Seeds of Hate

by Melissa Perea

  I lifted myself over her and rested my hips on hers. She didn't protest or scream, so I continued. My lips grazed her cheek, and as I pushed her hair to the side with my hand, they found her neck. I trailed the neckline of her shirt, dipping low and then lower and then lower. She whimpered against me. I watched as her breathing increased, and my arms began to shake.

  Selah's hands trailed my back and moved underneath my shirt. Her fingers grazed the skin across my ribs and then pulled me down, forcing my weight on top of her. I reacted. The proximity of her body felt good. Too good. Like we were meant to do more.

  I started kissing her again, and as we became less guarded, our hands were set free. We both moved over each other, not realizing where and not asking permission. The pillows fell to the floor, and we became entangled as we felt things for each other for the first time.

  And then I tasted tears.

  I pulled away and looked at her face. She was crying. The distance gave me room to breathe and everything about my mother's past sat under a spotlight, right next to the bed.

  "Sey, what's wrong? What happened?" I asked.

  The silent tears became gasps as she gave herself the freedom to respond.

  "I thought, I thought this is what you'd want. This is what I'd want," she replied.

  "What? What do you mean?" I asked.

  I lay next to her, stroking the hair out of her face and pulling down her shirt. She rolled into me, her face nuzzling my neck and her hands clasped at her chest.

  "I miss being loved, Javi. I just wanted to be loved. Be touched."

  I rubbed Selah's back as she cried and wiped away her tears. She continued for several minutes before her breathing evened out. The room was quiet, and all I could hear was my heart pumping.

  "I'm sorry," she replied.

  Her voice startled me, and I leaned back to pull up her chin. "For what?" I asked.

  "For everything," she said.

  Her eyes were rimmed with mascara, and her cheeks were still red from crying.

  "Don't be. We both got caught up," I replied and then I had the sudden urge to pee. "I'll be right back."

  I went to the restroom and turned off the lights in the house. I placed her cake on the dining room table and covered it with plastic. When I came back, she was asleep.

  I set my alarm and pressed play on my music. I just wanted to hold her.

  A soft tapping echoed from the hallway and I left. Looking through the peephole, it was Gio.

  I unlocked the door and let him in. "It was good and bad, buddy. She loved the cake, though."

  Gio smiled and headed to my room.

  "She's still here, so be quiet," I said.

  Gio looked up at me with his head tilted to the left.

  "She's sleeping. It will be okay. She needs to rest."

  I pulled out his mattress and threw him a blanket. Then I picked up my pillows from the floor and got in bed. I rolled over and brought Selah to my chest. Her back facing me. I nuzzled her close and shut my eyes.

  When my heart had calmed and the music peaked, I whispered into her ear, "I love you, Happy Birthday," and fell asleep.

  Chapter 31

  Daddy

  (Selah)

  Javier's violin music played in the background as I stepped out of bed and searched for my shoes. I grabbed my jacket and adjusted my shirt. The mirror caught my reflection and I froze. My face was a tangled mess of curls and dark smudges. I licked my finger and dragged it under my eyes. Not great, but better.

  The background shifted and I turned around to see Gio propped up on an elbow, rubbing the sleep away. He had on one of Javier's black shirts with his own Superman pants. I looked to the bed, where Javi lay sleeping, and I blushed. There was an indentation from my body and his arm held the air as if I was still there. I didn't know Gio had come over.

  I checked my watch.

  I had to go.

  Gio pointed at Javier and then lifted his hands in question.

  "When he wakes, tell him I'll see him later," I whispered as low as possible, hoping the violins and the disappearing warmth from my body held until I left.

  "Did you tell him?" he asked while yawning.

  The surprise at hearing his voice caused my words to stumble. "Tell him what?" I asked.

  "That you love him." Gio lay back down and pulled his blankets up to his chin.

  "What makes you think I do?" I replied.

  "He made you cake, didn't he?"

  My eyes crinkled with laughter. "He did," I said, squatting closer to his mattress. The stereo switched to a new song—slower, quieter, more peaceful. I tilted my head to the side and smiled. Leaning over, I kissed Gio's cheek and then left. Javier could have a few more hours of thinking I was there. And I wanted to leave with his last words brushing my ear. He thought I was sleeping, but I had heard.

  ***

  I showered, dressed and tidied up the house. According to his itinerary, my father would be landing in a few hours. So much had changed. Too much had changed.

  Frank and Carolyn were staying away for the entire weekend, allowing us time to reconnect. He had arranged his plans through them, since I refused to talk to him on the phone. This had begun around thirteen. I asked him to come home for my birthday and he said he couldn't. I told him to stop calling. That I'd only respond to letters. After a year the point had been made, but his decision to come home never changed.

  Eventually, I stopped responding to the letters as well. I'm sure he received updates. Enough to appease him, but it still never added up. Why they kept me without complaining. Why they didn't send me to him when I got older. Why no one ever talked about my mother. Why they accepted me, but didn't want to show me love.

  I had gathered bits and pieces of information over the years. Stories of Aunt Carolyn's repeated miscarriages and Frank refusing to try more. Refusing to adopt. Maybe my presence gave them a taste of what they always wanted, but couldn't have. But since I wasn't really theirs, it didn't really help. Understanding people and why they made the choices they did was something I had learned to leave at the curb with Friday morning's trash.

  The clock ticked by on the wall. The seconds became hours and the inside of my lip began to bleed from biting it.

  Thirty more minutes.

  Thirty more minutes and my doorbell would ring.

  What do you say to cover the span of eight years? Would I hug him? Shake his hand? Smile or frown? I stood in front of the mirror and practiced greeting him.

  "Hi Dad."

  "Hi Daddy."

  "Father. How are you?"

  "Hey, how was the flight?"

  They all felt forced. Unnatural and stiff. I settled on a stoic face of silence. He could put forth the first word. He owed me that much. If he hugged me or not, that was on him, but I'd keep my distance until then. My emotions when manipulated tended to swing like a wrecking ball—destructive and chaotic.

  I looked at the clock. He wasn't coming. He had five minutes. He was coming. No, he lied. He wouldn't show.

  Calm down.

  Calm down.

  Calm down.

  If he didn't show, nothing changed. Life would go on and I would continue to carry the same disappointment I had since she died. Nothing new. No big deal. Everything would be okay. Sad, but okay. This was the preferable choice. School would start back up in a week after Christmas break, I would see Izzy and Javier on Monday morning. We'd drink coffee. We'd laugh. We'd study. We'd survive.

  All good things.

  He was five minutes late now. Maybe he got stood up in traffic. Maybe there was a flight delay. I'd give him the benefit of a few hours’ late arrival. What's a few hours when compared to eight years? He was going to come. He wouldn't have planned everything out if he wasn't. Before, it was always empty words and promises. There was nothing ever made and cancelled. Just letters on a page that crumpled into lies.

  This time was different.

  It had to be.

  The doorbell rang and I jumped.
My breathing became erratic and I ran to the bathroom to wash my hands and spray myself with perfume. You look great. You look perfect. He still loves you. He still loves you. This was good.

  I ran my hands down the front of my dress and took a long, slow breath. Walking to the door, I said a small prayer. Please, please, please be him. Be here. Be now.

  The door lock slid from its place as I twisted the latch, the sound slicing my ears. My heartbeat poured from my fingertips as I turned the handle.

  Please, please, please be him. Be here. Be now.

  A man stood on the front steps, tall, dark hair and broad shoulders. His back was turned to me, but I couldn't tell. I didn't know. Shouldn't I know if he was my father?

  Without thinking, my voice dropped eight years and the one word I didn't want to say tumbled from my mouth.

  "Daddy?" I said with a short squeak at the end. My feet had raised themselves onto my tiptoes and I held onto the door for balance.

  The man turned around at my voice. He had no luggage, no bags, just a large square box in his hands.

  "Selah?" he replied.

  His face was too young. His clothes were too wrong. His eyes too kind. I gripped the handle tighter and my feet crashed against the floor.

  "You're not him. Where's my father?"

  The man's face flushed. His right hand left the box as it balanced in his left and he pulled on the outer edge of his collar.

  "Your father—" and that was all I caught before I threw the door at the frame and slammed it in his face. I locked the bolt back into place and stared at the ground.

  You're okay. You knew this was going to happen. This is reality. Hold it together.

  I walked upstairs to my room and turned on my stereo, the end of my lullaby playing out as I turned in small, slow circles.

  Everyone else had been making decisions their whole life without considering me. For once I would do the same.

  Chapter 32

  I Love You

  (Javier)

  Selah avoided me all week. Her dad not showing had upset her more than I imagined. A part of me thought that's what she had wanted. That deep inside, seeing him would be more difficult than not.

  I stopped by unannounced last night, and she stepped outside and pushed me down the driveway. Told me she'd see me at school. Her godparents walked out just as I was leaving.

  "Who's that?" they asked.

  "No one. A friend from school," she replied and then closed the door.

  I wasn't dumb enough to be hurt by her words. She was hurting too. I just hoped this didn't change things. That I wouldn't have to go back to not having her. That she would be there in the morning, sitting against the brick wall, sipping coffee from Izzy.

  When I walked up the sidewalk, the school was buzzing with noise. Izzy was already there, but there was no mess of curls next to him. I held out hope and sat down anyway.

  "Have you seen her?" I asked.

  Izzy smiled. "You've got it so bad. Didn't you two hang out during break?" he asked.

  "Yes and no," I replied. "For her birthday only. Then stuff came up."

  His smile left and he handed me a coffee and the greasy bag of buns. "Problems in paradise?"

  I shrugged and bit down, eating half of the sticky bun in one mouthful. "Something like that," I said while chewing.

  I made an attempt to distract myself by talking to Izzy and not worrying about Selah. It hadn't been just the two of us for a while. The bell rang and I stayed seated. She still wasn't here.

  When classes filled and the campus returned to silence, I got up. She never missed school. If she wasn't coming, she would've called. Or her godparents would've.

  I entered the office and Mrs. Moss frowned. "Oh no, what happened?" she asked.

  I should've laughed, but the feeling never came. "Did Selah call in sick today?"

  "Selah, Selah, Selah. Name sounds familiar. A friend of yours?"

  "Yeah."

  Mrs. Moss scrambled through a large pile of papers on her desk, notes, reports, and post-its all plastered about. She found a red slip and held it up.

  "Oh yes, here we go," she replied. "Selah Wonders?"

  I nodded.

  "She withdrew last Friday."

  "Withdrew?" I asked.

  "Yep, it looks like she sent the paperwork this morning—"

  I turned around without thinking and I ran. I ran fast and hard. Mrs. Moss yelled out at me, but I didn't hear her. I couldn't hear anything. Only the sound of my pounding heart and the repeated questions about where she was and what she was doing.

  Selah. Don't.

  ***

  When I got to her house, the front door was closed and the driveway was empty. If her car wasn't there then she was in her car. Let her be in her car. Let her be in her car. I don't care where, just be in the car.

  I took a seat on the concrete and lay down. My eyes closed and I held my mouth shut from screaming. From spitting. From thinking she didn't have the right.

  No goodbye? No warning?

  I called out to the nameless sky, hoping my words would catch on a cloud and be carried away. "Selah! Selah. Sey. Please, please be okay."

  She didn't respond. She couldn't hear me.

  I opened my eyes and sat up. The concrete was cold and the sky was gray. The clouds were all gone, and the street held no life. No noises. No warmth. And that's when I saw them. My assurance.

  Several feet in the distance and to the left of her driveway hung a pair of shoes from a telephone wire.

  With red laces. And red canvas.

  Standing, I pointed myself in the direction of home and walked—a smile on my face and a piece of hope to hold onto.

  ***

  Gio sat on the bottom step of our apartment complex with his head in his hands.

  "What's wrong?" I asked.

  He looked up but didn't reply. His head dropped back down and he rubbed his eyes.

  "Gio, what happened?"

  He stomped his foot once before standing and grabbing my hand. Then he led me upstairs and into his apartment. The lights were on, but no one else was home. Gio continued on and into his bedroom. His bed sat against the far left wall and was comprised of a single sheet and a lumpy pillow. A small blanket laid next to it in a heap on the floor.

  I squeezed his hand. "What? Just tell me."

  Gio moved to his closet and pushed the wood door to the right—small scratches and several dents peppering it at the base.

  The sun had set and I couldn't see what he was trying to show me. I turned and flipped on the light. He tugged on the back of my shirt and pulled me to the closet door again.

  I stopped breathing.

  "She was here? She came here?"

  Gio nodded in agreement, his face moving at a rapid pace.

  "What'd she say? What'd she do?"

  He didn't reply, he just grabbed the top box of a dozen or so piled high and handed it to me. The box was light and felt empty. I shook it and heard a light sliding of paper. The outside description showed my shoe—same color, same style, but five sizes smaller.

  I opened the box and unfolded the paper with hands trembling. I rubbed at my eye before reading.

  Javi,

  Don't be afraid. Don't be sad. It's better this way.

  I don't know what I will do or where I will go, but the choice will be mine. And mine alone.

  My father finally gave me the only thing better than himself.

  Freedom.

  From my godparents, from him and from the choices everyone else was making.

  Selah

  P.S. I heard you and please know that what Gio said is true. I loved the cake, so I must love you.

  I folded up the letter and placed it back in the box—closing the lid slow and soft, as if she could feel me. Gio stared up at me, distress and confusion marking his face. He handed me the second box. It was heavy and full.

  The outside description was the same, except this one was my size—ten and a half. I looked back
into the closet and saw the same box repeated eleven more times. The stack stood taller than Gio.

  "She dropped these off?" I asked.

  He nodded yes.

  I stepped back and hit the wall. My back slid down until I sat on the floor and pushed my feet out in front of me. I ran my fingers over my head and then down and around my neck.

  "Why?" I said out loud. "Why?"

  Gio walked toward me and took a seat. He removed the heavy box of shoes from my hands and placed it aside. He then opened the lighter box and pulled out the letter.

  When he unfolded it, he looked up at me and pointed to the last line. I grabbed the paper and read it again.

  She had heard me. She was okay. I patted my pocket and smiled, knowing that I would always have hope. That we would always have hope.

  Chapter 33

  Freedom - Present Day

  (Selah)

  I didn't run away. I walked—strong and thoughtful, one foot in front of the other. It wasn't my first instinct, but it seemed to be my only solution. My only way of starting new and figuring out who I was. Who I was meant to be.

  I spent several days coming to terms with my plan and building up the nerve to proceed. The gift—the box my father sent me—was the catalyst for it all. In it held the paperwork and funding for college, living expenses and the like. My mother's life insurance policy had been placed in my name after her death and would be released to me on my eighteenth birthday. It wasn't enough to live off of indefinitely, but it would be plenty to begin with.

  Frank and Aunt Carolyn were the only other road block. To tell them? Not tell them? Lie? When they came back, expecting me to be with my father, their response was unsurprising, but hurtful. I don't know why I continued to hope for more from them. They never delivered.

  I was lying on my bed, head in my pillow and face covered with tears. The following morning—the day after my birthday—I was still crying and I couldn't stop. Aunt Carolyn knocked on the door to my room and turned off my stereo.