by Laura Ward
She paused, slowly looking row by row at her audience. “Let’s begin.”
I smothered my smirk, but I couldn’t hold back my approval. Dr. Redmond was my kind of teacher. She presented a challenge. Intrigued me. Left me wanting more.
Damn right, I was ready for the tough journey. My whole damn life was nothing but that.
* * *
AN HOUR LATER, the lecture finished. Glancing at the time on my phone, I stifled a groan. I never told my boss my new class schedule. He’d assume I was late and try to cut some of my pay for the day.
Scrambling, I shoved my shit into my backpack and moved into the aisle. I elbowed my way past the crowd and jumped off the first step, ready to bolt to my bike.
But as I turned to my right, I crashed into someone.
Dammit. I didn’t have time for this.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” a meek voice peeped out from below me.
Looking down, I figured I must have knocked right into this girl as she was packing her bag. A laptop was on the ground, papers scattered. She knelt, her hands in front of her, feeling along the floor.
“Do you see my glasses? I can’t find them.” Her timid voice rose an octave in panic.
Crouching down, I scanned the ground. A thin, brown frame was lying in the shadow of her seat. I grabbed them and placed my hand on her arm.
“Here.”
She jumped, my touch seeming to startle her. As her fingers made contact with the glasses, she shoved them on her face, the frames askew.
“Th-th-thank you.” Her eyes widened as she took me in.
I narrowed my eyes back at her. I knew what she saw. Same as everyone else. I looked like I could be a criminal. Someone you’d be nervous to be alone with in a parking garage at night. Stereotypes were something I’d experienced my whole life.
Still, I played nice, gathering her computer and papers and handing them to her. We stood, and she tucked her belongings into a leather bag that looked as expensive as my bike.
This time I took her in. Along with the crooked glasses, her hair was pulled away from her face in some sort of twist. Her figure was petite, and she was short, the top of her head reaching the level of my chest. She wore dark blue jeans that looked tailor-made for her figure. The sweater draped over her shoulders appeared to be cashmere, and her shoes had the round, metallic emblem of a fancy-ass designer over the top. Large diamond studs covered most of her earlobe, and an equally large stone was perched at the base of her neck.
Rich bitch. Another entitled girl whose parents spoiled her. I’d bet her hardest decision today was which gourmet shop to order coffee from. Coupled with the look of fear she shot me, I’d say I’d hit the nail on the head.
She opened her mouth to speak, but I stood and walked off without a word. Why bother? Rich bitch and the poor kid from Peruvian immigrants weren’t destined to be friends.
Not a chance in hell.
Chapter Three
Ricky
“RICARDO? GOT A minute?” Ed Barney, the owner of Ed’s bike shop, motioned from his office.
Standing, I pulled a rag from the back pocket of my jeans and wiped the grease off my hands. My stomach tightened as I sauntered into his small, untidy office. Ed sat in a creaky, green vinyl chair, staring down at papers haphazardly tossed in front of him on the desk.
“What’s up? Need me to cover some shifts this weekend?” I silently prayed that this time Ed asked me into his office to offer me overtime at the shop, instead of assuming I was free and adding my name to the doc sheet without so much as a chin raise. One thing you could say about Ed. The man used few words, but he knew what was up.
And what was up was my constant need for more money.
“Nah, man,” he said, as I stopped next to the oil-stained fabric covered chair across from his desk. “I wish. Givin’ you a heads up.” Edward rubbed his hand along the back of his head, his nose wrinkling in disdain.
I stared back, waiting for him to continue.
“Numbers are fucked. I don’t know what I did, but I’m in the red. Every damn month. I’m letting the other guys go for now. Telling them to check back in six months. I know you need the dough, so I’ll hold off letting you go till the end… but that might not be too much longer.” Ed’s face reddened, his shame obvious like a live, cowering creature, attempting to hide when there were no shadows to escape to. He glanced away. “I… I needed you to know.”
Fuck.
Steam cleaning the vents each month paid for food. This job covered utilities and the other bills. Mama handled rent, but there was no way her job cleaning motel rooms would cover anything else.
Damn. The economy was still shit in Indy. Jobs were nearly impossible to come by.
My heart raced, and my skin pricked with heat. “Okay, Ed. Uh, I’m sorry about the business. What can I do to help?”
Edward blew out a breath, scrubbing his hand down his face. “Hope for more work. Otherwise, things don’t look like they’ll turn around.”
I stood, crossing my arms over my chest. “Appreciate the warning. I’m gonna get back to work.”
Edward stretched his arms up over his head, his stained work shirt lifting up to reveal a belly that was used to a lot of fried food and alcohol. “Thanks. I’m getting a beer. I need to get out of here for a while. You’ll lock up?”
He didn’t wait for my answer, his signature shuffling feet loud as he headed out the door. His gait was more labored than usual, his posture dejected.
Looking around the dimly lit office and back into the messy garage, my stomach sank even farther. I had another four hours of work ahead of me, not to mention at least three hours of homework.
Must be nice to escape for a beer like Edward.
Must be nice to escape at all.
I pulled out my phone, typing a text. “Hola, Mama. Working late at Ed’s. Don’t wait up.”
I headed out to the Harley Davidson that I was halfway done repairing the transmission for and heard my phone ding. Pulling it out again, I saw Mama had written me back. “Okay, mijo. Be safe. Dinner is in the fridge. All my love.”
I smiled, my first genuine smile of the day. My mother and I would do anything to take care of those we loved.
No matter how shitty life was for us, we never gave up on that mission.
And we never would.
* * *
SIX HOURS LATER, at two in the morning when I stumbled home bleary-eyed after working and studying, I opened the refrigerator to find my plate of food.
The metal legs of the red vinyl kitchen chair squeaked as I pulled it out and sat. I cracked open a can of beer, not bothering to warm my carnitas.
I ate quickly, listening to the hum of the ventilator coming from my parents’ bedroom. What would our lives be like if that day had been different? Would our definition of success be radically altered? And what about me? My personality. Who I was at the core. Without the life-altering pain and responsibility that society bestowed upon my family, who would I have become?
Many questions raced through my mind, but the last one was always the same.
Whatever happened to that little girl’s life? The life that my father saved instead of his own?
Chapter Four
Aveline
THE QUIET MOTOR of my Tesla quickly transitioned to a hush of stillness. Leaning back against the car seat, I took a few deep breaths. My parents would be at work, so the absence of noise would follow me into the house. Who was I kidding? Silence surrounded me, always.
In all ways.
Grabbing my tote, I opened the car door and slipped out. The tread on my designer flats was muted on the glossy surface of the garage floor. Like the rest of our home, even my parents’ three-car garage was pristine. The smell of lilac, emitted from an aromatic diffuser, making the atmosphere mellow.
As I always did when I parked my car, I pulled the power cord close and resumed battery charging. While driving a Tesla was excellent for the environment, my mom couldn’t help but be
bothered by the unsightly charging system.
There was always room for improvement.
The thing about electric cars—they required planning and discipline. Much like my parents thought about me, even at the age of twenty-two. Since my accident eighteen years ago, when I was four years old, my parents’ tight grip on my free will and independence grew closer to a choke hold.
Walking through the garage entryway and into our mudroom, I shed my leather satchel and winter jacket in the designated cubby where we stored our shoes and hung our coats.
Woof! Woof!
“Settle, Tobias. Settle.” I clapped my hands three times, using the code my parents and I had agreed on to greet our Doberman service dog. Tobias immediately stopped barking, running to me for a quick pet before settling down by the front door.
While Tobias wasn’t purchased or groomed to be a snuggler, I loved him. My parents felt his presence was essential to our safety. He was trained to alert them to doorbells, oven timers, and smoke alarms. Although my parents didn’t take him out in public for assistance, his physical presence at home was an added protection. The unlucky intruder who thought he could get inside would be held until authorities were notified. Tobias meant business and he took his job seriously.
Me? I loved all the noises he made. Tinkling toenails, barks, woofs, grunts, even the small snores he made when he dozed. He brought dimension into the cacophony of sounds that made a home and I welcomed those additional breaks from the peace.
He also talked back to me, which as an only child, I found hilarious. There were times I was sure he laughed, and I absolutely felt his sadness, frustration, or boredom by the duration and pitch of his doggy responses.
Tobias was great company. And having no real friends, I’d welcomed his presence.
I snagged a sparkling water from the refrigerator and settled at the kitchen table. Like the good bookworm I was, I never minded homework. But today I was more intrigued than normal. I had tried for years to get into PSYCH 201, only to get approval after I graduated from college and had completed my bachelor’s degree. After talking to my parents, I decided to enroll in the class anyway. While I took some time deciding if I would enter the workforce or begin a graduate program, I’d glean as much knowledge from this class as I could.
The study of personality—I wanted to submerge myself in this course. How much of who I am was because of my parents and my unique upbringing? How much was due to my accident? How had my parents’ fears and limitations shaped the person that I am today and how much was purely my DNA? I didn’t kid myself into thinking I’d figure myself out completely. After all, Dr. Redmond gave us her spoiler alert today.
It was both. Nature and nurture created me, but still, I wanted more. More answers. More why.
More.
Opening the brand-new textbook, I cracked the spine, allowing the pages to flip to the sides with ease. I sipped my water and read, immersing myself in the words, the breaths of knowledge overtaking the stale air in the room until my brain was heady with bliss.
* * *
TOBIAS BARKED TWICE, an alert that someone was entering the house. I jerked awake. Realizing my forehead was pressed into my textbook, I sat up with a yawn. I stretched my arms over my head, cracking my neck to release the tension from napping in an awkward position.
Checking my watch, it was half past seven. The normal time my parents arrived home from work. Despite the gourmet kitchen with white marble countertops, white cabinets, and custom appliances, my parents rarely cooked. Working all day in upper-level academia took it out of them, it would seem.
Tobias waited in the mudroom and as soon as he heard the three claps, he turned and trotted out, stopping to stand at attention by his food bowl.
I grinned at him and headed to the walk-in pantry where we stored a large plastic bin of his dry food. Almost overfilling his bowl, he dug right in, munching away.
My mom entered the kitchen from the mudroom first, her feet bare and face pinched with exhaustion. As soon as she saw me, however, happiness overtook her. Her eyes widened, her lips curved up, and a slight pink tinged her cheeks. Dad followed, his dark eyes darting back and forth until he found me. Then, he too, beamed.
“Hello, Mom and Dad. How was your day? I missed you!” My lips never opened, but my fingers flew, working through the signs, welcoming them home.
Having been raised by two deaf parents, yet being a hearing person myself, had been challenging at times. But this was all I knew.
With years of practice, they took turns. Each signing hello and telling me about their day before asking about mine. While I signed my responses, the carryout sushi was placed on the table, wine poured for all three of us, and plates were procured.
I unsnapped the take-out chopsticks, taking a break from my conversation to mix wasabi and ginger into my soy sauce. My stomach growled. I popped a piece of a spicy tuna roll into my mouth, watching and taking it all in as my parents conversed back and forth.
There would be no more sounds other than the clatter of the kitchen or the company of Tobias. My parents were silent, the mere whisper of lips moving in tandem with hands or the air whipping through fingers surrounding us. Yet, despite the tranquility, I felt warmth. This was my home.
In the silence, there was love.
Chapter Five
Ricky
“TODAY WE WILL discuss tragedy and its effect on society as well as the individual.” Dr. Redmond began her PowerPoint presentation at the front of the room wearing another pantsuit, this one a light gray color.
I sat back in my chair, twirling my pencil between my fingers. Two weeks at the bike shop helping Ed with billing and advertising made no difference. He wasn’t bringing in enough business to keep me on the books. Panic landed like a heavy rock on my chest, pressing down until I found it hard to breathe. I needed to find a way to make more fucking money.
“I have a theory.” Dr. Redmond paused, waiting for attention at her podium. “I think all of us have faced tragedy in our lives that has shaped our personality. To test this, I’m going to randomly pick three people to come up on stage and we will see what we can learn.”
Alarm rippled through me and I sat upright. Few would guess by my rough exterior that I was fairly smart and well-spoken. I liked to read, and I enjoyed learning and studying. What I didn’t enjoy much was talking out loud in front of people. Oversharing wasn’t a concept I knew. While my mind raced and was eager to gain information, I preferred to keep my damn mouth shut.
I held my breath, hoping I wasn’t chosen for our professor’s experiment on stage.
Dr. Redmond strode across the platform. “Third row, second chair. Young man in the striped shirt. Will you help us out?”
The dude nodded, lifting his long, lean frame from his chair and walking the stairs to stand by Dr. Redmond.
“To make this totally random, close your eyes and pick a row and seat number.” Dr. Redmond spoke into her microphone, addressing the student she’d called from the audience to stand next to her.
Striped shirt closed his eyes, and Dr. Redmond moved the microphone under his mouth. “Twelfth row, tenth chair.”
Fuck. That was my row. Luckily, like on day one of class, I had chosen the first seat.
“It appears the tenth chair is empty. Chair nine, would you participate?” Dr. Redmond asked with a warm smile.
Chair nine held an African-American woman, who if I had to guess, I’d say was in her forties. The woman shrugged and moved past the rest of our row to the front of the room.
Finally, the professor held the microphone in front of the woman and asked her for her choice.
The woman closed her eyes. “Row one, seat one.”
Yes! I mentally fist bumped the air. That seat wasn’t mine. I sat back, relaxing in my chair.
Ah, this last one must be an eager fucker. Not only the first row, but the first seat. This guy was either a total brown-noser or looking to make a quick exit. I craned my neck to see who it wa
s, but I was blocked by too many other curious students.
Dr. Redmond merely lifted her eyebrows in question this time as the class waited to see her last victim. A petite, fragile looking girl rose from her seat, making her way to the stage. Rich bitch. I recognized her from the first day of class. Her face was red, caused by furious blushing, and even from twelve rows away I could tell she was shaking. Other than her palpable fear, what stood out once again were her fancy clothes and jewelry. Her black slacks looked perfectly fitted and her blouse appeared to be silk. Lights from the stage shined off the jewels on her wrists and watch as she walked.
I couldn’t wait to hear her pathetic sob story.
Moving back to striped shirt, Dr. Redmond began. “Tell us your name, please.”
“Walter,” he croaked, clearing his throat a second too long and I placed him in the annoying category.
“I’d like to ask you, Walter, to think back on your life. What’s the strongest memory you have? One that was scary or heartbreaking. Meaning not a triumph, but a tragedy.” The professor waited, one hand on her hip, the other clutching the mike.
Walter’s face morphed into something that looked like pain and questioning as he raised his chin and searched the ceiling tiles in thought. “There a few things that come to mind, but the strongest fear I’ve ever experienced was when my mom had breast cancer.” His voice dropped lower on the word, cancer. His cheeks darkened pink, and he shifted his gaze to the floor in front of him.
Fuck. Cancer. Thank God that was one thing my family had not had to deal with. I was kind of a dick for mentally calling the guy annoying.
