I am alone.
This is not the first time in this situation. When I was five, my father had
left my mother for some other woman halfway across the country. I vividly
remember the day that he left: My mother crying, frantically trying to call him…
Then silence filled the household as time seemed to stop for the next few
weeks. Everything around the house was left to dust and rot; I remember opening
the fridge for some milk and seeing that it had gone bad and curdled. It was
the first time in my life I had ever had that feeling of abandonment. It felt
as if everything was quiet and dark, and the only place I could look into was
myself. But being five, I easily forgot about the whole incident in a couple of
months and went back to slurping on ice cream all day in the hot sun. Unlike
me, my mother never really recovered. Many nights, she would take out that
bottle from the high cupboard and tell me to go to bed. She told me that it was
time for her to relax. Lying in my bed, I could never sleep. The bright moon
shining into the skylight in my room combined with the smell of cigarette smoke
coming from the patio out my window choked my senses, locking me in a state of utmost
consciousness I could not escape.
A
couple of years ago, I saw my mother’s car roll into the driveway as usual. It
was late in the afternoon, and I was doing my usual routine of pretending to
finish my homework. On perfect lazy afternoons like these, the only thing I could
really do was daydream, thinking of the sunlight gleaming through the orange leaves
in the forest behind my house. This day was a lot different, however. As I
stumbled out to the patio lazily to greet my mother, keeping my head low to
avoid the glare of the sunlight, I noticed that there were two shadows this
time, instead of just my mothers. Startled, I immediately shook myself awake
and alert and looked up. Today, there was a man with my mother. After a quick
and awkward handshake and an exchange of muffled “hello, how are you”, my
mother told me to do my homework and I quickly obliged and ran back into my room.
That
man ended up living in our house. He was nice and I think he treated my mom
nice, but I never really got to know him. He was always in the back yard,
tending to the plants that he lovingly planted yearly. Whenever I would pass by
him, he would avoid my eyes and mutter a quick hello, then get back to his
work. Living with him, I began to notice small things about him. For instance, I saw a few quite prominent
scars on his arms and legs. I was always afraid to ask what they were, but I
couldn’t resist the temptation and so one day I ran down to the garden and
basically shouted the question to him. Flinching, he told me quietly and
carefully that he had been mauled by a bear a decade prior while on a camping
trip with his old family. The next part was quite a shocker: He told me that
before the bear had attacked him, it had mauled and killed his wife and both of
his twin sons, who were both aged two at that time. Not knowing what to say, I
turned my heel and ran back to my room. I tried my best to forget about what I
had learned that day, feeling as if bad news would only destroy my personal
paradise.
A
couple of months ago, my mother and the man had called to the kitchen from my
room. Yawning and rubbing my tired eyes, I stumbled over to the kitchen. Seeing
their faces, I knew that this was going to be some serious news. I sat down. They
started with a big breath, then the big news came: I was to have a baby
brother. I sat there for a minute, blankly staring at their apprehensive faces.
My mind was racing: What would it be like to have a baby brother?
It
turned out that only a couple of weeks later, more news came. We were moving to
Mexico. The reason I do not know, however I was a bit skeptical about the
changes this was going to bring to my life. I liked the sun here, it was a not
to hot and it was constantly shining on me, warming my face. I liked the way
the sun would go through the leaves outside my window as well. How would Mexico
be? Nevertheless, I was ready to give it a try. This was a week ago.
They
left me there. I am alone now. A couple of hours ago, I woke up and saw that
the house was abandoned. There was no sign of anyone else ever living here
except a note on my desk. It was from my mother. Brief and to the point, the
note explained that she was moving to some random place in the world with the
man and would start a new life with my baby brother. I did not know what to
think. As I am sitting here now, I still do not know what to think. Maybe I’ll
take a walk outside…
The
sounds of the city in Mexico are so different than the sounds in my old
neighborhood. In my old home, the only noises I heard were the chirping of
birds and the constant ruffle of the leaves in the wind. Here, all I hear is
the barking of dogs, sirens, and music playing in the background, always so
upbeat. Walking down the street, the sun has started to shine on my face. The bright
light pierces my eyes, digging into my brain: My head has begun to beat with in
unison with my heart. I taste something salty, metallic. I put my hand to my
mouth and then pull it back, taking a look. Seeing that my nose has started to
bleed, I start to briskly walk towards the nearest public washroom. Finding it,
I start washing my face, but the blood won’t stop flowing. The sink is red now,
and I am beginning to feel a bit dizzy…My head is still beating. At least this
dark and grimy public washroom blocks the harsh sunlight from my eyes. Hearing
a high-pitched whimpering, I look back, startled. I see a tangled mess of fur
in the back corner, near the urinal. Blood dripping on the dirty floor, I start
taking steps towards the noise. Looking closer, I see that it is a dog, quite
visibly unwell with multiple obvious wounds. A surge of feeling rushes into my
heart as I feel the empathy I have for this poor, abandoned animal. As I reach
to hold it and carry it, I lose my balance and strike my head against the
urinal. Everything goes white.
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