Chapter 5 #3
“You and your brothers were forever changed by what happened to your papá. Seeing what you did at such young ages—at any age—affected you. It couldn’t not.
Jorge worries about what’ll go wrong if he doesn’t get things right.
Javier trusts no one who isn’t family and assumes everyone will disappoint him until they don’t.
You try to go unnoticed whenever you can.
You only have good posture because both of your abuelas insisted upon it.
I saw how you hunched your shoulders as we walked over here.
You wish you could be smaller—shrink your size—your presence—your aura of command—so you wouldn’t be such a target.
I know you blame yourself because as the oldest, you were the tallest. You believe you were the first one the assassins spotted. ”
I swallow the lump in my throat. She’s ripping open a wound that’s festered beneath the surface.
“You believe you’re the reason your papá died.
You’re not and never were, but I understand how that thought burrowed into your soul at such a young age and never left.
You’ve wanted to fade into the background since you were eleven.
You don’t want to draw attention to yourself because it means drawing attention to your brothers.
Duty runs deep in you just like it does everyone else in our family.
You’ve never let yourself be distracted from protecting your brothers.
But, Quino, you’ve more than fulfilled your obligations as a big brother.
Javier and Jorge both found women they love and who love them.
No one expects you to remain a bachelor forever.
No one wants that for you. Your papá certainly doesn’t.
I know he’s watching you and is so incredibly proud of you.
He always prayed you and your brothers would find what he did with your mamá.
No man has ever loved a woman more than Esteban loved Luciana.
They both want you to find that, muchachito.
You can’t if you hide from it, hide behind guilt and obligation. ”
My eyes burn with tears I refuse to shed.
Trust Tía Ana Lucía to articulate everything I’ve felt since my brothers and I watched men put bullets in our father’s head and heart.
We’d gone to the movies and eaten popcorn and candy until our tummies hurt.
Mamá never would’ve allowed it, but Papá always spoiled us on our guys’ day out.
It was the best day ever until it wasn’t.
Men cornered us in an alley. Papá and our guards protected us until our SUV could pull up. Papá practically threw all three of us in the backseat, shielding us with his own body. Before he could climb in—just after he slammed the door shut—they shot him.
If I hadn’t stepped past the guard when we walked out of the theater, my father would’ve lived.
At least, that’s what I believed until I was in college and finally reasoned myself out of it.
That doesn’t mean the guilt’s ever gone away even if I rationally understand that wasn’t what caused the series of events.
I knew the protocol, but I wasn’t paying attention. I was too excited, rambling on about the parts of the movie I loved best. It exposed me to anyone outside the theater. As the tallest Tres J, I was the easiest to spot. I caught the gunmen’s eyes and drew their attention.
If I’d just let the guards encircle us like they would’ve, then it wouldn’t have happened the way it did.
They still would’ve ambushed us, but we wouldn’t have gotten separated from some of the guards.
We wouldn’t have been forced into an alley to hide, leaving only Papá and a couple of our men to protect my brothers and me.
There wouldn’t have been so few men to help us get into the vehicle.
Men would’ve protected Papá while he protected us.
Instead, he gave his life so we could have ours.
I was too young to protect Papá, but I swore that day that there was no limit to what I would do to protect Mamá and my brothers.
When we moved to the States, that protection included my tías, tíos, and primos—aunts, uncles, and cousins.
I prefer to be neither seen nor heard because it means I can see and hear more.
I don’t like to stick out, but I always have.
My height, my looks, my wealth, my position.
All of it draws attention to me, and I hate it.
Since that day, it’s a compulsion to watch what’s going on around me, and that guilt drove the chattiness out of me at ten years old.
The weight of my self-imposed obligations along with the ones my position force upon me means I have little to no bandwidth for small talk, which I’m clearly useless at.
“Tía, what if being with me makes her a target too?”
“Mijo, you have to work through this, or you will let the love of your life walk past you.” She pauses to cup my cheek. “If it’s guilt that motivates you, then think about it this way. Do you want to be the reason that young lady doesn’t find the love of her life?”
Tía lets that land, knowing it would sound fucked-up to most people, but it’s probably the best way to motivate me to pull my head out of my ass. She pats my hand before she heads into the house. I stare out at the ocean.