guadalupe, Perla's mother, had also been responsible for spreading the word to the people she knew, so I had plenty of extra work.
I couldn't always make the orders. It depended on my classes or my actual job as a nurse to be able to see if I could squeeze some time to do them. But as soon as I had a window, I would take advantage to get stuck in the kitchen.
This time, I was in charge of making two hundred pumpkin empanadas and five hundred hojarascas for a quinceañera.
Memo snorted. "Yes, but that was because he left far away." He spoke in mouthfuls. "She's going to be able to see me whenever she wants. I'm not planning on leaving the city. At least not for a little while."
A bit later, he picked up his plate, washing it in the sink. He gave me a peck on the cheek.
I was used to seeing him stuff himself quickly. It reminded me of my brother.
"Thank you for the meal. Everything was delicious! So, what can I help you with?" He asked as he dried his hands.
I set my mouth to the side, thinking of any task to keep him occupied, but I couldn't think of one at the moment. "Right now, just keep me company. I'll make you clean in a few."
Memo nodded, returning to his seat.
"So, have you called your brother?" I asked, while I left the dough to rest in the fridge.
Memo's eyebrows expressed doubt. "No. Why?"
"Isn't today his birthday?" I did a quick peek at the calendar on the side of the fridge.
Memo's eyes opened widely, realizing I was right. He would have to call him later.
"He's probably busy right now. I'll just send him a text." He decided out loud.
"We can probably celebrate with him as he travels down south. Maybe in Houston." I suggested.
Tomas had invited us to the concert he had in the city for his tour. I was off that day, but Memo still had to wait for his schedule to decide for him.
Memo shrugged. He had a good relationship with his older brother, but lately it only consisted of sending each other funny messages or images. Not much talking was involved.
My relationship with my brother-in-law was friendly enough. He minded his own business and never bothered us, or anyone for that matter. But something bothered the back of my head since the day of Emma's graduation.
Memo realized I had stopped preparing the area where I would spread the dough. I had my big brown eyes on him, not on purpose, but more as in I had zoned out, kind of way.
"What?" He asked confused.
"Nothing. I was just thinking how he's been lately. I think he has a thing for Emma." I shared.
Memo shook his head. "No. I don't think so. She's our friend. Why would he have a 'thing' for her?" He dismissed me.
"Well, there's what Isaiah told us, and the gift he got her. Asking to record her so he wouldn't miss the graduation? I don't know. Have you seen him care for anything else besides music?" I questioned him. I knew it was not all in my head, I just needed some reassurance.
"He could just be hanging out. I don't think he has many friends up there. And so, what? He got her a gift."
"A Tiffany bracelet! It is a super thoughtful gift!" I exclaimed, defensively.
"He has money now." He answered, nonchalantly.
"I saw your face. I saw you. When Isaiah mentioned that he came over more often because of Emma, you noticed it, too!"
"Look, I know. Yes, it's weird for him to reach out. But what good does it do to him? And besides, he shouldn't even go there. She was with Omar. That's off limits." Memo retorted.
"Why? Is Omar keeping to himself to come back to Emma? It's been four years. He should have been here already if he wanted to."
"It's the principle, babe." Memo sighed.
I could notice this was the last thing he wanted to talk about, but I couldn't keep quiet. My words vomited out of my mouth.
"And that principle didn't stop Omar when Tommy and Emma first broke up." I set my hands on the counter.
"Erica, what is going on? Why are you so hard on defending this?" He raised an eyebrow, worried.
This conversation felt out of the ordinary coming from me, and he was starting to realize I wasn't backing up his brother but attacking mine.
I sighed deeply. I arranged my thoughts for a minute before expressing them. "I guess it's just that. He should have been back already. He's not, and he hasn't communicated at all. Like that's something new. We need to move on. We all need to move on."
Memo sighed, too. I knew he hated to argue with me. He hated conflict altogether. Besides, talking about my brother was always a touchy subject.
I continued doing my work, pulling out the dough. "I'm sorry." I exhaled. "I didn't mean to put you on a tight spot." I admitted.
I started separating the dough in tiny drops.
"You are right. I don't want Tommy to get in a mess that can affect us all. I know how determined he can be." Memo admitted, too.
"Even if he does, I don't want to be a problem. I'm just manifesting peace." I continued, placing the drops into a large baking sheet.
"Nothing's going to happen, anyway. We can never seem to be in sync to be all together. And when we do, he's always busy."
The beeping noise of the oven made me do a little jump. "Yeah, you are probably right." I agreed to not push the subject even farther.
I continued doing the same cycle, until all five hundred of the hojarascas had been baked.
Memo pulled out his phone, texting his brother. He typed a short message wishing him the best. I knew he wanted to be right about what he had said to me, but, just as he had told me too, he knew how determined Tommy could be. He was decisive. If he liked something, he didn't stop until he got it.
I just hoped that whatever was going on in his head was not what I dreaded.
Emma
James and I were walking side to side, dressed in comfortable clothes, late at night right after our last class that calm Friday. He was taking me to my car, while I checked I had a couple of missed calls from my mom on my cellphone. I decided to call her right back.
"Bueno." My mom's voice was soft and quiet.
I greeted her and asked how she and my dad were doing.
I stopped walking when my mom informed me that my dad had suffered an accident. She assured me it was nothing serious. He had fallen from the top of a ladder while he fixed a roof. He had only broken his right arm, and had been sent to the hospital, where he had been discharged from a couple of hours ago.
Listening to how my dad had been in the hospital made me queasy. It brought back memories that I'd rather not remember. I thought I would lose him back then. And while he was in no danger at all, I decided I had to see him, personally, to take that weight from my chest.
James offered to drive me to Corpus Christi. I felt it was too soon for him to meet my parents. We had only been officially together for a couple of weeks, but I honestly didn't have the concentration, or nerves, to drive by myself, so I accepted.
On the drive, he reassured me kindly, touching my left knee when it started shaking. Even if I had seen my parents a couple of months ago during graduation day, I hadn't traveled to Corpus Christi for almost four years.
I missed what I considered my hometown, but with the smell of the ocean the memories of Omar came back, too. I had avoided it for too long, for that reason. At the same time, as we passed over the harbor bridge, with its colorful changing lights reflecting in the dark water, his face didn't pop up in my mind.
Instead, I remembered Tomas, insisting that we should have visited the city together, since we had been away from it for too long. It would have been nice for him to accompany me, to calm me down with his aura. To meet with my parents, who had some affection towards him and my friends. To spend his birthday with his family who, I was sure, missed him.
I had meant to write him earlier, but when I had the time, James was glued to my side.
As we arrived home, my worries ceased. I held my mother tightly, and saw my dad passed out on his armchair, a cast on his arm, with a bowl of popcorn under his other one, probably drugged up on pain medicine.
I then tensed up as my dumbass remembered that James might not approve of my parents. I was so immersed in what had happened to my dad that I completely forgot about his stance on how we had gotten to the country.
I introduced James to my mom, after I took in a deep swallow. My mom tried to communicate with a bit of difficulty, due to the language barrier. James was surprisingly patient with her, and she was giving it her all, trying to conjugate her verbs correctly. Seeing her trying made me smile warmly. She had come a long way into adapting without an education.
Because of the chuckles and voices going back and forth, my dad woke up. He greeted me and went up to James, handing him his good hand for him to shake it.
"You must be James. Emma has talked to us about you." My dad said clearly, being him who had more practice with the language.
I saw my dad taking James outside, to the back porch, asking him about law school.
I was glad they could talk comfortably. I was uneasy at first, when I remembered some of the comments James had made about immigrants and such on one of our study sessions.
He was taking Immigration Law, an elective for graduation. He was not for it, and I had to explain to him that I had been one of the many immigrants that had been helped through those laws.
He had dismissed the conversation, asking me to debate the topic later, but now I was afraid that he would judge my parents. They were out of my earshot, and I couldn't defend my father, if needed.
As my mom finished cleaning the kitchen, I joined her. I took a look around the house. Time had passed, but everything seemed to stay the same, left where I had last seen it.
I took a tour to my old yellow room, where everything was intact. My white furniture, my pictures, the clothes that I hadn't taken to Houston. It was as if to travel to the past.
I had many pictures with my friends on the cork board next to my bed. I took down the ones I had with Omar and saved them on one of the bottom drawers, but the rest, I collected and took them with me to my bed.
I hadn't realized how much I missed my old friends that I hadn't seen in a while.
Perla, Regina, Jose.
I remembered I had a box with more pictures under my bed and I took it out, reminiscing old times.
I couldn't avoid Omar altogether, in the end, he had been a part of our group of friends, too.
I saw Erica's small face over and over, and I wondered if she had been left devastated throughout the years, just as I had struggled with mine, by Omar's sudden departure.
After all, he had been her only family. I remembered crying with her that one day, months after he left. But then, I left, too, and I never asked for him again.
I could finally say I was completely over him now. He had made his choices, and we girls had to move on, forcefully.
I kept flipping through the hundreds of pictures. Graduation, Christmas, sleepovers, quinceañeras.
When I got to the older ones, I couldn't stop chuckling. I stared at the one where we had traveled to the marine reserve.
I found many pictures with Tomas, when we had been boyfriend and girlfriend, our faces plump and full of zits. I decided to take pictures of them with my phone and send them to him. He had to see them, too.
After finding the perfect ones, I started typing away.
Happy birthday Rocker boy! I wrote. Sorry if this gets to you late...it's a long story, which I will catch you up on soon :S This is your yearly reminder that you are getting old, sent with attachments as proof. I'll see you next week to celebrate! Love ya ;)
March 2004
My mom had picked me up late from school. That was unusual to happen since I always took the bus home, but that afternoon my mom had an appointment with Luna's school counselor.
They were trying to prepare her to graduate high school the following year, as she turned sixteen years old. That they were proud was an understatement. They couldn't speak of anything that was not their older daughter.
Regardless, I was used to living under my sister's shadow. If I had a person who could guarantee me success for the rest of her life, I would probably bet all my chips on her, too.
On our drive home, while I tried to ignore how much my mom beamed about my sister, who needless to say, was uninterested also, I saw thru my window a boy I thought I recognized.
"Mom, stop! That's my friend!" I exclaimed.
Omar carried his backpack and lunchbox at the edge of the road. There was no sidewalk, so he stepped on the edge of the grass with his right foot. He was sweating and burning from the tormenting spring sun.
"Hi! Can we take you home?" I asked him thru my now lowered window. "Get in!"
He shook his head and kept on walking. I knew how hardheaded he was, so I decided to one up him. I got off the car, reaching him.
"Let's go. It's okay, really. I won't tell anyone about it, I promise."
"I'm not going home." He said, dryly, cutting me short, like he always did.
"We'll drop you off wherever you want. We have a/c." I offered, trying to convince him.
My mom and sister saw us from the front window.
"You are not going to leave me alone, are you?" He asked, tiredly.
"No. Let's go!" I pulled his arm, dragging him along.
Omar greeted my family, introducing himself while he put on his seatbelt.
"Where to, Omar?" Asked him my mom.
Omar gave her the address of a taqueria that was a few blocks away from us.
"We have no problem taking you to your house. Doesn't matter how far it is." My mom assured him.
I saw Omar's realization of where I had gotten my pushy attitude from.
He decided it was easier to just answer. "My father is there. I was going to meet him." He said after he had swallowed hard.
I wanted to believe him, but his body language told me he was lying. Still, I didn't say anything to him at the moment.
I had noticed his sister, Erica, had used the bus today, just as they did every weekday. But on Fridays, he would stay a bit longer in school to do his homework, sometimes accompanied by our friend, Isaiah.
I suspected of him from a time now, but I knew he wouldn't share anything with me.
So, the following week, I asked my parents to have dinner at the taqueria where we had dropped him off. I looked around the place, but I couldn't find him.
As we walked out to the parking lot, I saw him, wearing an apron, throwing away some folded carton boxes in the massive trash containers. He saw me too, but turned quickly, trying to ignore he had been seen.
In school, he avoided me as much as he could, going out of his way and ignoring me when I would get close to him. On the third day, on library hour, he couldn't escape anymore.
"If you don't talk to me I will scream!" I threatened him.
"No, you won't!" He said, gritting his teeth.
"Fine. You are right. But why won't you speak to me? You know I won't say anything. Why can't you trust me?" I asked, frowning.
"Because it is none of your business." He stood straight, returning the frown.
"You are my friend. It is my business!" I stated.
He knew I was right. I had not said anything about his job at the restaurant to anyone. He also knew that I wouldn't leave him alone until he told me the truth. That's how persistent I was.
"Okay. But not here." Said Omar after a long silence.
I smiled, feeling accomplished.
We decided to meet at my house, outside on the porch. My dad had made the screened porch for my mom. She had filled it with comfortable chairs, flowers, and Talavera pottery and decorations. She usually came out to enjoy her coffee and hear the radio while she crocheted.
My mom made us lemonade, happy to have visitors, at least for me. I noticed her raising her eyebrows at me, noticing that my friend was the same kid she had picked up a few days ago. I shook my head to her, dismissing any crazy thought she would have about him, or us. She left us in privacy, and I sighed relieved.
"What do you want me to tell you?" Omar asked me after he heard the door close, not knowing where to start.
It wasn't as if he was convinced to be in this position in the first place. Even if he trusted me, he was afraid he would confess something that was too much for me, and that I couldn't keep quiet. So, he would try to not give out too many details. I wasn't going to make it easy for him, though.
"Where is your mother?" I asked him without beating around the bush.
Omar sighed. He connected each finger of each hand, looking down at them. "I don't know. In Monterrey, I think."
"That's where you and Erica are from, right?" I continued.
Omar nodded.
"What about your dad?" I pushed.
"I don't know. In a bar? In a crack house?" He shook his head.
My eyes started filling up with tears as I heard his last sentence. I swallowed. I couldn't let my feelings interfere with my curiosity. "Do you have anyone taking care of y'all?" My voice cracked at the end.
"We can take care of ourselves. We haven't needed nobody since she dropped us off here." He buffed out.
Instinctively, I took his hand. He saw my face and quickly turned around, blushing right after.
"I don't need your pity." He barked.
"I'm sorry. It's just—
"And if you say anything you'll only make them take us away from each other. You'll have that in your conscience." He stated firmly.
"I won't say anything. I promise. And if there is any way that I can—
"We're okay. Thank you." He interrupted me, serious. The thank you had not been of appreciation but a period to the sentence.
"It's okay to need help sometimes. We all need it. And I don't pity you. I'm surprised. I would have never imagined all that you are going through. You hide it very well." I declared.
Omar sat straight. His face showed surprise, but then he smirked with pride.
I guessed he didn't think I would understand. But my silence wasn't judging, it was inviting. He looked down at our hands, which were still holding each other.
"Does anyone else know about your situation?" I asked after a while, taking him out of his trance.
"Only you and Isaiah. He...he's a good friend." He confessed.
"Our friends are. I know if they knew about you, they wouldn't judge you. On the contrary." I continued.
"Nobody else can know!" He exclaimed, now frowning again.
I raised both hands fast, stopping him. "Okay, you are right. You know to who and how much you want to share. Thank you for trusting in me. I promise I won't break that trust." I finished with a sincere smile.
"You didn't give me much of a choice." He said with a chuckle.
I followed him. It was not common to hear him laugh, that when he did, I was infected by it.
I wanted to help him as much as I could, but I knew he wouldn't accept it and he would take it as pity.
So, I allowed myself to defend him from afar. If I knew someone wanted to push him, or pressure him to know more about him, I would intercept, trying to change the subject.
Also, when I went out to collect goods for school, I would always save a little to myself, to then share it to Erica without Omar knowing.
From there on, I treated him as if he was any other friend, just as he wished.