Happenstance (19 page)

I roll my eyes but somehow convince her that next weekend
for sure
I’ll go out with her.

Today, on this sunny Saturday, I’ll be cleaning my apartment and
organizing my cabinets. Then at night, just like all the other nights lately, I’ll
manage to fall asleep with my earphones plugged in and love songs blaring in my
ear.
Because I’m a masochist that way.
It very
exciting stuff. Hey, we all have our methods for healing.

It’s a little after one in the afternoon when I call my
grandmother.

“Abu,” I say.

“Hi sweetheart,” she sounds so tired and here I am the mess of a
granddaughter whining about relationship drama.

“Abu, how are you feeling?” I ask. I hope we can talk for a bit
and I can get a distraction. “Gravity” by Sara
Bareilles
was on earlier and that song just totally killed me today.

“Good,
mija
.
Everything the same as always.”

“Abu . . . I miss him,” I whisper leaning against the kitchen
counter and staring at the ceiling.

“Have you called him?” she asks.

“Not really . . .
no
.”

“Why don’t you call him? You should hear what he has to say.” I
can hear the television as background noise as she waits for my answer.

“I saw it with my own eyes, Abu.” I tell her but I’m not so
confident now. His words about her just going to get her stuff replays in my
mind.

“Did you? Did you actually see him with her cheating on you?” she
asks and I know where she’s going with this. With Eric I had, it was a fact.
With Jared, not so much.

I exhale. “No Abu, I didn’t.”

“Exactly.
Sometimes you need to follow
your heart, not your head. Although you should think things through, your heart
is the one in control.” She stops and I hear her swallowing as if she’s
drinking something.

“You can’t be afraid of taking risks my love,” she continues. I
rub my thumb against the underside of my left ring finger and close my eyes.
She’s right; it’s just easier said than done.

“Alright Abu, I’ll think about it.”

We say our goodbyes and I continue with my house errands, but I’m
left contemplating her words all day. By the time I set the last plate to dry,
I can’t take it anymore. I go to my room, pull out my phone, and take a deep
breath. Thank God for text messages because I wouldn’t be able to call him
right now and hear his voice. I glance over at the letter that is sitting on my
night table and send Jared a text.

Got a letter from the police station, they want me to
come in again.

Within a minute my phone vibrates indicating a new message. My
heart skips a beat.

That’s good. What day?

A question is good; this means he wants to keep the conversation
going.
Right?

As soon as possible.

He writes back:

I’m glad they aren’t letting it go.

Ok, no question. So is that it? I lay my head against the pillow
and exhale. He didn’t say bye or anything negative, but he didn’t ask anything
either. That doesn’t mean the ball isn’t in my court, right? Fuck it, I miss
him too much.

I look through my apps and send him a text with the link to the song:
“Two Is Better Than
One
” by Boys Like Girls and Taylor
Swift. I heard the song earlier today and am feeling those lyrics right about
now.

Minutes go by and my phone is silent. I get up and make some
popcorn, sit back on my bed and try to watch TV, but all I hear is my mind
running crazy ideas through my head. Did he hear the words? Does he care? Maybe
the text didn’t go through and I should send him another one (just in case?).
Shit, he doesn’t care, it’s over.
For real.
I check my
phone every minute for an hour. Then finally,
finally
, my phone beeps and I look to see it’s him. I mute the TV
(as if it would distract me from our conversation) when I see he sent me a link
to a music video.

His choice is: “Let It Be Me” by Ray
LaMontagne
.
I pull up Google so I can read the lyrics.

“And when all your faith is gone, feels like you can’t
go on, let it be me.”

LaMontagne
has such a soft melodic
voice that creeps under my skin and makes me happy. What does this mean? Should
I call him? Does he want to work things out? It’s 10:24, not too late to call
him. Not too late at all.

I pick up the phone to send him another message but I see I have
an incoming call, Andres.

“
Yo
!” I say but there is just breathing
on the other line. “Hello?” Can he not hear me?

“V,” my brother whispers and he sniffles. I sit up straight in
bed.

“Andres? What’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”

His next words will become etched in my brain forever.

“It’s Abu, V. She’s gone.”

My blood runs
cold,
I can feel the goose
bumps rising on my skin as I stare at the phone waiting for the punch line to
this evil joke.

No. No, no, no, no, no, no
.
I touch my throat with my hand and gasp.

“What do you mean?” my voice cracks and Andres just cries into
the phone.

I stare at the phone then at my sheets, and back at the phone.
No, no, NO
. This can’t be real.

“Andres… what do you mean?” I repeat my question and swallow
hard, already feeling the tears fall down my face.

He sniffles, “You know what I mean…” and with that I hear him let
out a sob. It’s done. She’s gone.
Gone.
How can this be?

Together we cry for what seems like hours, but is probably not as
he tries to explain to me between sobs what happened. And he doesn’t know much.
He got home from work an hour ago and found her in her room, thought she was
sleeping but found it odd that she had the TV and her glasses on. When he got
closer to remove her glasses he noticed she wasn’t breathing. Oh God, how can
she be gone? I just talked to her earlier today! Why didn’t I ask her more
questions? Why didn’t I ask her how she was
really
feeling? How could she not tell me anything? I could tell she was tired but
didn’t think anything of it. God, I’m so stupid! My heart is shattered like a
broken window with the sharp ends stabbing at my insides.

The paramedics say it must have been a heart attack in her sleep.
Right now, she is still in the hospital so they can run tests and find out if
anything else caused it. I picture my brother finding her in the house, all
alone just like he is alone now. I should be there with him instead of this
mess I’m in now in my own bubble. We hang up the phone so that I can pack. I
move in slow motion, I should be in a rush, grabbing just a few items and
storming out the door but instead I take my time. I don’t want to leave and
face reality. I don’t want to go home and find that she’s not there to hug or
cook me a meal, or talk to.
Most of all, to talk.
I
crawl into my bed and cry into the pillow. I wish, I wish, I wish that I could
just wake up from this nightmare warm in my bed, with my dog at my feet. But
that isn’t going to happen.

I call Principal Matthews’s cell phone and thank every angel in
the world that she doesn’t pick up the phone. Then I realize, it’s past eleven
and I hope I didn’t wake her up. I just can’t bear to have another conversation
about this and I leave a message explaining that I wouldn’t be going into work
for the next week.

I stare at the clothes in my closet and my hundreds of shoes.
What dress would be appropriate for her? I have to represent her, the daughter
she raised into a good human being and taught me everything. I find a black
simple dress that I know hugs my curves and ties at the waist with a belt. I
take it out and look at it, remembering the day she bought it for me.

“Every woman needs a black dress in her closet, Victoria.” She
puts the dress in front of my body to check out the length. “This will be good
for your job interviews.”

I laugh. “Abu, I won’t need that for a while. I’m staying home
while Eric focuses on his career.”

She glances over at me and squints, “Well, I’ll get it for you just
in case. You never know.”

I hear you loud and clear, Abu. You just never know about
anything.

Funny how time is all about perception.
Three hours is nothing when you are out on a dance floor or on vacation, but
it’s a shit load of time when you are driving two hundred and twenty one miles at
one o’clock in the morning to bury your grandmother. The thought alone causes
my body to shake; I pull over on the side of the Florida Turnpike and pound my
fists on the steering wheel screaming at myself, at fate, at God. Death is
inevitable, but it hurts nonetheless. Why was she taken so fast? Why couldn’t I
hold her hand or tell her how much I loved her again? But there will never be
enough time and that’s the hardest thing to conceive.
Never.

After one more stop to gain my composure I finally make it to my
brother’s house a little after four o’clock in the morning. I don’t need to use
the key, he is up and waiting for me with blood shot eyes and wrinkled clothes.
This time he wasn’t out clubbing with his friends. These are the sad times that
suck, but you just got to go through it. The look on his face tells me I don’t
look so hot myself. I pause for a second in front of her door but Andres tugs
on my hand. I look up at him and he shakes his head. “Don’t.”

We go to his room and curl up together. My big brother and I,
just like when I was 7 and woke up from a nightmare he rubs my back and we hold
hands until the sun comes
up and sleep finally consumes
us.

Chapter
Twenty-Four

April 2012

Victoria

“V, get up.” I hear a familiar voice and familiar hands
shaking me softly, but my eyes don’t want to listen.

“Come on, V. It’s time.”
Time.
There
goes that word again, time. Don’t they say time heals all wounds? That’s
bullshit. It might stop the tears and bleeding, but the scars remain forever. I
rub my eyes and groggily get up. “What time is it?” I ask him. Whoa, do I have
a headache.

“12:18.
We
have to go. I
need
you.” He still looks like shit
although he doesn’t have wrinkled clothes on anymore. His eyes are droopy and
red and his hair is disheveled. I remember why I feel so empty inside and I
know what he needs me for, but I ask him something anyway.

“Are we dreaming?” I’m hopeful. Maybe he’ll take pity on me and punch
me so I can wake up. He sighs.

“No, we’re living a fucking nightmare,” he turns to go. “Get
dressed, and brush your Goddamn teeth”.
Sheesh.
Yes,
sir.

The funeral home people (whatever they are called) are very kind
and sympathetic. I feel bad for them and can’t imagine working in this industry,
but kudos to them and for helping us out. Lord knows we need them around. We
decide to have the viewing tonight. My brother had actually contacted her
closest friends after he spoke to me last night and bad news travels fast. We
have no immediate relatives in the States but I do decide to buy a calling card
for Cuba. My grandmother has several cousins and friends still living there.
Calling Cuba is difficult because not everyone has a phone and we aren’t given
a lot of time to talk. I’m able to get through to one of the cousins and ask her
to spread the word.

So far, I’ve only cried with Andres and Maggie. Maggie said she will
come down for the funeral but I tell her not to worry. What is the point? I’ll
have a ton of people over and need to make sure my brother is ok before I
leave. I tell her I won’t be going in to work for a week. No calls to or from
Jared and that just makes me feel lonelier than I’ve ever felt. At least with
my grandmother I could have called her and gotten more advice, the same advice,
hell
I just want to hear her voice again. Now I won’t
get the chance.

Standing in front of the door to her room for a few minutes
thinking of how I am going to get the courage to walk through and go through
her things. I take in a deep shaky breath. Maybe I should count to ten. Andres is
right behind me and rubs my arms with his hands.

“It’s you and me, kid. Let’s do it.” And with that my big brother
opens the door and pushes us both in. I immediately start crying, I can’t help
it. The room smells like her, like the baby cologne, like grandmother, like
home. I pull some shirts off the hanger and hold them up to my nose to inhale
her scent, trembling as tears leak down and wet the cloth in my hands. Andres
holds me from behind. He doesn’t cry anymore in front of me, I know he won’t. It’s
just like when my dad died. I’ve heard him cry and I know he’ll hold it in
unless it’s privately. I know he will miss her just as much as me. Sure enough,
he steps out of the room, giving us both the space we want.

Finally, I select her outfit to be buried in and look through the
family photo albums picking out special ones of her childhood and some with my
parents and us. I pull an 8x 10 portrait of her with my parents on their
wedding day and put it gently in my purse so I can frame it when I go home.

“I hope you guys are celebrating your reunion,” I say softly to
no one in the room yet I hope they can hear me. I make a collage of pictures
and select images for a slideshow that I will be sharing on a digital frame. I
pass my fingers through her smiling face in the pictures and wonder to myself
how she learned to live a full happy life.

I give the outfit I selected to Andres and then walk back to the
room, going straight to her dresser and put on her gold cross and favorite ring
she always wore.
Criss
-crossed diamonds wrap around
the band my grandfather had given her after they came to the States and he got
enough money. It fits me on my index finger and I make a vow to wear it
forever. I stretch out my hand and let the sunlight from the window shine on
the diamonds letting it sparkle when something catches my attention. On the
corner of the dresser is a white envelope with my name on it. It has my name
and Orlando address on it but no stamp. My heart catches in my throat and my
pulse quickens, had she written me a letter? I pick up the envelope with shaky
hands and notice it is sealed. Oh, God.