There is no life without dissonance. No serenity without chaos.
I've gotten this far without complaining about the need for some perfect life. Given the opportunity, I can't say that I wouldn't go out and grab it. The harsh reality of my life was that anything had to be better than this.
Under any normal family circumstances, it should have been the duty of one of my parents to pick me up from school, like they probably should. Instead I was bustled into the beat up station wagon of my aunt Rosaline, a sister of my father, who was eerily calm whenever he was mentioned.
She was a nice woman, far nicer than most people I knew. Somehow she could look onto this world with such a calm and clear head, and smile. It was always one of those genuine and honest ones. Never did it feel like she did anything out of malice. She was one of the good ones; the people in this world who actually gave a damn. It killed me to know that she was of a dying breed, slowly becoming the way of the dinosaurs.
The hope for a better tomorrow rested softly on her face as she turned the key in the ignition. She leaned over and did my own seatbelt before pulling out of the lot.
Right now I could barely make anything out. Streets blurred in front of me, and my head was too heavy to even think about it. The fountain of blood that had been leaking from my nose earlier had stopped, but everything still felt sore.
"So niño," she started, her voice brimming with unwavering uncertainty, "What happened this time?"
Slowly, I turned away from her. Not because I was trying to make a dramatic turn, but because I was seventy percent sure that I'd broken at least one rib. I didn't want to talk about it with her. She was so lovely and encouraging that she'd probably just tell me to get back on the horse and take it in stride. This was not the first time she'd seen me like this, and I was doubtful that it would be the last time.
Answering her questions would have probably bought me a minute of peace; one granted where my aunt was far too busy plotting out her next question. But I knew the rules off by heart now.
Silence was golden.
My aunt had never had children of her own. She could never understand the complexities of a teenagers mind. Despite being one herself long ago, it never truly felt like she'd ever been one. It was hard to imagine this indomitable woman as anything but a safe-haven; a respite from the bitter words and concrete fists that were the daily.
"That bad, huh?"
It seemed pointless to say anything right now.
What was there to say? What could I say?
My cries for help were me acting out of character. But no one knew who I was. No one could see what was happening, even the person who I trusted most in this world right now. I'd spent so long alienating myself, and feeling like trash that it's all people seen me as. I'd wave a sign above my head if I could, but there was a constant doubt of disbelief that dragged its knuckles.
It's hard to escape an image that you've created for yourself. It's even harder when you realize that the very thing dragging you down is the same thing you can't change.
"I don't wanna talk about it," I told her.
My aunt, in all of her graces, simply smiled and nodded her head like she understood.
"That's fine," she said. "I can see it all over your face."
Were she not the closest thing I had to a friend in this world, I might have snarled at her. I knew I shouldn't have though, and that was the only thing that was stopping me.
As we drove along, we kept a pattern. She would ask me very open questions about my day, life, or general mood and I would knock her back with one word responses. It was kind of a game for both of us. She won if she got me to say a sentence over three words, and I won if I killed the conversation entirely.
Most nights she would have let me win. She would give up in that way that made me think that she was only giving up for the sake of letting me win.
But tonight was different.
"How's your mom?" she asked, dancing around the subject a little. It wasn't hard to hear the hesitance that resided in her voice. After all, one could not talk about my mother without mentioning my father. And my aunt knew very well what my feelings about him were.
Judging the looks she gave whenever he was brought up, I could only help but feel that she thought the same way.
"Fine," I replied dismissively.
"You have to give me more than that," she insisted as she missed the turn in for my house. My neck must have been craning back pretty far, because the next thing I hear is a small smile in my aunt's throat. "I'm not taking you back home tonight kiddo."
Immediately I turned to face her, my body aching in pain as it contorted to look on her face. There it was, the perfect no B.S. smile that made my aunt such a great person.
"Why?"
It's a harsh question, but it comes out muted and in disarray like most of my life. The sounds barely register to me, which is why I feel the need to maybe ask it one more time. But I know all she is going to do is give me a knowing smile and say the words she always says.
"Because I know how your father can get sometimes."
And for a moment I feel betrayed, like she has taken me as someone who cannot defend themselves. That's quickly replaced by gratitude when I realize very quickly that I cannot defend myself.
There was a time before everything where I tried. I didn't want to be seen as weak, and so would lash out at someone who was much larger than me and could kick my ass from here to Sunday. Now, it just seemed kind of trivial and pointless to raise an issue where there was not one.
For a second I thought about mom, and how she would cope a night alone with dad. We'd probably have matching bruises in the morning if I didn't go home. And as much as I wanted to shield her from the storm, I didn't want to put myself in the middle. It was selfish, and maybe a little juvenile, but I didn't want to jump to her aid this time.
"There were three guys," I found myself saying, knowing that I needed to say something. Part of it was to pay her back for everything she had done in my life. Another part was for me, to try and understand what had actually happened. "They started causing shit, and pushed me to the ground."
My aunts eyes were glued to the road, but already I could see the sympathy mash itself onto her face. She tried not to let it show, but the simple thought that it did made it harder to tell the story. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to pity me. She knew that better than anyone.
But this was no longer about her. It was about me,
"They kicked me to the ground, they called me names." My voice was monotone, trying not to buy into the pressure of cracking or breaking down completely.
"And what about the black kid," she asked, taking a turn. She didn't say it in a malicious kind of way, but in a way that was trying to understand. It seeped through the cracks of the conversation and made an attempt to put the pieces together. "Did he hurt you?"
I shook my head. "No." It was such a final word. Like I wanted to end the conversation, but I wanted her to keep pushing. I wanted her to keep pressing into me. I needed her to smother me in the way that only she could. "He was the one who actually tried to protect me."
She nodded slightly, a smile of confirmation crawling on her face. My aunt obviously had something on her mind, but she wasn't speaking it just yet.
"That's nice," she said simply. "Is he your friend?"
The words hit me hard and fast. I didn't know what to consider him right now. Sure, he was in a couple of classes and stopped things before they got to the point of no return, but I'd never call him a friend. Friends were an Everest in my book; mountains that seemed fun to climb at first, but soon became unbelievably more difficult as time pushed on.
But for whatever reason, I found myself smiling into the idea of it. My circle of friends didn't extend past my aunt, and even then our relationship was one that was forced together by blood-ties. Were we related to different people, I don't know what might have become of either of us.
She must have caught me, because she let a small laugh burn in her throat. Her smile inched ever wider as her hands hung more loosely on the steering wheel.
"I don't know."
This was the only response I had that made sense in that moment. Honestly, I didn't know, and that was the hard thing. Not knowing for me was the equivalent of not having a safety net.
Come Monday at school Xavier would have probably been like all the other kids. He would look at me with the greatest pity he could, and would use this to validate not trying to get close to me. And that was fine too. I was used to people ignoring me. I was used to people blanking me out, and being left on my own to fend for myself.
"You know its fine to let someone in, don't you?" she asked in such a lilting soft voice that it took me a moment to piece together what had actually been said. "You could do worse than having a friend like that."
It gave me something to think about. What would having a friend like that mean for a guy like me? Someone to have my back. Someone to confide in. Someone who I could actually talk to without feeling the need to shut off.
I let a smile warm my face, if only to let my aunt know that she had made some sort of impact.
The truth was though, that I didn't know where to begin, or what I even wanted.