Chapter 26 Mourn Me
KATIA RODRíGUEZ
“EVERY DEFEAT IS A STEP TOWARD VICTORY.”
My mother’s grave.
Standing before it, my heart cracks. It’s still hard to believe she’s no longer with us.
Seeing her grave makes that fact all the more real, and it hurts.
There are two little vases on the sides of her headstone with close-to-wilted flowers inside.
Kamila comes every Saturday to change them, but it’s impossible for the flowers to survive the damp autumn weather very long.
I can’t believe I’m here. Not being able to visit her because of my crippling anxiety has been a major source of guilt. I’m here now, Mom.
Diego stands behind me, not saying a word. I brush the dry leaves off a rock beside the grave and sit down, then proceed to run my hands over my mother’s name.
“It’s been a long time, Mami.”
Diego sits down on the other side of the headstone, studying me. I clear my throat and exhale, fighting the urge to cry, feeling like I’ve all but run out of tears.
“Mom, I didn’t come alone…” I exchange a glance with Diego. “I brought a… friend. He’s a little crazy, but I know you’ll like him.”
Diego pretends to be insulted, but not at the friend part, which I surprisingly find to be a relief. “It’s a pleasure, Ms. Rodríguez. In my defense, I have to say that Klara is not entirely sane, either.”
Our eyes meet and we both give each other a lopsided smile.
We sit there for a while, talking, telling my mother everything that has happened since I started college.
Time seems to fly by, and soon the sky begins to cloud and darken, lending the cemetery an air of melancholy with its leafless trees and the ground still damp from the recent storm.
Then, as if nature is telling us it’s time to leave, it begins to drizzle.
“Time to go.” Diego stands up but I remain seated. “I’ll go on ahead. Take as long as you need.”
He walks away and waits under a tree as I say goodbye to my mother. Tiny raindrops fall on her silent, frozen grave.
“Mami”—my voice breaks—“I’m so sorry I couldn’t come visit you sooner.
It’s been…” I take a deep breath. “It’s been…
hard, very…” Two thick tears roll down my cheeks.
“But here I am. Forgive me for leaving you alone for so long. I might not have been able to visit, but I carry you in my heart always. Every time I’ve given up, you’ve been there with your vegetable soup to make me all better.
” A sob escapes my throat. “It’ll soon be exactly two years since you’ve been gone, ten days from today.
I miss you so much, Mami… I love you so much.
You can rest easy now; I will survive. I will somehow manage to go on without you.
I know it couldn’t have made you proud to see me waste so much time hiding, living in fear.
But I’m trying, Mom, hard, to make you proud of me again. ”
I stand up, wiping away my tears. I head over to where Diego waits, forcing a smile. “That’s it, we can go,” I say, walking past him without stopping.
Diego takes my arm and turns me to face him.
Before I can say anything, he pulls me into a huge bear hug.
The smell of his cologne is calming. “It’s okay, you can cry,” he says, rubbing the back of my head.
I try to pull away, but he hugs me even tighter.
“You know I won’t judge you; I won’t even say anything. You can cry, vent, and then we’ll go.”
I stop struggling and allow myself to sob openly.
I cling to him, my arms around his waist. Diego says nothing, as promised, and lets me cry against his chest. There’s something very comforting about crying in someone’s arms, as if that person is helping to contain your sadness.
I’m so used to crying all alone; this is the first time in a long time that I’ve let anyone comfort me.
And Diego transmits so much acceptance, so much warmth in the midst of this cold.
I don’t know how much time passes, but I let it all out, releasing the sadness I feel after seeing my mother’s grave—this vivid reminder that she’s gone. We stand there, holding each other, as heavier rain begins to fall around us.
When I finally stop crying and pull away, I look up to meet Diego’s eyes, my hands still around his waist. He smiles and wipes the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs.
“Better?”
I nod. We’re so close that I can see the tiny freckles on his face, which is bright red from the cold. I step back and drop my hands to my sides.
“Let’s go. I can’t feel my fingers anymore,” he says.
We drive home through the chilly night. Diego turns on the radio and a soft song plays.
I glance at the time. Follow My Voice is already over and I regret having missed the show.
I check my phone and see that Kang hasn’t sent any messages.
His lack of communication reminds me of the day of the storm, when he didn’t text and then hinted that I had done something to upset him.
Is he mad that I didn’t ride home with him?
I show Diego where to turn and point out my house. He parks in front of it.
I take off my seatbelt and turn to him. “Thank you so much, Diego, from the bottom of my heart.”
“I’m here to serve, Hoodie,” he says, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gearshift.
I’m about to open the door when he stops me.
“Klara?”
“Yes?” I ask, without turning around.
“Whatever happened on campus today, you don’t have to tell me, but I just want you to know that you’re not alone, okay?”
And then all of a sudden, I remember the nickname Dario used to refer to Diego. “Thanks, Cangurito. See you later.”
I hop out of the car as fast as I can and Diego lowers the passenger window. “Hey! If you ever call me that in class, you’re dead, Klara,” he shouts after me, swiping his thumb across his neck to emphasize the threat.
I laugh and pretend to shake with fear. “Ooh, I’m scared the little kangaroo is going to attack me!”
“Klara…”
“Good night!”
I walk inside, still laughing at Diego’s mortified expression when I called him by his childhood nickname.
I find Kamila in the kitchen, wearing a black skirt and a dark blue blouse that looks great on her, with her brown hair up in a messy bun.
Her white doctor’s coat is hanging on the back of her chair and she has a glass of wine in her hand.
Andy is bent over the oven, checking something that smells divine. “Mmm… what smells so good?” I ask.
Kamila studies my face with those dark blue eyes of hers; she knows me so well.
“Baked chicken, my specialty—we figured we’d wait for you to have dinner,” Andy answers, also seeming to read my face and understand that something has happened.
Although I’m smiling, I know my eyes are puffy and probably a little red from all the crying I’ve done today.
Kamila sets her wineglass on the table. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, don’t worry.”
“I’m not sure if I should worry, but I believe you. I heard you laughing as you walked in, but your eyes…”
“I went to visit Mom’s grave.”
Kamila gasps in surprise. “Really?”
I nod. “I got emotional, but I’m fine now. I’m glad I was finally able to go to the cemetery after so long.”
Kamila smiles and walks around the table to hug me. “You’re my champion, Klara,” she whispers and kisses the side of my head.
Andy crosses the kitchen. “Hey, I feel left out,” he says as he wraps his arms around the two of us. “You’re both my champions.”
We pull apart and Kamila pretends to be annoyed. “Okay, let’s eat before Andy gets all sentimental and starts crying into the chicken.”
We set the table and start eating. I can’t erase the smile off my face and Kamila seems to join me in my good mood. She knows what a huge step visiting my mother’s grave is for me. She mouths I’m proud of you. And I allow myself to be proud of me, too.
After finishing the food and doing the dishes, I wipe my hands with a cloth to check my phone and see that Kang still has not messaged me. I’m disappointed, but I don’t want to send him any texts until I have a chance to talk to Perla, to hear the story from her lips.
I lie in bed catching up on some homework, albeit a little distracted as I try to take in everything that has happened today.
The words engraved on my mother’s headstone suddenly pop into my mind: Every defeat is a step toward victory.
Maybe today wasn’t the best day, but I got to ride home with Diego and I visited Dario’s and my mother’s graves; a defeat led to a victory.
“Have you been right all this time, Mom?”
I miss her so much.
Good night, Mom.