Chapter I

It was the beginning of winter and the sky had been grey for one week now. No more hope to see the sun shining the following day. No more leaves on the trees, and rain pouring down. I was ready to accept the fact that for a long time to come there would be no sunlight to warm my sad, cold days.

The intrusive strong wind blowing into my bedroom, battering the door and the window as if it wanted to force them open, was making it even more difficult for me to fall asleep that Friday night. Constant lightning, lighting up my room, followed by loud thunder was driving me crazy.

It was 10pm, time for kids to be in bed and fast asleep. It was time for me, Junior, to be asleep and dreaming. However, I wasn’t. I was still lying awake in my bed, unable to sleep, staring at the light-blue ceiling hoping it would help me to fall asleep. I wasn’t sure if I couldn’t sleep because of the strong noise of the rain hitting the window, or because of the strange sound of the wind blowing into my ears. It sounded like an injured bird that is dying. I had already experienced the sound of wind and rain but never this peculiar sound and it scared me.

I kept turning from side to side; I covered my head with my pillow. I wanted to disappear, to grow wings and fly away to a far, safe place, forgetting everything. Instead, I jumped up from my bed, dropping the blanket on the floor and ran to the window. I looked out to see what damage the storm was doing outside. I saw the street was completely flooded. There were no people and all the parked cars were half submerged in water. At first I felt just relieved to be inside and not out there in all that wet, miserable mess. But then I started to feel lost and alone, like a ghost in my room. I wanted to see my mom. I wanted her to protect me, telling me that everything would be alright,. that soon I would fall asleep and tomorrow was going to be a nice, beautiful day. But she wasn’t there to tell me those comforting words.

I picked up the blanket from the floor. It was cold in my ghostly room. I was cold and I didn’t have to think twice. I knew where the best place to be was and I quickly went to hide under the bed. I wrapped myself inside the blanket, showing only my face. This was the only safe place to be under the circumstances. However, I still wanted to see mom and be with her. Better I should go and look for her. But I found the right place to be in for the night so why should I worry about her? Because I was a boy and a boy is a little man and a man was supposed to protect the women of his family. It was selfish of me longing for my mother to comfort me when it should have been me comforting her.

Now she needed me more than ever but I just forgot about her, and went to the only safe place in my room. I was protected from the thunder and lightning, from the rain and the strange noise of the wind. But I wasn’t protected from my memories. I knew exactly why she wasn’t there that night. I can’t forget that night. I remember it like it only just happened.

That night mom was very sad. It hadn’t been the first time I had seen her sad but that night was different. It was like her face expressed the sadness of the whole world. I didn’t know a lot about sadness but enough to compare it with happiness. And she was not happy at all. There was a very serious expression on her face when she served dinner. She didn’t stop wiping the tears that insisted to roll down her face, with the palm of her hand. Sometimes she couldn’t, and then I would see the whole tear drop fall down her cheek and break on the tablecloth. I was there, sitting at the table, unable to eat anything, just looking around trying to find an answer to what was happening in the house that evening.

I could not understand why she was crying. I had never seen her happy, as she was by nature an unhappy person. I don’t remember her smile; I don’t have any memory of her ever smiling. I think she never smiled, at least not in my presence. Perhaps she didn’t need to smile to catch people’s attention. She had a special beauty. I loved looking at her and admiring her. She had been blessed with beauty and charisma. Her expressive green eyes, her thick, delineated brown eyebrows exactly expressing her emotions, her elegant nose looked as if it were modeled by hand; her full lips which I was always able to understand even if she was far away. She never spoke loudly but I didn’t need to hear her voice to know exactly what she was saying. I would just pay attention to the movement of her lips. Her voluminous long brown hair which she always kept tied back and her svelte silhouette – this is how I remember her. She didn’t need to smile to attract attention, but, perhaps this is a silly thought.

However, that night she was sadder than ever. And I felt sad for her. Even if she had never been kind to me, if she had always been cold to me as if I were the cause for all her unhappiness, I would have felt sad for her. After all, she was my mother and I wanted to help her.

My younger sister couldn’t sleep and I thought this was the reason for my mom’s sadness. Several times she went to my sister’s bedroom, trying everything she could to make her fall asleep but to no avail. The girl wouldn’t stop crying and howling with rage, with pain, with terror, as if she was seeing a ghost, a terrible ghost right in front of her. Am I a ghost? Maybe I was, at least for my sister. I didn’t mind about mom’s reaction because she always seemed indifferent to my presence, as if I were invisible for her.

Back in the kitchen, preparing some food for my sister, mom didn’t stop arguing with my dad: -It’s your fault, Henry. You are responsible for his death, and you know it! How can I ever forgive you? He was so young. How can I forget his birthday? It’s today! Today is his birthday. If you weren’t so lazy it would never have happened. He’d be sitting here among us, celebrating with all of the family. I cannot forgive you! And you never helped in the house. You just do the minimum but ask for a lot in return. You always carry those old magazines and newspapers with you wherever you go. Always carrying your trash, oh, and, of course, always carrying a drink in your hand, even when you go to the toilet. You’re an alcoholic, you know that? You should get treatment, you really need it. I can’t bear it anymore, you hear me? I’m going to ask for a divorce and this isn’t a joke, Henry. I don’t want to be married to you anymore, I’ve had enough. I want to end this, as soon as possible!

-Stop crying, will you. You can’t bring him back, he’s dead. Get this into your head! Why bake a cake for him? Are you going crazy?
-This is the only way I can keep him alive in me. I miss him so much and I feel so guilty not having been there when he needed me. I trusted you, and you failed. Your friends, your beers, your shitty life – everything- always come before the family. Why did you forget to pick him up at his friend’s house? Why did you come home late that night? Why didn’t you call me to say you couldn’t be there in time? Why didn’t you do something to save his life? Lots of questions and you can’t answer them. I can’t accept what happened!

-How about the kids, Claire? Do you think it’s fair for them to let them see their mother baking a cake for someone who’s dead? Light candles, singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to him? Can’t you see that neither of them can understand your attitude? Don’t forget you still have two kids. They need to be protected from such craziness. He is dead – please accept that. It was my fault, yes. But I have already asked you to forgive me. What else do you want me to do – kill myself?
-That wouldn’t be a bad idea if it’d bring him back to us and we’d be a family again, the way we were.

Once I saw some red spots in the toilet and on the bathroom floor. When mom came to clean it she said it was dad drinking wine during the night and he didn’t clean up his mess. Mom called him a parasite. But I think she loved her ‘parasite’ because she took care of him like he was a little boy.

Dad was a good man but he had been unemployed for more than three years and mom was right when she called him a parasite. He wouldn’t take just any job, only the one he wanted. He always said he was smart and would be getting a job soon. But mom was getting tired of waiting for that day that never came. She complained that her salary was not enough for all the family. Dad was a nice man. He was cool; he loved drinks and the easy life, and never doing anything he didn’t want to do. I can’t remember a single night, him not having several drinks. Alcohol was as important to his existence as the magazines, books and newspapers he always carried around with him. He needed to read and he did spend mom’s money to buy the ‘trash’ as she called it. Even though, Dad always told her he loved her, he could never choose between her and the alcohol.


That night my younger brother followed mom wherever she went. He looked like a little kitten, and was afraid to be alone. Mom kept telling him to go to bed and sleep, but he replied he couldn’t sleep until Tess stopped crying.
I couldn’t understand my family: mom unhappy, dad unhappy, my brothers unhappy – I was the only one normal and happy in this family. I had to do something to help them be as happy as I was.


Copyright
Lene Machado
2007