Your perspective on life comes from the cage you were held captive in~ Shannon L. Alder
As I step through the doors of the airport, I pull the head over the top of my head. I want to avoid any possible eye contact with my mom or with Ph—too late.
My mom's pristine blue eyes meet with mine and I sigh as she runs over to me. The echoing of her heels slapping against the marble floor stands out amongst the all the other hubbub of the airport. She's gone all out, holding a welcome home sign on a bright, pink poster paper.
She wraps me in a hug and nuzzles her head into my neck, "my beautiful girl! How was your summer?"
I don't hug her back and huff my response, "fine."
She pulls and looks at the floor, gut-wrenched. I don't like hurting my mom, but I feel obliged to considering what she did. Phil notices her fallen face from a distance and walks over with my younger brother, Cam.
Cam has always been on my mom's side. He's been momma's boy from the moment he was born. He's hated my father basically his whole life. I mean, I don't blame him considering he was very young when dad neglected him in order to plan the lab. But he doesn't understand that what mom had done was wrong. But despite our divided opinions on our parents, Cam and I have an undeniable bond and we're too close for words to describe.
"Hi Raven," Phil greets me with a smile the size of the sun plastered on his face.
I ignore him and turn to Cam, "hey bud."
"Hey," he replies, his eyes glued to the phone he holds in his hands. That's new. I'm betting Phil brought it for him.
Mom exchanges a worried glance with Phil but he shoots it down with a warm glance that says, she'll come around.
Well the joke is on you, Phil because I am not coming around!
I pull my bag behind me and Phil proceeds to try and carry it for me but I turn and walk faster so he can't. It's not like he's a bad guy, it's just that he's too... much of a good guy. I don't approve of it and he's too go-lucky for me to hang around. I'm the complete opposite to him and even just the pure thought mother re-marrying horrifies me.
Phil catches up and walks in front of me, Cam and mom trailing behind us. A car beeps as it unlocks and I frown at the appearance. It's a family sedan. It's a family car! It's a shame we'll never be a family... ever.
I slide into the back seat with ease and Cam slides in next to me. He smiles at me, his brown hair falling over his eyes. He looks so much like mom with his sharp blue eyes and little button nose. It's no wonder why he loves her most. The car has black leather seats and the aroma of mom's iconic perfume wafts around. So this must be her new car. Fantastic.
A harsh rap song blasts through my earphones and into my ears. The louder the song, the better. Phil's hand finds its way to mom's thigh reassuringly and I practically barf. When you see an older couple flirting, you always tend to get goosebumps.
I look outside the window and get lost in my thoughts. The streets of Queens start to get more and more familiar. We pass a laboratory and my gut sinks. I don't just want to go back, I crave going back. I need to go back. Queens is my literal home, but I always feel out of place and it feels more like a house than a home no matter how cliché that sounds. The world never seems to act fairly. Anyone I know who is roughly my age has a loving family that are whole and spend their evenings watching the repeat episodes of Full House on TV and eat their dinner together around the fire. But me, I'm stuck with my mom who cheated on my father with his brother and caused him to go into a depressive state all because he wanted to chase after his dreams. Now, I can't even see him except for the summer because my good school is conveniently right near mom's house in Queens.
My phone vibrates in my lap and I read the message displayed on the screen. It's from her: take out your earphones.
I look up to see her eyeing me in the rear-view mirror. I roll my eyes and throw a fit internally before eventually pausing my music and forcing myself into a conversation with this beautiful little family we are.
Mom relaxes, clearly satisfied, "so how was your father?"
Right. She doesn't know. Dad wouldn't want me to tell her and I would never betray him like that. Although I can't help but think... "He's decent," I snap.
She twists and turns a little in her seat uncomfortably, "how's Rory? I sure do miss her! She was always so cheery."
"She's fine," I nod.
Cam passes me his phone, "Phil brought me a phone!"
I raise my eyebrows, "I saw. That's pretty cool, huh?"
"How was the Butterfly Room?" he mumbles.
I beam at him. He knows me too well. "It's running perfectly. There was a little chemical leak there, but everything is okay now."
"Chemical leak? That doesn't sound okay," Phil butts in anxiously.
I can't tell if he can see or not, but I begin to shoot a death glare, "like I said, it's okay."
Mom shakes her head and lets out a large breath. I pretend not to notice. We pull up into the driveway of our suburban home and I step outside of the car. The house looks the same. The perfectly trimmed lawn, the white picket fence, the red bricks, the small veranda with the old, rusty porch swing... From the outside, it looks like a peaceful house, where nothing ever goes wrong. But in the Garcia household, there is at least a fight a day- especially since mom announced that she's remarrying and especially since Phil moved in.
He snatches my bag off of me a little forcefully and grins, "I'll take these to your room." With that, he disappears into the house, Cam hopping in behind him.
"That's very kind of him," mom says encouragingly and begins to follow them in. When she realizes that I'm not she turns around to look at me, "are you coming?"
I reach into my pocket and feel my wallet with money from my trip still remaining. "I need to go somewhere," I blurt and run off before I can hear her protests.
Sprinting down the streets of Queens is easier said than done. With the heavy, flowing traffic and the large crowds of pedestrians flowing through the footpaths, it's hard to be able to run at a quick pace. But hiding in the streets of Queens is a different story. I dart through the floods of people and shove through them all.
I stop at an intersection where I wait for the pedestrian light to turn green. I tap my foot up and down on the pavement impatiently.
"Come on, come on," I mutter.
The lane is a single lane and only one car drives past at a time and seems to be constant. I look down at my hands and sigh. No better time than the present. I find myself digging into the mind of the driver of the next car and twist my hand around, creating the illusion of an old lady with a walker crossing the street... of course, he's the only one who can see it.
He brakes and sticks his head out of the window and begins to lose it at the lady, oblivious to the confused glances from the people around. I snicker to myself and run across the street. Before I make the lady disappear, I ensure that she ends up giving the finger to the man in the car and then snap my fingers as she disappears. Deceiving people is more fun than it sounds.
I click my tongue and jog my way to my safe haven in Queens. When I round the corner, there it is. The sign outside of the bodega reads Delmar's loudly and proudly. I stand outside and stare in awe. Ever since the incident last year with the bank robbers, Mr. Delmar re-opened and the place is looking better than ever.
I push the door open and the familiar sound of the bell ringing to alert him of someone entering fills me with delight. The whole place smells the same and the atmosphere feels the same despite the refurbishments. It looks very different. It looks very modern and sleek compared to the antique vibe it used to give off. It even looks brighter with fresh, white painted walls and the sun streaming in from the even bigger windows.
When I enter, Mr Delmar is talking with a guy- a boy. He's about my age with fair skin and light brown curls flopping relentlessly over his face. The boy strokes Murph and Mr Delmar notices my presence.
"Miss Garcia? Is that you?" he asks incredulously, "it's been ages!"
I smile at him broadly and the boy turns to look at me instantly. "Yeah, I just went inter-state for the summer," I shrug apologetically, "I would've come to say goodbye, but it was a really last minute thing. I'm sorry."
I would go into more detail and tell him all about the Butterfly Room and all about my mom and Phil and my dad's cancer, but I don't want this random guy to know every living detail of my life. See, ever since the divorce, Mr Delmar has always been there for me and I visit him at his bodega at least a few times a week.
He dismisses my apology with a wave of his hand, "don't apologize. So how was it? Where did you go?"
I bounce up and down on my heels, "Miami."
He raises his eyebrows, "Miami? To visit your father, I presume?" He picks up a sandwich from the kitchen and passes it to the boy, "your sandwich, Mr Parker."
"Thanks, Mr Delmar. I guess I'll let the two of you catch up," he says bashfully, eyes darting between the two of us. His eyes are big and brown, comforting and warm... I could get lost in them if I stare into them for another second. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he walks off before I can.
I turn to him and drum my fingers on the countertop, "who was that?"
He winks at me, "why do you want to know?"
"Just because," I shrug, "it just seems you two know eachother well."
"The usual?" he asks and when I nod, continues to speak, "I'm surprised you don't know him. He's a usual here and I'm pretty sure he goes to your school."
I tilt my head, "really?"
He presses his lips together to form a smile gleefully. My cheeks burn up and I decide to change the topic, "so my holiday."
"Yes, your holiday!" he bellows, "how was your father?"
I hesitate before frowning, "he's... okay."
"That doesn't sound very reassuring," he says worriedly.
"I don't know how he is."
A shadow falls on his face as he registers what I mean. His once cheerful expression transforms into gloomy and sympathetic. I hate when people feel bad for me, but it's Mr Delmar so this time it's okay.
"I'm so sorry," his voice turns into a whisper.
I bite my lip, "he's strong. He won't di..." That word is so dark. So many people hurt from that word and people still toss it around mercilessly and make suicidal jokes when they don't realize how blessed we all are to actually be living. I have my down days, but the thought of losing my father makes me want to do more with my life and to go all out. "He'll make it," I rephrase.
He nods sadly, "of course." But his face is filled with nothing but distraught and hopelessness for me.
I sigh, "I'm gonna go."
And with that, I storm out of the door as he calls out after me, "don't you want your sandwich?!"