Dirty Chaos
Page 12
There are moments in your life where, for a fraction of a second, your heart forgets a beat. In that fraction of a second, you feel like nothing in your life will ever be the same.
I feel the skip and I know in that moment that I am too late.
It takes one beat of a heart to give life and one missed beat to end it.
I think I might have screamed because I see my mother’s head come up as she makes a move toward me. I push the button of the elevator, I fall back into it as it opens, and my mother screams my name. I can’t breathe. No, God, no. Why? I ask as clutch my chest. I feel like someone has punched me in my stomach. This can’t be happening. I didn’t get to say goodbye.
I have no idea how I get to my house again, and I don’t remember getting my ballet shoes on. I don’t remember anything until I feel someone’s hand on me, jerking me to stop.
“Lola, baby, stop.” a voice says. I stop.
I look at the mirror in front of me and see Luka standing next to me. I make no move to touch him or answer. I was so involved with his boy; I would have not missed anytime with my grandmother for the last couple of weeks. If I had known this before, I would’ve stayed with my grandmother.
“You forgot to call me last night. I know how…” He doesn’t get to finish because my studio door opens and Brian and Nolan rush in; it’s like I wake up.
“Lola, we just heard,” Brian says. I run to him and he catches me, wrapping his arms around me.
I cry, sobbing onto his shoulder. “She is gone. She can’t leave me yet.” I continue to cry.
“Shh,” he whispers into my hair. I feel Nolan wrap his arms around me too. “You came,” I say as I tighten my grip on them.
“Lolita, baby, we will always be here to catch you no matter what,” Nolan says. And just like that, every hurtful word that was said is forgotten. I love my boys.
I feel my feet ache. I look down and see the pink of my slippers turning crimson.
“Lola, how long have you been in here dancing?” Nolan asks.
“I don’t know.” I sob.
“Lola, are you saying you have been dancing for hours?” He says, sounding mad.
“Dancing has always helped me feel better, but I don’t think it is going to help me now. I don’t feel better at all. I feel like my heart has been ripped out,” I cry.
I feel their arms tighten around me. I feel Nolan step back as Brian starts to walk out of the studio. I have my face buried in his neck, but as he turns to leave, I pick my head up looking for Luka, but he is not there. I tighten my grip on Brian as I let the tears come again. This emptiness I feel is consuming me.
I feel the cold surface of the counter in the bathroom. Nolan goes to the bathtub and turns the water on, filing it and adding the oils I use for my feet. I just let them, too numb to speak. Brian takes my slippers off.
I hear his intake of breath as the first shoe comes off. “Jesus, Lola.” I feel the next one come off.
“I think the water is good,” I hear Nolan whisper. Brian picks me up and sets me on the side of the tub as he gathers my feet and puts them in the water. I wince as I feel the burn. I look at my feet and they are in bad shape. I soak them for a while, nobody saying anything. The silence is deafening.
“Where did Luka go?” Nolan asks. I have no idea. I don’t answer.
“I dunno,” Brian says as he lifts my feet to inspect them. He must be satisfied by their appearance because he moves me back to the counter and gets the first aid kit out. He opens a bottle of something and pours the liquid onto gauze.
“This might sting a little, Lo,” he says as he proceeds to apply it to my feet. I can feel the sting but I don’t voice my pain. No pain is as great as the one I feel in my heart.
When he is done, he puts some cream on them and wraps them around my feet. He carries me to my bedroom and Nolan turns down the covers as they place me there. They cover me and get into bed with me. I know I should talk or say thank you at least, but I can’t. Words don’t come. I’m lost in the memories that I have of my abuela. She has always been the constant in my life. She has never ever spent a day away from me since I was born. How am I going to survive her absence?
“Your parents stayed at the hospital to make the arrangements. You should sleep, Lola.”
I close my eyes, trying to find the darkness that I crave. I don’t want to be awake in a world that doesn’t have my abuelita.
I must have dosed off, because it is dark again when I wake up. The boys are gone and I feel so alone.
“I know you are awake,” Luka says from somewhere in the room. I can feel his eyes on me. “Lola, I can see you are awake, your breathing changed.”
I roll over, not saying anything. Do I blame Luka for taking away my time with my grandmother? Is that why I feel anger sweep into me as I hear his voice?
“So, I see that you are well taken care of. I really thought you would’ve needed my help, but I guess I was wrong.” I can hear the accusation in his tone, or is it hurt? I don’t know and I don’t care. No one is hurting more than me.
I have nothing to say.
“You know the way the boys held you yesterday was kind of intimate. The way all your bodies came together like a puzzle was weird, like you guys had done it before.”
“Look Luka, if you have something to say, say it, don’t pussy your way around it,” I finally speak. I am surprised by the confidence in my voice.
“She talks. I was just wondering how personal your relationship is.” I sit up on my bed, searching for him. He is sitting on my vanity chair with one of my pictures with the boys in his hands.
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Luka. They are my friends, a part of me. They have known me literally since the day we were born so yeah, it is pretty personal. We have grown comfortable with each other. They knew my abuelita, love her like she was their own,” I say.
“I just wanted to see if I had anything to worry about.”
“What? My abuelita is dead and you are having a pissing contest, really? I don’t need this right now. Can you just leave now?” My anger sizzles in my body. Seriously, he is more worried about my relationship with the boys rather than try to comfort me. Not that I want it, but I need it. I need his calmness around me as the battle between my heart and mind rages.
“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t be talking about this right now, but the way you ran to them and the way that you all seem to fit made me fucking jealous,” he responds as he walks toward the bed. He sits by me and hugs me. I just can’t hug him back. He is the reason I neglected my abuelita. If I had not been training him or making out with him, I would have had more time with her. I just sit, waiting for him to leave.
He sighs and looks at me one last time before he leaves. I lay back down on my bed, hurting.
Gray: my favorite color, the color I have always associated with comfort, the color of the skies, and the color of Abuelita’s hair. Today, gray doesn’t bring me comfort; it brings sorrow and great pain. In life we say many goodbyes, but the hardest goodbye is the one that is infinite. I can’t even fathom how I am going to feel about this tomorrow. It’s been three days since I last talked to her and already I miss her: her smell, her voice, her laughter, her presence, her affection, her love gone. It’s all gone.
My eyes are swollen and heavy from crying, I’ve been lying in bed, unable to sleep. I keep wanting to go back to the yesterdays and see her one more time, hating that there will be no more tomorrows with her. I’m angry with myself, at Luka, and at God for taking her away from me. He took her. I didn’t even get to say I love you. I just want her to hear me say I love you.
“I love you!” I scream out into the blank space of my room. I taste the saltiness of my tears. My chest tightens thinking about today. Today we bury her. I get to say I love you but I don’t get to hear it back.
“Mija, you need to get ready, the service is in an hour.” My mom gently knocks on the door, walks in, and sits on my bed. She gently rubs my back.
“Me either,” she whispers and kisses my head.
I get out of bed and head toward the bathroom. I take a shower and brush my hair. I look in the mirror and make sure I’m at least presentable under the circumstances. I walk into my room and notice my black dress with gray leather trim lying out on my bed; my mom must have pulled it out for me. The last couple of days my attire consisted of long sweaters and leggings; it was effortless. I slip on my dress and put on my ballet flats, I wincing at the pain in my feet. I don’t bother to put on makeup; it won’t stay on with my constant flow of tears anyway.
“Lola, sweetie, we have to go,” my father calls out.
I sit in the back seat of the car, staring out into the gray cloudy skies. I see the funeral home come into view and my chest begins to tighten. I’m lightheaded and my heart palpitates, causing me to lose my breath. I close my eyes as my dad pulls into the parking lot. I feel the car come to a stop. My dad opens my door and helps me out of the car. He wraps his arm around my shoulders as we make our way into the funeral home.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I hear the funeral director say.
“Thank you,” my father replies. I don’t respond because I’m sorry too. Today those four words are going be repetitive; I will hear them from everyone who will pay their respects to my abuelita. Is it rude that I won’t respond back?
I make my way into the service room. It is adorned with many different colors of roses. My eyes glance at one in particular that is, different. It’s a standing spray of ombre roses. They have the deepest red on top then fade to a lighter shade of red, to pink, to pale pink, to white. It’s beautiful, and it symbolizes her life. I glance over and my eyes immediately recognize her gray hair. From a distance, I see her pale skin and I slowly walk toward her.
I kneel in front of her. I reach in and place my hand on top of hers. Her skin is cold and hard. Her heart is no longer beating, and suddenly the thought is unbearable.
“Abuelita!” I yell out. I’m crying so loud my throat hurts. My parents are behind me and I can hear my mother crying. My dad lays his hand on my shoulder and gently squeezes it.
“I love you,” I whisper to my abuelita. I lean in and place a kiss on her cold lifeless body.
I get up and sit on the hard wooden bench. I close my eyes and feel the tears trickling down my cheeks. A warm hand wipes my tears away and is placed on the side of my face. I open my eyes and see Brian in front of me.
He takes a seat next to me and wraps his arm around me. I lean into him, placing my cheek against his shoulder, and he kisses my head.
“I miss her. I want her back,” I tell him.
“I know baby,” he whispers. I don’t know how long I stay there against him, but I sit up when I feel Nolan’s hand on my leg.
“Hey, how you holding up?” Nolan asks. I look at him and roll my eyes. I know he’s never been good at these sorts of situations, but I’m glad he’s made it here to be with me.
“How do I look?” I ask him.
“Honestly, like shit,” he says. Brian punches him on the arm.
“Jerk,” Brain says to Nolan.
“What? She asked man, why lie?” he responds.
“Sorry, Lolita.” I turn and lean into him.
The loudness of bodies shuffling increases as people make their way into the funeral home. They stop and pay their respects to my grandmother and then come by to give their condolences to my parents and me. Brian and Nolan stand to leave and I pull them back to me. I don’t want them to move, I want them to sit with me; I feel better when they’re here.
“Please don’t leave me alone,” I tell them.
“Of course not,” Brian says.
I turn back and see so many faces of people who cared about my grandmother. Some are familiar and others aren’t. The one I’m searching for hasn’t come into view. I turn back around and hold Nolan’s hand while Brian’s arm is still comforting me.
My thoughts are consumed by moments from the past that I shared with my grandmother, the good, the bad, and the in between. She might not have provided me with material things, but in this moment, I realize that all the small things she did give have made the biggest impact in my life, from a cup of manzanilla tea to all her consejos.
My thoughts come back to the cold, dull place I’m in when I see people lining up along the aisle. One by one, they come by and give me their condolences. I don’t even respond to them; all I can manage to do is give them a slight nod. I see a familiar face approach me. He gives me a small smile and opens his arms for me. I stand into his embrace.
“My swan,” is all Dion says as he hugs me tightly. The familiarity of him in the swarm of strange people causes my tears to flow. I gasp for air in between sobs, but I can’t manage to quiet myself. My throat is dry, my head is pounding, and my chest is tight.
Dion pulls back and takes my face in his hands. He nods and looks right into my red swollen eyes. Everyone has made it out of the funeral home and I see the funeral director approach my parents.
“Mr. and Mrs. Cole, please take these last few minutes to say your goodbyes. The car parked behind the hearse will be waiting outside to take you to the cemetery when you’re ready.” I hear my dad say thank you as my mother walks over to Abuelita. I don’t think I have ever seen my parents so vulnerable; it makes my heart ache even more. I walk over, Nolan and Brian following behind me. My mother is holding Abuela’s hand, my father is holding my mother, and we are holding hands standing behind them. We are all in tears. We are all in pain. We are all missing her.
The drive to the cemetery is short, too short. I don’t know if I am ready to let her go. I see rows of headstones as we drive in and my eyes fall upon a tent that sits over her final resting place. The car pulls in behind the hearse, stopping next to the mound of dirt that will soon cover her. I can’t. I can’t. I sit frozen in the car, unable to get out. My dad and the boys exit the car and head over to the hearse. They along with Nolan’s dad, Brian’s dad, and a family friend will be carrying my abuelita’s body. I watch from a distance as these men whom I love carry the body of the woman who was my everything.
“I know this is one of the most difficult things you have encountered, but mija she’s in a better place. She is looking upon us right now from above. She would hate for us to be crying for her. I know she would want us to be rejoicing that she’s been united with her Lord and the love of her life, your abuelo,” my mom says, squeezing me a little tighter. Her tears fall upon my forehead. I know she’s hurting but I don’t think anyone is hurting more than me.
“Rejoicing? I don’t want to rejoice. I want her back! I want her here! I want her in this world! I want her to hold me! I want to hear her voice! So no, I’m not going to be rejoicing!” I don’t know if my words are intelligible since I’m yelling and crying at the same time.
“Mija, she will always be here with us, you know that. It might not be physically as we want her to be, but her presence will always linger wherever you go because she’s here.” She places her hand over my heart.
“But I miss her more today than I did yesterday.” She wraps her arms around me and I lean in to her embrace as her chin rests on my head. She places a kiss and pulls away. She places her hands on the sides of my face and mouths, “Ready?”
The car door opens and she steps out. She holds her hand out to me, but I hesitate to take it. My dad walks toward us and waits for me to exit the car. I take their hands and step out. A crowd of people is standing around the tent. We sit in front of her. The gray casket looks brighter with the spray of ombre roses lying on top. The funeral director says a few words and welcomes the mariachis to play a few songs while we take a moment to remember her.
I hear the strum of el guitarron and tears begin to flow, the song “La barca en que me ir” by Vicente Fernandez plays softly. My heartache is unbearable and each wor
d rings true. I can’t hold in my sobs. My parents hold me, trying to console me, but right now at this moment, I’m inconsolable. I want to run to her, open the casket, and see her one more time. Just one more time, to kiss her, to touch her beautiful aged face, and to say I love you. I’m not ready to say goodbye. I. Don’t. Want. To. Say. Goodbye.
The sound of the mariachi’s trumpet in the song “Ya me voy por siempre” by Viciente Fernandez is somber, like my soul. The heaviness in my chest is excruciating. Nothing can ease my pain. The crowd is slowly paying their last respects and saying their goodbyes to my grandmother as they leave. The mariachis play their instruments until the last person leaves. The only ones left are my parents, Nolan, Brian, and me. The silence indicates that the service is over, and that I will never see her again. This is my final goodbye. I try to quiet my sobs, but the harder I try the louder they become.
“Mr. and Mrs. Cole, our condolences to you and your family. Please, take your time and when you’re ready, the car will take you back to the funeral home,” the funeral director says kindly.
My parents rise from their chairs and my mother places a single white rose on the casket. My father holds my mother to keep her from falling. I stand with barely enough energy to walk to the casket. I try to hug it but it’s so big that I can’t. I place a kiss on it and place my forehead against it.
“I love you,” I whisper. I turn and sit back down under the tent.
“Mija, are you ready?” My dad asks.
“No, I’m staying until the end,” I tell him. My mother takes a seat next to me, my father next to my mother, and Nolan and Brian behind me.
The cemetery workers carefully remove the spray of flowers, leaving only the single rose my mother placed. They slowly begin to lower her into the deep dark plot. I clench my chest, trying to ease the pain, but it doesn’t help. My throat burns, my head is throbbing, and my eyes are heavy. I can’t seem to quiet myself, and my sobs are louder as she inches closer to her final place. A backhoe approaches and lowers the cement top before filling it with dirt. This is it. She will no longer see sunshine. She will no longer be in this world. She’s gone, along with a piece of me.