Last Night I Sang to the Monster

by Benjamin Alire Sáenz

  He nodded. “Sometimes I wish it would all go away.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But I guess things don’t go away just because we want them to.”

  “Guess not.”

  “What’s the worst thing that happened to you?”

  “I lost my parents.” I didn’t know I was going to say that. I didn’t even know if that was true. But I knew it was true. I’d never said it before.

  “You wanna talk about it?”

  “No,” I said. “I can’t.” I thought of what Rafael had said, that I should be put on contract regarding the two words I can’t.

  “That’s cool.” Amit kept staring at his painting as if he were trying to analyze himself. “You wanna go have a cigarette?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  When we stepped out into the night air, I could hear Amit talking to me. I mean, it was good to hear a human voice. It was good that the voice was right there next to me. But I wasn’t really listening to what he was saying. I thought of Rafael and I kept seeing him as he sang to his monster. I kept seeing Adam’s face and it was a kind face, a good face, and I kept seeing tears on Lizzie’s face and I thought she must have been really pretty when she was young and I wondered where I was going. I thought of the road in my drawing.

  As we reached the smoking pit, I heard Amit say that the weather was changing. “It’s like you can almost feel winter going away.”

  That was a nice thought. A good thought. A beautiful thought.

  Summertime. It was a song. It was a season. I wondered if that season would ever live inside of me.

  REMEMBERING

  “I keep having this dream. You’re in it, and Rafael’s in it, and my dad’s in it.”

  “What’s the dream?”

  So I told him all about the dream.

  “Are you mad at me in the dream?”

  “Why would I be mad?”

  “I’m the guy that’s making you decide. Is that how you see me—as the guy that’s making you choose between—,” Adam stopped. He looked at me. “Let’s forget about me for just—tell me, what does your father represent in the dream?”

  “He’s my father. My father represents my father.”

  “But you said you really wanted to go with Rafael.”

  “I do. I mean, in the dream I do. In the dream, I want to choose him. But I don’t. I wind up going with my father.”

  “You choose drinking.”

  “Well, no, I choose my father. But, well, yeah, I guess I mean that’s how it turns out.”

  “You choose your father. You choose drinking. Your father represents what, Zach?”

  “My old life.”

  “And Rafael represents what?”

  “My new life, I guess.”

  “Yes, I think so. And in the dream you choose your old life over your new life. How does that make you feel?”

  “But he’s my father. I’m supposed to pick my father.”

  “Are you?”

  I just looked at Adam. “Yes.”

  “Zach, the last time you were in my office—”

  “When I sort of fell apart.”

  “Yeah, when you sort of fell apart. You said you missed your father. You said it hurt.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can I ask you a question?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “Do you believe you’ll see Rafael again?”

  “Yes. I guess I do. I hope so. I’d like to.”

  “What will stop you from seeing him again?”

  “Nothing—I guess.”

  “You guess? Don’t you know how to get in touch with him?”

  “Sure I do. I can reach him if I want.”

  “Do you want?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. And do you believe you’ll see your father again?”

  I couldn’t answer his question. I didn’t know how to answer it.

  Adam was studying my face. “You avoid questions about your family.”

  “I guess I do.”

  “Yeah, I guess you do. Can I ask you something, Zach? Can I be really honest with you?”

  “Yeah, you can be honest.”

  “How much longer are you going to put off dealing with what got you here?”

  “I’m trying.”

  “The sketch was good work. It was, Zach. And the work you did with Rafael, that was good work.”

  “What do you mean the work I did with Rafael? Rafael’s my friend.”

  Adam looked at me. He had that careful look on his face and then he said, “You let yourself love him. That’s good work for someone who doesn’t like to feel.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I said. “But I didn’t say goodbye to him.”

  “I know. Can you tell me why?”

  “Don’t you have a theory about that?”

  “I don’t care about my theory.”

  “It hurt too much—to say goodbye.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Because why?”

  “Because—”

  “Will you do something for me, Zach?”

  “Sure.”

  “Repeat after me. I.”

  “I.”

  “Love.”

  “Love.”

  “Rafael.”

  “Rafael.”

  “I love Rafael.”

  “I love Rafael.”

  Adam nodded and looked straight at me. “That’s hard for you to say, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it’s hard.”

  “Even though it’s true, it’s hard.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s normal to love people, Zach.”

  “I’m not normal, Adam.”

  “I get that. But I think you fight—.” He stopped and searched for a word or a thought. “You fight yourself, Zach. And you keep fighting yourself. And it’s killing you because you’re fighting the best part of yourself.”

  “I—” I didn’t even know what I wanted to say. I was staring at the floor again. I was back to that.

  “Do you believe that Rafael loves you? Do you think that’s true?”

  “That’s what he said. But what does that mean?”

  “Could it mean he cares about you? Could it mean that he thinks what happens to you matters?”

  “Yes. I guess so.”

  “You guess so? Let’s just say Rafael loves you. Why? Why does he love you? Does he have ulterior motives? Does he have selfish or unhealthy intentions? Is he some kind of pervert?”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “No. That’s not what I think. I want to know what you think, Zach. Why does Rafael love you? What’s your theory?”

  “Because I remind him of his son. Because he could be a father to me. And he always wanted that—to be a father.”

  “Yes. Yes, I think that’s true. But you think that’s the only reason?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is it possible that Rafael sees you?”

  “Yes. It’s possible.”

  “You know what I’m making up? I’m making up that Rafael left you his journal because he believed that you’d find something in there that would help you.” Adam got this look on his face, the look that said an idea had just entered his head. “The road in your sketch—it’s going somewhere. You don’t know where. I don’t know where. No one knows, Zach. And Rafael’s journal, that’s his map, that’s his road. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “That road, where you’re lying next to your dead dog Lilly, that road led you here, Zach. And it’s going to lead somewhere else after you leave. You gotta get up, Zach. You’re not dead. The road is waiting for you.”

  THE LAST STORM

  -1-

  “Keep breathing, Zach, you’re doing just fine.” Susan’s voice was firm but soft as I breathed. I focused on bringing the air out of my feet to the top of my head. When I’d brought up all the air out of my body, I’d let it out. Not too fast, not too slow. Steady. My a
rms and hands were numb but that’s what always happened in Breathwork, parts of my body began to feel tingly, numb and other parts felt heavy. I had my eyes closed and thought of nothing else but my breathing. I was vaguely aware of Susan’s presence. During our sessions, she only spoke when she sensed I needed encouragement.

  And then something happened that had never happened before. There it was right in front of me. My brother with a gun, a grin on his face. And then I could see blood on the floor, like spilled water. Santiago pointed the gun at me, then laughed, then pointed the gun at himself, then laughed and then the whole scene turned blank and all I could see was red. I felt Susan’s hand lightly running over my arm. “It’s okay, Zach,” she whispered. “It’s okay. Do you want to stop?” I kept breathing, just kept breathing.

  My mother’s eyes were open. They were as grey as a cloud. My father was still, motionless. The world was quiet. And there was an explosion. And my brother was wearing a strange smile. I heard Susan’s voice. “Let’s stop now, Zach. What’s your body telling you?”

  “There’s something pushing down,” I said, “on my chest. On my arms, on my hands, on my legs. I can’t move.”

  “You can, Zach. Move your legs.”

  I opened my eyes and lifted one leg, then the other.

  “Now move your arms, Zach.”

  I lifted my arms toward the sky, then let them drop. “I guess I can move.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I have a headache.”

  “How bad? Scale of 1 to 10? How bad?”

  “10.”

  “Okay, Zach, close your eyes.” I did what she said. God, my head felt like it was going to break in half.

  “I can tell you’re in pain. Just relax your face, Zach. Take a breath and relax your face.”

  I took a breath and let the muscles of my face relax. And then something happened. There was a slight breeze that moved through my body and left through my temples. And then I saw a gun lying on the floor.

  The headache was gone. I opened my eyes.

  -2-

  I walked back to Cabin 9 after my breathing session with Susan. I walked slowly, unsteady on my feet. I felt as if my whole body was trembling. The ground beneath me felt like a cloud and I thought I was going to fall through the earth. I managed to get to my room.

  I sat at my desk. Write whatever comes to your mind when you get back to your cabin, Zach. It’s important. I could still hear Susan’s instructions, the serious look on her face, the concern. It was odd, how the therapists cared. I wondered about that. I wondered about myself. I wondered about everything. My life had been so strange since coming here. Nothing was the same. It was like I was changing. But it was odd, so odd and weird and I felt lost but not in a bad way.

  I took out my journal and began to write in it. I didn’t want to think. I just wanted to write whatever came out of me.

  I felt a little weak after the session with Susan. It’s strange, all this Breathwork. I’ve grown to really like it which is really weird. Weird and amazing and fantastic. The Breathwork makes something happen inside me. It makes my body feel different. And it’s like, I have a body and I like having one. Imagine Zach liking the fact that he has a body. Fucking wow. I keep hearing Susan’s voice inside me.

  I remember telling Adam that I didn’t think Susan was real. I was wrong about her. I’m wrong about a lot of things. I think I’m mostly wrong about me. I’m going to write this down so I can see the words: I don’t hate myself anymore. I’m going to write it again: I don’t hate myself anymore.

  Zach doesn’t hate Zach. Zach, I see you. Zach sees Zach.

  I felt so calm. The anxiety had left. I knew it had only left for a little while, but it had made a home inside me for so long that I’d gotten used to it. But right then, as I sat in front of the words that I’d written, I felt a new word rising up inside me. Only I couldn’t make out that word yet. I don’t know why, but I decided I wanted to walk the labyrinth. I had this urge, this feeling inside, and I decided to trust the feeling.

  I headed toward the labyrinth.

  The nice day was turning cold and the wind was starting to come alive again.

  As I stood at the entrance of the labyrinth, I thought of Rafael and Adam. I pictured both of them walking the labyrinth quietly. I pictured the stillness in them. I pictured their eyes. I pictured them seeing me as I watched them. I pictured me waving at them Hi Rafael Hi Adam. I was happy that Adam and Rafael were there with me. Even though they were only there in my head.

  The wind was picking up, getting angry. I zipped up my leather jacket. I thought of my dad. It had been his when he was younger. I could almost smell him. I placed my hands in the warm pockets. Summer. That’s the word that came to my lips. Summer. That was my intent—even though I didn’t know exactly what that meant or why that word had come up. Summer. I began walking slowly toward the center of the labyrinth.

  I tried to clear my head of all thoughts. At first, my mind was free of all those pieces of paper that were lying on its floor. My ears and face were getting cold and the wind seemed like it was my enemy now but I didn’t care. I just kept walking and repeating the word summer. All I had to do was put one foot in front of the other and follow the path. I could trust the labyrinth. It would lead me to the center. I could hear the wind blowing through all the trees and the earth was moving and I knew that it would be smarter for me to stop and go back to Cabin 9 where I would be warm and safe but I didn’t want to be warm and safe. I wanted to go to the center of the labyrinth. I knew I had to go. I don’t know how I knew that I had to go there, but I had to go there.

  The wind grew colder and colder.

  I kept walking. I made myself stay calm.

  I closed my eyes. It seemed that I could see the path, even with my eyes closed. I kept them closed and kept walking. Step by step, I walked, eyes closed. I’ll get there I’ll get there I’ll get there. I pictured the large stone in the center of the labyrinth. I pictured me standing on the stone, my arms stretched out toward the storm.

  Then the images started entering my head like some kind of disconnected movie. Mr. Garcia’s hands on the valves of his trumpet, Sam’s face as he watched me in a movie theater, Rafael’s voice as he sang Summertime, Adam’s eyes as he said I see you, Zach and then I saw my mother’s eyes again, sightless and gray, and my father’s motionless body and Lilly, the dog I loved lying dead on the ground, and Santiago whispering eenie, meenie, miney, moe and laughing, a gun in his hand, the gun pointing at me, then the gun aimed at his own temple and then eenie, meenie, miney, moe and then the sound of the gun. There was an explosion in my head as I reached the center of the labyrinth. I opened my eyes. They were there, my brother, my mother, my father. They were lying there, blood spilling on the ground.

  And then they were gone.

  I sat on the stone.

  The snow started falling. Not a kind snow, not a lovely snow. But a harsh, cold snow that felt like pebbles flinging themselves at me.

  I sat there with my brother and mother and father.

  I sat with them. And then I screamed. Sometimes when I screamed or cried, it was as if it was someone else doing it, as if I were only watching me doing something from the outside. But this time I was inside of myself. I screamed. I screamed. And then I knew why I had come. I knew what I was doing. I was singing.

  It was night now.

  I was singing.

  I was in the middle of a storm.

  I screamed.

  I howled.

  And then I sang. I sang to the monster.

  -3-

  When I got back to Cabin 9, Amit asked me if there was something wrong. I didn’t like the way he was looking at me. “You don’t look good, dude.”

  “I’m tired.” I was wincing. My head was throbbing.

  “Where’d your color go, dude?”

  I gave him a crooked smile.

  He looked a little worried.

  I fell into bed. I know I was trembling and my teet
h were chattering. I was cold and it felt as though the storm outside was living in my body. Everything hurt and my head felt as if it were on fire.

  I sensed Amit standing over me. I felt his hand on my forehead. “Dude, you’re really sick.”

  The world I’d carried around inside me had left me. Everything was far away and I wanted to keep my eyes open because if I shut them then maybe I’d never see the light again. But then I was so tired that I just didn’t care. I wanted to let the storm or the sickness or whatever just take over.

  Before I fell asleep, I kept seeing my mother’s gray eyes. They had always been as gray as a cloudy day. There had never been any sun in them. I called her name. If I called her name, maybe she would come to me and sing all my sadness away. I fell asleep calling her name. Sarah.

  My dreams went on forever. There were oceans and my father and mother and brother were swimming there. I watched them and they seemed happy and then things turned bad, my brother trying to drown my father, my mother just watching. Then the dreamed changed and Mr. Garcia was playing his trumpet and the whole world was dark and he was crying. I could see his tears and I wanted to say don’t cry don’t cry and then the dream changed again and I was alone in a place that had no sky and I knew I would never find a way to get out of that dark and skyless place. I woke up soaked in sweat. I was shivering in the cold. I dried myself off with a towel and changed into a clean t-shirt. I stumbled around and somehow managed to change the sheets. I fell into bed again.

  I slept. I slept and slept and slept.

  I was aware that people came and went. I heard voices. I was confused and thought I was in that hospital where everything had been white. Once, I found myself sitting in the chair next to my bed as Michael, one of the counseling assistants, changed my sheets. I watched and watched him as if he was a movie. I remember him handing me a clean t-shirt and clean underwear and asking me if I could make my way to the bathroom and change into them. I remember staring at my pale and colorless face in the bathroom and thinking that maybe I was going to die and wondering why Michael was being so kind to me.