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It was already a crap neighborhood, on the outskirts of town, without the fire. Everyone knew that very few made it out of here. Once you were born into this lower-class-edging-toward-poverty life, it was damn hard to dig yourself out of it. I had been in this pit and used everything I could, climbing with bloody fingernails. But I’d made it. And yet, as we pulled up to the charred rubble, I realized the price that came with it.
You couldn’t take everyone with you.
And more often than not, they wouldn’t want to come.
I’d asked Tim to move to Seattle. He was always so stubborn, insisting his work was here and he had no place in the big city. He said the two of us were different—that I was a dreamer and he was a doer. When I reminded him that I’d taken my dreams and done something with them, he agreed that I was probably more like him than I let on.
At the police station, they said another man perished in the fire. Thankfully, those three were the only ones in the building at the time. I guess it hadn’t taken much for the building to collapse because there wasn’t much left of it.
I had no roots anymore. They’d been burned.
I got out of the car, shutting the door behind me, and walked toward the mess that was once my home. I’d been dealt so many shit cards in this life that I wanted to throw my hands up and tell God that I quit. I couldn’t win.
Dexter stood beside me, his eyes taking in the scene before him as I took him in. “It’s hard to see.” His words were steady as he pushed his hands into his coat pockets.
“Why?” I asked, wanting to hear what was going on in his head.
“Because this place is a part of us. The history of us. I’m sure we’ll make more memories, but it still hurts when the ones we already have are taken from us.” The snow clung to his hair and shoulders.
I reached up, brushing it off. “We still have our memories, Dexter. This place, it’s aplace.” I was telling myself this as well because it needed to be said. Despite my sadness over my life being different from Dexter’s, at the end of the day, I was here.
Tim wasn’t, but I’m sure he wouldn’t be too pleased to know I was sad over the apartment he hated paying for each month. He’d called our landlord a thief at least three times a week. I smiled at the memory and lifted my face to the sky.
“I think we’ll be fine,” I announced, taking Dexter’s hand and heading to the minivan.
Like he’d done before, he asked where I wanted to go.
I knew at some point I’d have to go see my mother. From what I was told at the police station, she was still unconscious. “The hospital, I think.”
After a slow drive, making sure we didn’t slip on snow and ice, we pulled into the hospital parking lot. The emergency entrance looked the same as it always had.
I walked over to the woman at the desk and asked her where I could find my mother.
“Yes, Milagros Cruz? She just woke up. Right through those doors, take a left, and it’s the first room on the right. Room one-ninety-six.”
Dexter placed his hand on my elbow, steering me in the direction she said. There was a commotion ahead, and I prayed it had nothing to do with the room we were heading toward. No such luck. I heard my mother’s scratchy voice as we stepped over the threshold. She sounded sick, like the smoke inhalation had all but taken her voice. And yet, she was swearing and yelling in English and Spanish.
“Where is my son?”
The doctor looked at his colleagues and shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. He was dead upon arrival.”
For a few moments, it was silent. I could hear the beep of the monitor before she lost it. Her screams weren’t loud, but they were heartbreaking. I pushed past the doctors and walked toward her. She saw me and turned away, content to continue with her antics.
“Get out! Get out, all of you!” She said these words in Spanish, and I turned to the doctors, explaining that she wanted them to leave.
I proceeded to follow them out, thankful she wanted to be alone.
“Where are you going, Noa?” she asked, her voice wavering.
“I figured you wouldn’t want me here,” I said, turning to face her. My jacket was in my hands and Dexter was outside the door.
I needed him in here with me. He was giving me unwanted privacy. I couldn’t face her alone.
“Timothy is dead.” Her voice was flat, and because she didn’t have any alcohol in her system, I braced myself for her irrational anger. Even when shewasdrunk, her anger was irrational. “You can’t comfort your mother?”
“Ma, why? I feel like we only bring out the worst in each other. Yes, Tim’s dead and I’ll take care of everything. But you said what you had to say years ago and I don’t forget easily,” I said, pointing at her and turning to leave the room.
“Stay,” she pleaded. “I have to tell you,mija. I have to tell you.”
