Chapter 86
Mireya
Past
Play - Train Wreck by James Arthur
Still making wishes
The concrete is still warm here, I can see the ocean from where I am.
I don’t like going to school. It’s strange…
I have to pretend all day long, cover my bruises, cover my pain.
I have to make the entire silence in my blood feel normal.
The bruises under my jacket stings a lot from the fabric rubbing against them. But I don't take it off, I never do.
Ethan drops next to me with the bottles. “Here,” he says, handing me one. “You’re gonna complain again if it’s not your favorite one.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, but a smile appears on my lips.
He flicks the lighter for me, it clicks twice before it works. A long and deep drag and I inhale it, the smoke scratching my throat.
“Is he still violent?” he asks, staring at the sky like he didn’t just say that.
“Not your business.”
He hums like he expected that, then lies back, arms behind his head. The sky is orange and purple, the air is cold and the parking lot stinks. “Are you still thinking about your mom?” he asks.
“Always.” I stare at the bottle in my other hand and take a gulp before adding, “I think she would still be alive if I was a good kid.”
He laughs. “You are a good kid, dumbass. You’re smarter than everyone in class.”
“Maybe it wasn’t enough.”
He turns his head toward me. “What?”
“Nothing.”
I put my headphones on. Some song from the radio, sad girl voice, guitar that sounds like rain, lyrics that sound like my pain.
Maybe she looked at me and got tired. Maybe she thought I’d be fine without her. Or maybe she thought I wasn’t worth staying.
The sky looks endless and I feel very small beneath it.
He lights another joint and passes it to me. I take a drag then another sip, letting the world tilt a little. “Your dad’s an asshole,” he says.
“Yeah.”
“You should run away.”
I laugh and look back at him. “Where would I go?”
“Anywhere.”
Why not… Anywhere is nowhere. Nowhere is safer than here.
“My dad’s also an asshole,” he says casually.
I laugh and pass him back the joint. “Guess it’s genetic,” I reply as he nudges my shoulder with his.
“Cheers to shitty dads,” he says, and we clink bottles.
The alcohol burns, the world softens around the edges, and the sky blurs into an empty and vast mix of colors.
If I were better, she would’ve stayed, and if she stayed, everything would be different. So this is probably my fault.
We stay like that for a while, smoking, drinking, and not talking much. Then his hand reaches out to offer me what's left of the joint. “See you tomorrow?” he asks, already half asleep.
“Maybe.”
He grins and whispers, “You’re gonna die young.”
“Promise?”
He laughs as I stand up and walk away from here.
The sky is still spinning and my head and thoughts follow the same rhythm.
The music is loud in my ears, my steps aren’t straight, I’m a fucking mess again.
I think about Mom. I think about the way she looked the day before she was gone. I think about how she didn’t stay.
Did she look at me and decide it wasn’t worth it? Did I make her tired?
Did I make her leave?
My jacket scratches my arms, and the fresh scars sting under the sleeves. I don’t remember when this downfall happened. All I know is that I became both the knife and the wound, but I still wonder why I never healed.
Good daughters don’t drink after school. Good daughters don’t smoke. Good daughters don’t lie on asphalt and laugh. I’m not a good daughter. I never was.
Moms die, daughters survive, dads get angrier and pain is the only home left. And it sucks. I keep walking, repeating the same thoughts over and over and then I freeze.
I don't know how I got here. I walk a little further, even though the ground continues to move beneath me. The cemetery gate is open, and I stumble through. The names on the headstones are blurry at first. Then one becomes clear. And I stop.
Everything else disappears, as if my brain has decided that this is what I need tonight.
I stand motionless for a long time, without knowing exactly what I'm doing here. I think I was waiting for something. A reaction. A sign. A mistake in reality. Her speaking to me and telling me it will be alright. But nothing happens, so I laugh a little.
“Hi mom…” I say. My voice immediately embarrasses me. I kneel, my legs giving up a little, and then it hits me all at once. “I miss you,” I say, but it comes out as if it were a mistake to speak.
I look at her name and try to stare at it hard enough to make it come alive. Make her be alive again. But it doesn't work, nothing works.
“I did everything I could,” I lied without realizing it. The wind blows through the trees. The stars shine on top of us. And my heart breaks all over again.
“There are fragments of you in everything that is missing, mom.” I place my hand on the stone, and it's colder than my fingers.
And that destroys me a little more, because it means she'll never be warm again.
“Is this the end?” I whisper. “You just... left like this and let me carry on with the noise in my head?”
I close my eyes for a second, but when I open them again, it's all still there, so I lower my head shamefully. “I'm tired,” I say. “There is something inside me that has already suffered before me, mom.” My throat tightens suddenly, and I no longer have enough control to hide it. “I feel like something inside me... broke a long time ago,” I continue, lowering my voice. “But I’m still making wishes. Any time I don’t know where to go, and what to do, I make a wish.”
I stay there, without moving, without wanting to move. As if the whole world had shrunk to this stone, this name, and I can no longer understand how anyone can live around it. Because I can’t. A firefly rests on her carved name, and I cry lying down against her stone.
For a few minutes, I'm not cold anymore.
“I hope you’re not hurt anymore, Mom. I hope Dad will never find you again.”
I hope I can join you soon…