I move to the next box, and begin to pack her clothes into it, she didn’t bring many here, which was a surprise. I turn around to see how Chris was doing with all of this. He was packing; he seemed to be neutral, which was good, I guess. I go and take the ‘clothes’ box to my car and pack it in the backseat. I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder, to see if anyone was watching me. No one was, or no one that I saw.
I go back in to grab my other box, the one full of pictures. As I bend to put them in my car and scoot the boxes together to create space, I hear footsteps behind me. They’re too slow to be anyone that I know. It sounds as if this person were trying to go so slow that they wouldn’t be heard. But then I jump and hit my head once the sound meets me at my car.
It was Chris; he popped my trunk to put a box back there. I rub my head, and slowly crawl out of my back seat.
“You okay?” He asks. I nod.
“You scared me, is all,” And then we walked back inside.
On our way to her room, my mom passes us a box that looked a bit too heavy for her. “Chris, darling, could you give me a hand?” She asked. He shrugs and grabs the box for her, and then they walk away together. I continue into the room, passing my dad, who also has a box.
I’m in the room alone, so I look around. I search for the cameras, and the view outside of her window. I just don’t understand how she was shot, and they got away intact. This all was just a lot to take in, and I’m glad she’ll be somewhere more secure, or at least somewhere she might feel safer. I pick up the last box, the miscellaneous box, and carry it outside to everyone waiting. I pack this box in my dad’s car.
My mom gets in the car with my dad, so I signal for Chris to get in my car. We drive back to my old house, and when we pull up, old memories surfaced. I don’t know if that was a bad thing, or a good thing.
I stare up at the house, before I budge to get out of the car. Chris and I grab the boxes from my back seat and trunk and take them inside with one fell swoop. We take everything to my parents’ room because that’s where they’d most likely be unpacking. I smile up at Chris and high five him, as if we had just climbed a mountain, though, this accomplishment was much smaller; we high fived for not only moving, but for the fact that he met my parents and survived.
“Come here,” I tell him, leading him upstairs to my room. I close the door and turned around to a room that hasn’t changed a bit. There are posters on the walls, and my bed is still unmade. When I look to my dresser, pictures of me and Marie coat it. I even found my dictionaries that I used to learn French, Spanish and Hindi. I gave them to Marie before I moved out, wonder how they got back into my room.
“Where my mom is from, Trinidad, they mainly speak English, but how they speak is influenced by these languages.” I said, rubbing on each dictionary as if a genie would come out.
“I’ve always wanted to go to Trinidad, to scope out my culture a bit more. I wanted to take my mom back when I got older, sometimes, I can tell she’s homesick.” I continue. He’s silent, looking over the contents of my dresser alongside me.
“Who’s this?” He points at a picture of me and Marie on her first day of High School.
“That’s . . .” I try. I wanted to just leave and forget he ever asked the question, but I can’t be afraid of the fact that my sister existed.
“That’s my baby sister, Marie.” I can tell what his next question might be, something like “where is she?”
“I think I heard my dad calling for us, let’s go.” I whisper, dragging him out of the room. I close my door and go downstairs. I don’t know why I was whispering, but it was better than confronting the situation.
I start to talk to my mom in the kitchen, asking about how she’s holding up and if she’s tired yet. Her eyes linger to Chris in the living room, staring at more family pictures that are mostly Marie and me.
“Mama,” I say, lightly grazing her shoulder with my palm. “You okay?”
“Do you want some dinner? It’ll be just like before . . .” She stopped. She was going to say just like before Marie died. I thought her being in this house would be good for her, but now I’m not so sure.
“No thanks, Mama. I have to get back.” I lie. I don’t have anything to get back to, I just don’t want Chris here because they would tell him about Marie and I’m just not ready.
“Come on, Katarina.” She begs. When she does, it reminds me of how thick her accent is, even after spending over twenty years in America. “I’ll whip up your favorite, white rice and red beans.”
I think about coming back, but then I stop because I remember that she was shot after I visited her. I don’t want whoever this is inside of my childhood home, or to touch either of my parents again.
“Sounds tempting, but I’m going to have to pass Ma,” I give her a gentle hug as if she would break if I squeezed too hard.
“Eh,” she starts. “I should probably clean anyways. Your father isn’t very good at housekeeping,” She walks away slowly, looking for the cleaning supplies. She started to mumble, and it wasn’t until I got a bit closer until I heard clearly. She kept mumbling, “Duhtty house,” over and over.
“Okay, I’m going to go now Ma,” I bend down, trying to look her in the eyes. She looks up at me and I kiss her on the cheek.
Chris and I get back in the car. It was a silent way home. I was thinking about my mom and this whole thing. When I looked over at Chris, his expression was blank.
We went back into his apartment, but I wasn’t here to stay. He assured me he had a good time and he went to his room to change. I started to linger around his living room, much like he did mine. I’ve been through his boxes, and I didn’t see any family pictures displayed either. When he comes back out, I decide to ask about it.
“Where are your family pictures?” I ask, stopping to sit on the couch. The way I said it seemed a bit blunt, but I stand by the statement.
“Uh,” he starts. He puts his hand on his chin as if he were thinking of where they could be. “I didn’t pack any, their all back home. I don’t have much family, just my aunt and my cousins.” I decided not to press about where his mom and dad were.
“Are your aunt and cousins here with you?” I ask. He nods but doesn’t elaborate. I leave the topic and decide to go through his stack of movies. We go through them together. My fingers graze a movie that looked all too familiar, Shadow Keeper. I pick it up and show it to him. “This is a good movie, a bit disturbing, but good.”
“I used to watch that movie a lot when I was a kid.” He says, and finally a scope into his childhood. “I didn’t think much of it; I was just really into horror movies.”
We didn’t watch Shadow Keeper, for the sake of my own sanity, but we did eventually settle on a movie. It was a comedy, but my mind was so far away that I didn’t laugh very often. I just couldn’t stop thinking about my mom.
When afternoon hit, I told him that I had to go and take care of some stuff. That might have been a lie, depending on what Chelsea has planned. When I get back, Chelsea isn’t home; I forgot she had to work today. So, basically, I was home alone to drown in my own thoughts, which is never good.
Since I had my car back, I decide, why stay here? I call my mom and tell her that I’d like to take her up on that dinner . . . Though it was the afternoon, I’ll eat it anyways.
She sounded ecstatic from what I could hear. I know it’s a risk, going back there, but the mental state of my mother matters way too much. She’s already lost one daughter; I’m not going to miss more time with her than I already have. I have to face my family, and lack of.
When I walk in, she’s smiling, and I have fatal flashbacks from the smell. White rice and red beans were mine and Marie’s favorite meal. After I moved out, I never tried to cook it myself, but I could never perfect my mother’s recipe. She spices it up, just enough to where it makes it hard for someone else to replicate it to perfection.
“Smells good ma,” I cry, sitting down at the dining table. My dad and I are
n’t close, but I couldn’t help but scope around for him.
“Where’s dad?” I ask, speaking to my mom, but my dad answered instead.
“I was unpacking,” he breathed, coming from around a corner. He comes over and sits opposing me. I was going to say this hasn’t happened in a while. Because every time my mom fixed dinner, he’d be in the den watching sports.
My mom presents our plates in front of us and then sits down at her usual spot. The only chair left was Marie’s.
I take a wonderful spoonful of beans and everything comes flinging back. “Mm, just like I remember it.” I speak.
Dinner was silent, but it was sort of a comfortable silence. When we’re done, I offer to wash the dishes, I felt like it was the least I could do.
As I’m rinsing, my mom comes and stands beside me.
“You want to go somewhere tomorrow? Hang out and ting. I kind of have something to tell ya but, I’d rather be alone with ya when I do.” She said, leaning in closer to me, while looking back to check if my dad was listening.
“Sure,” I hesitate. When I was done with the dishes, I text Chelsea that I was going to stay here tonight. Before I go up into my room, I catch a glimpse of Marie’s room. I decide to go in, after a very long and pointless conversation with myself, contemplating whether this was a good idea.
As I walk into her keen purple room, it looked a bit more mature than mine did. I found her corsage that she got from Brent on her mirror, just as she left it, wilting. Her bed was perfectly made, and her desk was neat. Her notebooks and school textbooks were stacked, not a thing out of place. Marie’s room was always clean; she was a put together person; which is why I don’t get where I went wrong. She was perfect, and that was the opinion of anyone who ever met her.
Her drawers were labeled, and I begin to absently open the drawer labeled: Tapes. There was a bunch of tapes from our childhood from birthday parties, Christmases, etc. I decide to grab a few and horde them back to my room to watch.
Some of the tapes are on VHS and some are DVD’s. I didn’t grab any specific tape, I just grabbed random ones. Since the VHS tapes were older videos, I decided to watch one of those first. I pop one into my VHS player, and plop down on my bed as if I were about to watch the best movie of my life.
When the video starts, I immediately know that my dad is recording. He’s the first one talking, and he sounded happy, this was before he started to drink.
He was talking to three-year-old Marie. She was on the playground. Behind her stood this tall brown little boy that I didn’t recognize, but it was me.
“Katarina, help Marie down the slide.” He coached. Katarina looked conflicted, like she was happy to be at the park, but not so much to be helping. I was ten years old then and playing with a three-year-old instead of with my friends, wasn’t exactly my ideal plan. I maneuver Marie into a sitting position and push her. As she slides, her curly pig tails blew in the wind, and she smiles as she whisks through the wind. Marie was perfect even back then.
I hung in the back watching, until she got up, and it was clear for me to go. I went down the slide not as graceful as Marie. I had on shorts, so my skin skid on the slide, burning my legs. When I get up, I rub the back of my legs and force a smile.
Marie was always stuck to dad, she was a Daddy’s Girl, and I was in between both parents. Marie runs for my dad but trips and falls over her own two feet. I run to her, doubled over in laughter, and collapsed next to her. After she realized that falling was funny, she joined me, and after my dad knew Marie was okay, so did he. I crawled over to the camera with a big smile on my face and shut it off.
I don’t remember the rest of that day, but I couldn’t help but feel that it was a good one. I put the rest of the tapes in my purse and decided to end the night on a good note.
Chapter 19
When I wake up, I thought I might be a teenager again; waking up to the chirp of birds, and the sunshine bursting in from my bay window. Untangling myself from my covers and smelling the sweet smell of breakfast being cooked. In a way, nothing has changed, but then again, everything has. I fix my hair, grab my purse, and head downstairs.
I feast my eyes on my plate of Eggs and French Toast, right next to my mother and father, who seems to be enjoying their meal.
“Morning,” I say, taking my seat. When I look up to my mother, she’s looking at my dad, and my dad’s staring back at her. They exchange the same glance they did when I told them that I was moving out . . . concern. “Everything okay?” I ask, taking a bite of my French Toast. Considering the past few months, I’d really like it if they’d just tell me what’s wrong.
“Nothing, how was sleep in your old bed?” My dad asks. I felt like a rock was being lifted off my shoulders, but it left little pebbles behind.
“Uh, refreshing,” I smile, forcing it. The rest of breakfast was silent. I do the dishes, and then I try and find my mom.
“What do you want to do, today?” I asked, referring to the conversation we had yesterday.
She seemed confused, as to what I might be referring to. “What are you on about?” She asks. She seemed legitimately absent-minded about the situation.
“Yesterday, you said you wanted to hang out.” I remind. She just shakes her head furiously.
“Well, do you? You said you had something to tell me,” I asked. If she didn’t remember, that doesn’t mean we still can’t go out, and spend time with each other.
“No, I can’t there’s . . .” she seemed disoriented, looking around for something. “There’s so much around the house, and yard to be done.” I maneuver myself to try and meet her eye, but I couldn’t.
“Well, alright ma, I have to go.” I say, slowly. She nods, I wave my dad goodbye, and then I leave. I’d call that weird if I hadn’t been living in Weird Ville for the past few months.
When I get home, Chelsea was on the couch. She jumped up and hugged me, like we haven’t been apart for more than a few hours before. “Sit down, we need to talk.” She says. It didn’t sound like good or bad news, she sounded impartial. I sat, and we faced each other before she began speaking. “We have an eviction notice on the door.” She says, biting her lip.
“I didn’t see a note on the door, did you take it down?” I ask, pointing slightly towards the door.
She was taken aback, “No, I left it up for you to come home to.” She gets up, opens the door and discovers that the note is missing. “No big deal, you can just call the landlord and make a payment.” That was easier said than done. I didn’t say anything to Chelsea, but I was running dangerously low on money. She was the one with the job, but I couldn’t muster to ask her for money.
“Oh, I’ll call the landlord alright.” I said, meaning I’d beg for more time, maybe to tell him that I have a job lined up.
I used the phone that came with the apartment; the landlord was on speed dial.
“Katarina, thanks for the payment.” He answers.
“What payment, sir?” I asked. I look up at Chelsea in the kitchen, and then back down at the floor.
“A call from room seven called to pay for you. His name was . . .” He pauses, and then I hear the rattling of papers. “Chris,” He continued. I almost couldn’t believe he said the name he said. Why would Chris pay my rent?
“Well, you’re welcome, I guess.” I say, hanging up.
“Chels,” I ease, sounding cautious for some reason. Like I was talking to a child, trying to choose my words carefully to where she’d understand. Chelsea would be happy, but I was feeling a bit uneasy about the situation. I was the one who didn’t understand.
“He said that Chris paid the rent.” I get up and walk towards the door. I slowly reach for the knob, unsure of what I was going to do.
“He did what? You just met him.” She spoke. She was smiling but sounded serious at the same time. She wanted to be serious, but I guess the situation was j
ust too funny.
“Yeah I just met him, and I’ve slept in his actual bed, on his couch, and he’s met my parents.” I bite my lip. I knew I was moving too fast. At first, I didn’t want to lead him on and now we’re all the way, practically steady. Well, I don’t think we’re dating, we haven’t had that conversation yet. Right now, he’s just a friend, one that I kissed twice, and someone who I spooned with twice. He was . . . a distraction, from everything, for now.
I leave out the door without another word and head to Chris’s. I knock once, loudly, and then it was followed by two small knocks. I couldn’t comprehend what was going on in his head, I guess I was about to find out. He opened the door with a smile on his face, but it quickly vanished when he saw that I wasn’t smiling.
“Thanks for that.” I say, meaning it that way, but I can tell he heard my hint of sarcasm.
“For sure, come in.” He says, sensing that I had something to say, and that I wasn’t going to say it in the hall.
He sat down on the couch, but I didn’t sit. “What do you think we are?” I asked.
“You really want to talk about this right now?” He smiled, nervously.
I nod. “You don’t think we’re dating, do you? It takes more than a few weeks for me to be serious with someone, especially with . . . what’s been going on in my life lately.” He seemed confused. but I kept talking.
“We, we aren’t dating you know, right? We are just friends, just getting to know each other.” I paced the room back and forth, words were just spilling out all at once, and I even repeated myself a few times in case he didn’t understand.
“Thank you, so much, but I would have figured it out. We aren’t close enough for you to just make grand gestures like that. You know what . . . I’m sorry. I’m overreacting, I’ve just been through a lot lately, and I don’t know if you did this because you’re a great friend… or if you expect something in return.” I finally say. My issues were out on the table now.