Short Story: For Melissa

For Melissa

Do you remember that bible I showed you once about five years ago? Right after the time I spent a few days in the hospital? You remember why I was there, right? I did that stupid thing after mom’s funeral service. Anyway, when I was there in the hospital, an Asian guy stopped by the room I was in because, when I first got to the place, I was rushing to fill out a bunch of forms and what not and I think one of the questions might’ve asked “what religion do you practice?” and I guess I might’ve accidentally checked the box marked “Christianity.” And so that’s why the Asian guy stopped by my room and gave me that bible before saying a prayer for me. He has such a thick accent and I really couldn’t understand a single word he said even after I had asked him to repeat himself. But I thought that it was such a nice thing for him to do. I mean, really, what kind of person decides to spend their free time by going around to visit all these different hospital rooms to pray for complete strangers? I appreciated it a lot; he was the only visitor I had during the time I was there, so I decided to keep the bible even though it was a cheap paperback. That’s when I showed it to you—right after I got out from the hospital. But I never did read the thing. I forgot about it over these past five years, but I found it last night! It was because of a girl—Marie.

And, you know how I’d been keeping that red bag in my closet for so long? Yeah, you’re right—me and Erin did break up two months ago. That’s when I got together all the gifts she gave me—the shirts, the pictures, the cards—and put them into that red paper bag. But, back then, I didn’t have the strength to take it and carry it all the way to the trash can and just dump it. So I just put the bag in my closet. That’s why any time I’d have to walk into my closet to grab a shirt or whatever during these past two months, I’d feel a sting when I saw the bag sitting there. I swear, even in the dark I could feel it glowing and burning. But yesterday, that girl, Marie, told me something and I ended up throwing the bag away—finally. I’ll tell you now.

It all goes back to that one time last year when I was stuck riding the bus. It had to do with my truck, remember? I was driving that small maroon truck then but I got into that accident. It was pretty stupid, really. Every time I tell someone about it, they swear that I must have been drinking or something when it happened. But you know how it really happened—it was after I had went grocery shopping. I was on my way back home when I stopped to get some gas. When I started to pull away from the pump, I turned just a little too fast and the passenger side of the truck scraped into that damn bollard. It left a huge dent and scratched up all the paint too—it definitely didn’t look all that nice. You said something, like, if my truck had represented my body, it’d be like having a huge scar that ran across my whole left cheek. Anyway, that’s when I took my truck to the collision repair shop and didn’t have a car for a few days. I had to ride the bus to campus and I’d never rode one before. It was so weird! I hated having to cram myself into a crowded bus and having to pack myself against complete strangers. It would get so humid and warm and it was so damn awkward. I hated it. Those few days of having to ride the bus just sucked! I was so happy when I got my truck back from the shop. But on one of those days, I met a girl. I never did tell you about her. You see, I hardly ever talked to or even glanced at anyone I stood or sat next to on the bus. I was scared of holding a conversation with so many people being around and listening. The possibility that every eager person around me could easily hear what I had to say made me so uncomfortable. But by some miracle, one morning I hopped onto a bus that was nearly empty—that was the day I met Marie.

That morning I was surprised to see the bus being so bare; it was such a strange feeling to see all those vacant seats just sitting there all still in the dim sunlight that seemed to just float in from the tinted windows—I guess I started to feel empty, too. But there was one girl sitting close to the front entrance, so to stop that emptiness that was filling me, I went and sat down next to her. Now, you know I usually don’t like to start the conversation—I’m pretty shy in that way. But when I went to go sit down next to her, the girl sorta glanced at me. She was short and had on this long-sleeved maroon shirt and black running shorts and had long brown hair that wrapped over her shoulder. She was cute and she sorta made a little smile with her face that made it look like her eyes were smiling too. The doors of the bus were still open then, so the sunlight that poured in from outside shone on her and that’s when I saw this little mark right under her lip. It was tiny, really, and I wouldn’t have noticed it but my mom had a little mark like that under her lip too. My mom told me it was a scar, but I was always too scared of asking her how she got it before she passed away.

Anyway, so here am I sitting next to girl on a bus who reminded me of my mom and that’s why I started talking to her. She told me her name was Marie and once the bust started to chug along its route, she teased me because I didn’t know how to speak Spanish even though my last name’s Sierra. She wasn’t being mean though, she was just joking around. I poked fun at her a little too—I mean, she couldn’t say the word “cold” right! Each time she said it, it sounded like she was saying “code” and that killed me! It sounded so cute and funny and I kept teasing her for it. She was such a cute girl, really. And you know what? That dimness in the bus actually started to become sorta comforting once we started talking about our families. She asked me where my parents came from and all that and I told her that my mom came from Matehuala; she said her mom was from there too, and it turned out that her mom knew my mom—it was crazy!

We kept on talking until we were the only two people left on the bus, but then we reached Marie’s stop. Then, I started to stutter a little bit because I had a hard time winding down from such an exciting conversation. Really. It was all very nice. I was bummed that she had to leave, but! Before Marie hopped off the bus and into that blinding light outside, she gave me her cell phone number. I knew I should have sent her message right then and there after she vanished into the big bright world outside that dim little bus, but I just sat there in my seat quietly—Marie took all that energy and excitement with her and I was left there feeling as empty as I did when I first saw the bus. That darkness wasn’t comfortable anymore, but I was happy and all to have met such a cute girl—it was such a random thing to have happened. Luckily, my stop was just a few minutes away and when I got off the bus, I thought that I’d probably never see her again. And for a long time, I never did text her. I just didn’t know what to say. Then it got to the point where so much time had passed that it would seem just straight creepy if I were to text her and say, “Hey, it’s Kaz, you know, the guy you met on the bus that one time a few weeks ago!”, so I let it go.

But yesterday, I saw her at the library. It was noon and there was the usual swarm of students buzzing all around the place, so I didn’t notice her—she is kinda short, after all. But she must have spotted me while I was making my way across the first floor to the coffee shop, so when I started to stand in line she strolled up next to me and said, “Hey Kaz, long time no see!”

It was nice to see her again—it really was. Her smile reminded me so much of my mom’s smile that it made me feel like I had been friends with Marie since I had been born. She sorta yelled at me, though, for never having texted her, but not in a mean way—she was just sorta upset because she wanted to tell me something her mom had told her.

You see, remember how I said our moms knew each other? Well, it turns out that my mom was married to a different guy down in Matehuala, before she met my dad. Marie’s mom said that the guy was a real asshole. An alcoholic. He treated my mom like shit, apparently—but since my grandparents were super Catholic and all, they wouldn’t let my mom get a divorce. Then, one night, the guy had a little more to drink than usual. My mom tried to get him to stop and calm down, but that only made him angry, so he started to beat her. I think that’s how my mom got that scar under her lip. Who knows? Anyway, my mom decided that that was enough, so she left Matehuala for the States a little after that. I had never known about all of that until yesterday when Marie told me. It was big news back then when it happened and everybody in Matehuala knew about it, supposedly. Of course, I knew about how my mom had met my dad when she came over here, but I never knew the reason why she came her in the first place, I never thought about asking those kinds of questions until after she died.

Marie dropping all that history on me was tough—I wasn’t expecting any of that. I only wanted a cup of coffee. It hurt like hell knowing my mom went through all that abuse. You never would imagine my mom experiencing that… You remember how happy she was! And so strong, too! You remember how she slipped and broke her left wrist but how it healed in like three months? She was back to using that hand in no time and without anyone’s help. Mom was so strong… and beautiful! That little scar under her lip didn’t stop her any.

That’s when I thought about all the feelings I had about me and Erin breaking up. My mom went through some tough shit before she had me. Like real shit. I don’t think I could have gone through the same thing—but mom actually lived it. She went through all that in Mexico and I’m over here feeling sad and hurt over some girl who wouldn’t let me sleep with her. It woke me up like a punch to the gut and straightened me out. It stung kinda like how I think the scar under my mom’s lip must’ve felt when she got it. And it gave me hope. Really. If I hadn’t had met Marie on the bus that one day, I wouldn’t know about how strong my mom really was. Without Marie, I wouldn’t have this hope.

So when I got home last night, I walked straight to my room, then straight to the closet, opened the door, grabbed that little red bag, walked back out of my room, back outside, and threw it into the trash can. I felt some relief as soon as I put the lid back on the trash can. I feel like I can breathe easily, now. Then I went back to my room and found that bible I was telling you about. I’m gonna start reading it. Mom was always telling me that I oughta read one.