a young writer from the lone star state

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The first time I ever left momma was in high school. It happened during summer break between my junior and senior year, on a Saturday. I was riding in my little old red Oldsmobile with my dad. He and I went to a bookstore close to downtown Dallas because there weren’t (and still aren’t) any good bookstores in the whole city of Thornton. We were driving back home, me at the wheel and dad in the passenger seat, when I got a call from my sister Isabella. She said momma was caught having an affair with Vincent, our stepdad. I was pissed. I rushed on home in my little Oldsmobile and expected to say a whole lot to momma but when I got home she and Vincent were locked in their bedroom and it was then that I realized I couldn’t stomach the thought of staying in the same house as momma any longer. With dad waiting outside in the Oldsmobile I went into the bedroom my older brother Teddy made for me from the garage. I got out my big blue suitcase—the one I got for when I went to go visit Teddy when he was stationed in Alaska—and I started throwing in all of my clothes. Then Bella walked into my room and asked what I was doin’ and I just started crying. Tears pouring all down my face, I started cursing and yelling. I said momma was a stupid bitch and Bella knew I wouldn’t have said that if momma hadn’t been caught having an affair before, when she divorced from my dad. I was seven then. Bella was seventeen and Teddy was around twenty.

I got so mad that I got into a sort of fighting stance and aimed to punch a hole in the wall but Bella reached out and hugged me before I could make the motion. She stayed hugging me for a few seconds and she told me how sorry she was for me. Then she started to sob too, I could hear her voice break down. I eventually let go of her and told her I was gonna stay with dad and started packing more of my clothes into the suitcase. Then momma walked into my room I looked at her and called her a stupid dumb bitch but she just stood there and didn’t say nothin’ back. She looked so pitiful. That was the first time I ever cursed in front of momma, and that was the only time I ever cursed at momma. Then I told them both to leave and they left. I was still pissed. After I got all of my clothes into the suitcase there wasn’t very much room for all my books, so I grabbed only my favorites, The Stranger and The Grapes of Wrath, and reckoned that I had to sneak back into the house at some other time and carefully carry out the rest of my bookshelf. I grabbed the suitcase and made my way out and met dad outside. I put the suitcase into the trunk and drove to dad’s house which is in Elam, the next town over. That whole ride we were silent.

By the next weekend, Vincent had moved out of the house and momma and Bella were supposed to be out of town with one of our aunts. It was Sunday night and I snuck into the house to get my books and the bookshelf too since I didn’t have a place at dad’s house to store ‘em all. I had so many books that I had to make several trips from my room to the Oldsmobile to fetch ‘em all. On my third trip I found an old cardboard box, like the ones they put microwaves in, and managed to fit in a lot of my smaller paperbacks in there but it was hella heavy so I was struggling to lift it up and out of the house. After making my way through the front door I saw Judith there standing there in the dark on the sidewalk between the car and I. Damn, how do I tell you about Judy?

Judy was my neighbor then. She lived next door to me on Longshadow Lane and we both went to Thornton High School but we didn’t know we lived next to each other until Sam (you remember when I told you about Sam? He’s the one that’s got a little boy but still acts as dumb as he was when he was in high school) came over to my house one day and asked me if I knew Judy. Sam had known her because she was friends with his girlfriend. I told him I didn’t know her so he dragged me on over next door and introduced me to her. After that day she and I would sometimes go get something to eat after school (since there was a McDonald’s behind our houses) and sometimes she’d come over to my house and we’d watch a movie together. She always managed to find a way into the house—she was just sorta there all the time. But that Sunday night I hadn’t told Judy yet what happened between momma and Vincent and I hadn’t told her why I was moving in with my dad. She just saw me there with a big old cardboard box in my hands and helped me carry it to the Oldsmobile. She also helped with the big black wooden bookshelf, too, even though she was thinner than I was at the time. While we were carrying it to the car she asked me what was goin’ on and I started to tear up again. I didn’t tell her exactly what happened but she stopped asking questions and we just kept on carrying the shelf over into the back of the Oldsmobile.

‘Cause I was angry at momma, I didn’t feel too badly about leaving her. Momma had Bella so I didn’t feel like I was responsible for taking care of her after Vincent left. But Judy’s a whole different story. Judy sorta needed me. She felt safer at my house than she did at hers for reasons I really can’t tell you about yet. I felt horrible for leaving Judy and for a long time I forced myself to forget about her and for a couple years I did forget about her. That was the last time I saw her for a long time, that Sunday night she helped me with the books and all. I started to drive off to Elam and she stood there alone on the dark sidewalk. In my rearview mirror I could see her slim little figure fade quickly into the night.

Well, that all happened about two years before I left for Faraday. I only stayed with dad for senior year of high school. It wasn’t all that great, considering he worked two jobs and was never home. Bella left momma and moved on out to a trailer park in Elam when she got a man and started expecting kids. Although momma asked for forgiveness for what she did and I said I forgave her, I still hated what she’d done. But I couldn’t stand the thought of momma living out by herself so, when I graduated from Thornton High, I moved in back with her. She had a new place in Clayburg, about twenty minutes from Thornton and twenty-five from Elam. I lived with momma for about a year, working in Dallas and all. But then I decided I to send in my application to Faraday University. I didn’t tell momma about it, though. I had kept it a secret from her until I got a letter back from Faraday—it was on my birthday. Probably the best gift I ever got. They said I was accepted and ready to enroll for the next fall.

But about a month before I left, momma broke her arm. She had got this German Shepard pup, you see, from her brother – Luna’s her name. One morning momma was letting Luna out into the backyard so she could feed her but she slipped on a little rug she had on the hardwood floor for Luna to sleep on. Momma fell backward and threw her left arm behind her so she could try and break her fall and that’s how she broke it. I felt like hell for having to leave momma again, especially with a broken arm. But I had to leave again. Except that time it wasn’t not out of anger. It felt sorta like having to leave Judy all over again.

A week before I left, we bought a 36-pack of water bottles form Walmart. Momma had a hard time popping open the little plastic bottle caps on account of her broken arm so she had to use her teeth sometimes to get ‘em open. So, on my last night at the house before I left for Faraday, I popped opened every single one of caps on the bottles, twisted them back on lightly, and left them on the kitchen counter so she wouldn’t have a hard time getting ‘em open later. The next morning I hopped into the little red Oldsmobile with my books and all and started my three-hour trip.

There were only three bottles left when I came back home for the funeral.

At the Gates of Faraday

I was a little tired after bringing all my luggage downstairs and into the foyer, so I sat down on the couch and took in several deep breaths. Summer break is coming to an end, and, like every other time I come back to Dallas, I stayed home as long as possible. My first class of the fall semester starts tomorrow at 11:30 AM, so I have to leave my house around 7 AM if I want to make it to class on time—my university is a 3-hour-drive away. But, I tell you, I’m not really sure if I want to go back. It’s so easy being here at home, it’s relaxing. I feel no pressure. I’m not sure what it is about my house that calms me—maybe it’s Rocky and Luna, my dogs; maybe it’s the scent of the house; maybe it’s the quietness and stillness of the neighborhood. I’m not sure, but I’m thinking about staying here.

Listen, back in March I got a nice scholarship. I won’t tell you how much it was worth, but it was good deal. I won’t have to pay a single penny out of my own pocket for the entire year. So it’s not that I’m scared of the university itself. It’s a cool place, I like how busy it is and all. Even if it gets a little too humid at times. I know I can pass all the classes too, so it ain’t that either. It’s got to do with Melody.

Melody was a girl I knew back in high school. I was a Junior when I met her—she was Senior. We got along real well—she and I were into the same bands and books and all. I used to call her kitten because I thought that she was cute and I sort of liked her. And that was the problem. I didn’t really like her enough to get into a romantic relationship. I mean she was gonna graduate and go off to college while I still had another year of high school to finish. I’ll go ahead and admit that I was a total asshole back then. I led her on, I hurt her, and so we stopped talking. But before she graduated and moved away, she gave me back some books I had let her borrow. And although I knew I should have apologized for the way I treated her, I didn’t. I was still being an asshole. So she went off to North Texas University and died in a car accident her sophomore year. When I found out, I went numb. And because I never apologized to Melody, I felt that I should never get romantically involved with another girl again. Melody didn’t deserve to be treated the way I treated her, so, I think, I don’t ever deserve to be in a good relationship.

But another thing happened back in March. It’s sorta funny. I got lazy last semester and started waking up later and later than usual, so I was always running late to class. And my university is huge, by the way. Like I said, it gets really humid sometimes so I don’t like to actually run to class—I sweat horribly. I just try and walk fast, you know? Well one day I was late for English class and as I was running across Central Lawn I found some paper laying on the grass. It was an essay and I wanted to read it—I’m an English major, by the way—but I was running out of time. So I stuffed the essay into my backpack and made it to class before the professor, Dr. Clarke, called roll.

I didn’t do the assigned reading for class, so as Dr. Clarke began his lecture I got bored and started to doodle in my notebook. Then I remembered the essay I found, so I pulled it out and looked at it. It was written by a girl named Sophia De La Cruz. The essay was some sort of analysis about American women writers during the twentieth century or something, I can’t really remember. But it was beautifully written. I mean her writing flowed so well. The thing that killed me, though, was the fact that it reminded me of Melody. I forgot to tell you this, but when Melody gave me back my books the summer before she moved away for college, she left a note in my copy of The Stranger. I didn’t find it until two years later, after she passed away. It was a long note and I won’t tell you what all it said, but she had this really nice line in there. She said, “Don’t let your mistakes hold you back from greatness.” It was great, I thought she hated me and all, but she took the time to write me a nice note. I miss her like hell.

Anyway, Sophia’s essay reminded me a lot of Melody’s note and I sorta felt like I knew Sophia personally. I’m not sure why, but I pictured Sophia looking a lot like Sor Juanna who’s on the 200 pesos bill. Maybe it was the name, or maybe the fact that both Sophia and Sor Juanna are good writers. So, I wanted to meet her—Sophia I mean, not Sor Juanna.

Listen, it’s 2017, so I have no doubt that she has a backup copy of her essay on her computer or something. But if I wanted to see Sophia, my only opportunity was to give her back her essay. We’ve got this online directory—most people don’t know about it. You just type in a student’s name and you can find out their classification, major, and email. So I typed in her name and found out two things: she’s an English major, like me, and she’s a Senior. She might be older than me, maybe. I don’t know. I fucked up and didn’t go to college right after I graduate high school, so I’m a year behind the students my age. But I got her email address and I sent her a message explaining that I found her essay and that I wanted to give it back to her. I got kinda anxious—this girl has no idea who I am, and, hell, she might not even respond, you know? Like I said, she oughta have a copy of her essay on her laptop or something.

But in the afternoon of the next day, she responded saying she could meet me in Faraday Hall, which is the dorm sorta by the center of the university, in the evening after she finished all her classes for the day. So, here’s when I start to feel conflicted. I fucked up with Melody before. I was an asshole and I didn’t deserve to feel romantic or happy anymore. But I was excited about meeting Sophia. I started to feel something intense for her just by reading her essay—like a relieving but exciting sort of feeling. It’s the same sort of feeling I get when I read Melody’s note. Hell, just knowing that person that writes like Melody exists in this world, it makes me go meet her. I mean the essay was that good. I wanted to tell Sophia that.

I had already finished my last class for the day, so I had several hours before the meeting with Sophia. So I decided to go back home and clean myself up. I got out of my shorts and put on some nice khakis and put on a nice shirt and I even shaved. I fixed my hair and brushed my teeth and stopped myself before I put on cologne—It’s not like I’m going on a date, I told myself. Hell, I know nothing about this girl. But I thought, at least, I should look nice. Just in case. And even though I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, I was too nervous to feel any hunger so I didn’t even eat. It’s real dangerous for me not to eat every so often throughout the day, but I’ll tell you about that later. Anyway, it got to be around 7 PM, which is when we’d plan to meet, so I hopped on the bus to campus and made my way to Faraday Hall.

Here’s where I fucked up: When I changed into the khakis, I left my wallet in my shorts. I had my Student ID in the wallet and you can’t get into Faraday Hall without a Student ID because the gate locks itself at 6 PM. Well damn, I fucked myself. Seriously. So I sat on the benches outside Faraday Hall and thought about what to do. I started thinking, “It’s alright, she probably has a copy of her essay on her flash drive or something anyway.” Finally I felt some relief. I wasn’t so worried about meeting her anymore, and finally my hunger started to kick in. I was about to make my way back to the bus stop to go grab a sandwich when I saw this girl making her towards Faraday Gate. She was slim, she had long straight brown hair, and she was so pretty. I mean, wow, I felt time slow down for a second as I looked right into her dark brown eyes—I have this problem of making eye contact with everyone I walk by. But she had these cheeks that looked soft and round and had this cute nose and had these lips that made my heart stop. Wow wow wow. She was so damn gorgeous. She also had on this really nice white dress that made her brown skin glow even in the dim evening outside Faraday Hall. I felt warm. And on her dress was a little silver name tag and it read “Sophia De La Cruz.”

I said, “Hey, you’re Sophia, right?

She made a little grin. “Yes,” she said. “Are you Kazimir?”

That’s my name, by the way—Kazimir.  I know, it’s really weird but I’m sorta named after my grandfather. I’ll tell you about it later. Anyway, I laughed a little, it always makes me laugh to hear people say my name for the first time. Then I told her, “Yeah, but you can call me Kaz. I’ve got your paper here,” and handed it to her. She thanked me and all, she had such a sweet voice, soft and comforting. She made me feel comfortable, in a way. She smiled as she took back her paper—this almost killed me. It was so damn cute. I kept replaying that smile of hers in my memory for several weeks after that.

So this is were I fuck up. It’s been years since I’ve had a moment like this with a girl. After Melody, I didn’t talk to any girls or go on any dates or anything. So I didn’t know what to say to Sophia other than, “Hey, your paper was really good.” I sorta paused for a second, then with a slight stutter I said, “Uh, I’m sorry I read it, I just kinda got bored in class. I think it’s great, you’re a good writer.”

She kept smiling. “Thaaanks,” she giggled out. “I’m glad you liked it, Kaz.”

Then I froze. I mean like, I locked up. My brain couldn’t think of anymore words to say. I had to leave, I was gonna look stupid if I kept standing there without saying anything. So I looked into her eyes just one more time and then looked at the ground beneath her and said, “You’re welcome. I’ve got to go now or I’ll miss the bus.”

I started to turn around, but I made a quick glance at her face again. She looked a little confused but all she said was “bye” as I walked away.

That was all back in March. I haven’t seen or talked to Sophia since. But I thought about all that while I was sitting there on the couch. I got up and walked over to the bookshelf and pulled out The Stranger and took out the note Melody wrote for me. I read it again: “Don’t let your mistakes hold you back from greatness.” I felt so much damn regret. I really wish I could go back and say sorry for the way I treated her. I didn’t think I deserved to go back to university and feel some new love. But I slowly folded up the note and sorta stared at it for a little while. I took a deep breath again, placed it back in the book, and put it back in it’s place on the shelf.

I walked back to my room upstairs—it was close to midnight so I figured I had to go to bed soon. Listen, I guess I’m going back to the university after all, but I only have one good reason for going back: English class. I’m thinking, maybe I’ll see Sophia there.

What Happens When a Poem Goes Through the Washer

I was doing laundry earlier. I pulled my favorite jeans out the dryer and noticed a lotta white fluff coming out of the right pocket, so I reached in there and found a washed-up faded bit of paper. I had to think about what it might’ve been for a moment. I thought it may have been just a receipt from one of the bars we went to on Saturday night. But no, this was lined paper. College ruled. Then I remember that it was, in fact, a poem I wrote about Evie.

Saturday night was a real mess. Or at least I was. We all went to the bars on Old Gates Street, and by “we” I mean the Fairview Crew. You see, we all live on a street called Fairview; Me and the guys live in 603 Fairview and Evie and the girls live in 605 Fairview, the house right next to ours. Since we’re all friends and go out and do things together sometimes, we call ourselves the Fairview Crew. And on Saturday night we got together and decided to have an excursion of sorts out to Old Gates Street.

At the first bar we went to—Bowie’s—all the TVs had the U.T. vs USC football game and I remember getting a good little chuckle from watching on my phone my English professor tweet about the Longhorns losing. The Fairview Crew and most everybody at Bowie’s were standing around watching the TVs and hollering after all the plays, but I was at the bar standing next to Evie. “I’m gonna match you tonight,” she said.

“Really? Alright. I’m gonna order a shot of Jameson,” I said, turning to try and get the attention of the busy bartender running around behind the bar. I gave him our order and before soon he placed our shot glasses down and Evie and I each picked one up. “What are we gonna toast to?” I asked as I turned towards her, glass raised in hand. With a big smile she said, “To NO more kisses!” I let out a little laugh then looked down towards the wooden bar top, away from her. We’ve kissed before in the other semesters and they were supposed to be both secret and embarrassing and all, but I was feeling a little brave that night. She was the one who brought it up, after all. “Listen,” I said, “I always have a lot of fun when I kiss you. I always have a good time—”

“Okay, to MORE kisses then!” she shot back before I could finish.

We smiled and laughed and started to raise the glasses to our mouths but before we took the shot the bartender gave us free glasses of pineapple juice as a chaser. Then Evie and I took the shot, chased it, and then smiled at one another. No kisses yet.

In the next few bars we drank more—cocktail after cocktail after cocktail. Evie and I started getting a little more comfortable with each other at this point. As we were walking from bar to bar, we bumped into one of Evie’s new guy friends—a guy named Cole. She introduced me to him but I didn’t really like him. He didn’t feel genuine but Evie said he was the prettiest boy she’d ever seen.

But at the last bar, while all our friends and Cole were seated at the table, Evie and I walked up to the bar so that I could order two glasses of Jameson mixed with cranberry juice. As the bartender started to mix the drinks Evie leaned into me and gave me the first of many kisses that night. And we kept kissing right there at the bar and out of sight of our friends until it shut down. Then Cole caught sight of our last kiss as he tried to herd us out the bar. You see, Cole was sober—he hadn’t had a drink the whole time we were at Old Gates. So he offered to drive us all home, which works out real well since we’re all neighbors and he wouldn’t have to make two stops. But after Cole saw Evie and I kissing, he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her away and out the bar. I was a bit stunned. I stood there at the bar for a bit, remembered he was my ride home, and stumbled out the bar behind them all.

That car ride home was awkward as hell. Cole had a sedan, but all of the Fairview Crew had a hard time fitting in there. To save space, Evie sat in my lap as we drove home. I can’t say it wasn’t a damning sight—everybody in the car must have known something was going on between the two of us, especially the driver, but I can’t say I cared much at that moment. I could smell the shampoo in Evie’s long hair and it made me feel nice.

As soon as Cole parked his car in the 605 driveway I jumped out of the car, into the house, straight to the fridge, grabbed a cold Shiner and stepped back outside before the rest of the Fairview Crew could even manage to get out Cole’s car. Listen, I was too drunk at this point, too drunk to control myself, too drunk to make any good decisions. So I saw Evie standing there on the lawn between 603 and 605 and I walk up to her and try to kiss her again, beer in hand. Then Cole pushed me away, shoving me towards my front door. “Get the fuck inside!” he yelled, making sure to heighten the profanity. I think he was trying to push me into 603, but I was too drunk and fell over onto the lawn and spilled all that Shiner on my shirt—you know, the blue one with the little floral pattern on it? Evie saw all this and yelled at Cole. I don’t think he felt sorry about it at all. Then I saw her rush inside to 605 and she came back out with a little pink cloth in her hand and she picked me off the ground. Actually, I’m pretty sure I managed to pick myself up because there’s no way little ol’ five-foot-five-inch Evie could hoist me up—but she did grab me by the arm and lead me back to my room in 603.

That pink cloth actually turned out to be a T-shirt. A Dr Pepper Shirt. It was pretty soft. She told me to take off my blue shirt and to put on her shirt (thank God I can fit into a size small). I did all that but then she told me to lay down in my bed. She was tucking me in. I was still pretty drunk at this point, but I lean towards her one last time. She just laughed and said, “No more,” in a soft kind of way. Then she told me she was actually seeing Cole. She hadn’t told the Fairview Crew about it yet and she wasn’t expecting him to show up at Old Gates.

I may have gotten upset, or I may have just been too drunk, or maybe I just didn’t want to deal with any heartbreak at that moment, but I finally passed out at that point.

Sunday morning I woke up with the Dr Pepper shirt on and with one hell of a headache. I looked out the window but the sun wasn’t all the way up yet, it was all kind of grey still. There was no doubt: I was hungover. So I got up to grab a glass of water from the kitchen—I should have been drinking more water while at Old Gates—and I took a peek out the front window. I saw Cole’s car sitting there in the 605 driveway. Then I went back to bed. I could still taste and smell all the sour alcohol in my dry mouth.

A few hours later, while I was still lying in bed, Evie came over to 603. She opened my door, only slightly, and tried to wake me up. I ignored her. Maybe she just wanted her shirt back. I can’t think of anybody that wouldn’t miss their Dr Pepper shirt, especially one so soft as the one I was sulking in. After a few moments she closed the door lightly and I waited until I heard the front door close behind her—you know how our walls are super thin. Then I thought about it all for a while and wrote the poem. It went:

You open my door and whisper softly:

Kaz

Kaz

Kaz

 

But I stay laying in bed,

My back towards you,

My face towards the wall,

Breathing quickly because

My heart’s pounding

I pretend to be asleep,

Playing dead because

It’s easier pretending that

I don’t love you,

Easier to pretend that,

If you walk into my room,

I won’t want to see you smile

Hear you laugh

Watch your hair

Catch your eyes and

Want to kiss you

Sorry, that won’t happen again.

 

With that last line, what I meant to say was that I wouldn’t ever kiss her again. Then, today, I remember my blue shirt was still sitting in my dirty laundry bin with all that beer on it, so I started doing my laundry. I’m just glad I didn’t completely ruin such a nice shirt with a beer stain. As for my jeans with the washed-up poem, I gathered all the little bits of paper along with the rest of the lint and threw it away.

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.

When I Saw You Dance

 

I went to see a show

three hours away from home

through dark clouds and cold rain

in mid December.

 

I sat down in the thick silence

of the packed auditorium

with an umbrella in my hands;

a handmade Christmas ornament,

a present for you,

sitting inside my black jacket.

 

The lights dimmed,

a violin cut

through the dark air;

a soft blue light lit the stage.

 

Then I saw you move,

I saw you stand on your hands,

saw you jump through the air,

in your lovely little blue leotard.

 

My heart was leaping,

my body paralyzed;

but your body,

your movements,

gave me life.

 

I saw the stage beneath you,

and the ceiling above you,

struggling to contain your grace.

 

When I saw you dance,

I saw such a beautiful life;

after the show,

my spirit still shaking,

I stuttered,

my hand  t r e m b l e d

when I gave you my gift.

 

Then I saw you smile;

all my life I’ve wanted to dance,

all my life I’ve wanted to be me.