Seeds of Hate (16 page)

"No," he replied and walked away. His hands trailed the hanging locks and he pulled on the last one before kicking the bottom locker with his foot.

I let out the breath that I had been holding and rested my head against Izzy's side.

"Sorry," I said, the slow gust of air filled with confusion.

"For what?" Izzy dropped his arm and opened his locker, switching out books and grabbing a pen.

"I've upset him."

"If he was upset, someone would be bleeding," said Izzy.

"He's violent?"

"No, he's not, he's too controlled. It's when the control frays that he reacts."

I stared at the small dent in the metal that remained from where his foot connected. The more I observed him, the less I understood.

Izzy lifted my bag from the floor. The strap had fallen in our laughter and he positioned it back on my arm.

"I'll catch you later, okay?"

"Okay," I replied.

We parted ways to finish up the rest of our classes, and for the first time in weeks I was looking forward to going home. My aunt made my mother's spaghetti on Thursdays—her last standing kindness that Frank was unaware of. And tonight I really needed my mom.

Chapter
21

Swing Set

(Javier)

Friday morning Gio was gone before I woke up. His mattress pushed under mine, the sheets folded, and the classical music on. He didn't appreciate it as much as I did, but he seemed to know when I needed more of it. I didn't want to be upset, but I was.

I laced my hands behind my head and stared at the glitter in my popcorn ceiling. Last night I had counted all the way to two hundred and thirty-six before I relaxed enough to sleep. I kicked away the covers and let the chill wake me up. My alarm wouldn't go off for another thirty minutes, but after three weeks I still needed time to prepare. Time to figure things out.

Time to think about what I would say.

I knew there would be questions. Izzy still had questions and had witnessed my moment of greatest weakness. Where he had come to accept them, Selah would push. If I opened the door, I wasn't sure how far I would let her in before slamming it back in her face. My intention wouldn't be to hurt her, but my intentions rarely aligned with my actions. A reason why I feared becoming close to those who wouldn't understand.

The water poured out cold and hard—droplets of needles that helped keep me focused. I stared at the wall where the holes had been repaired and wondered what she would do if I told her. Would she believe me? Would she be afraid? Would she run?

I finished showering and let the questions go. We may not even get to that point, but something inside me wanted to tell her.

***

The brick wall greeted me with a smile, but instead of taking a seat, I kept walking. They would wonder where I was, but I couldn't face her just yet.

My feet crunched against the leaves as I turned the corner and headed toward my locker. I opened it up and grabbed a pair of laces that sat on my top shelf. Untying them, I pulled out a small box from my bag and wrapped the laces around its center like ribbon. There was no need to leave a note now, not that I ever did in the past. It was a few weeks late this year, but he'd understand.

I looked up at the metal number on the top of my locker #247 and counted down five doors to my right. The school roster for this year listed another R, two S's and one T. I stopped on #252 and put in the combination he had since freshmen year. So far he'd never changed his lock. It popped open on the first try, and amidst the chaos, I placed the small gift on top of his books and then closed it back. I pulled down on the lock twice just to make sure and scratched my head. Another habit I couldn't stop. A small kindness I'm not sure he deserved anymore.

"Javier." The sound of my name startled me in the quiet. Campus was still empty, except for the occasional early teacher and office secretary.

I turned around and nodded. "Mr. White," I replied.

"You weren't meddling in Nathan's locker, were you?"

"Nope."

He eyed me with several wrinkles lining his forehead, and his arms crossed at his chest. "Things have been quiet. Let's keep it that way. Okay?"

"Yes, Mr. White," I replied. I wasn't up to mischief. If anything it was the opposite, but how could I explain that to him? How could I explain it to anyone? They wouldn't understand. I didn't even understand it myself.

"Good. Hear back from any colleges yet?" he asked. Mr. White generally didn't play nice. His casual banter and concern threw me off.

"A few. One acceptance, two denials." No one else knew that I had applied. Not even my mom. Mr. White understood my perspective and I was grateful.

"Are you going?" he asked, hands in pockets jingling his loose change and car keys.

"Not sure. Still got time."

"Think it through. Don't be irrational."

"I will."

A teacher walked in our direction and called out his name. He looked over his shoulder, waved and then returned to me.

"She'll be okay. They always are." His words were meant to be reassuring, but they sat burning my throat. I just nodded and watched him go.

I knew she'd be okay, but would I? My mother had wanted me to go to college since I was born, but after everything I didn't know if I could.

Classes went by faster than normal, and when the final bell rang I headed straight to the parking lot. When I found Selah's car, I took a seat on the bumper and waited. She was easy to spot with her old t-shirts and assortment of skirts. And the fact that she only wore red shoes—different styles and shades, but always red.

When she spotted me, her hand moved to her hair and she tucked it behind her ears. She kept her eyes on the ground, but didn't stop walking. My body relaxed as I watched her nervous gestures. This wasn't going to be hard. She was a simple girl.

I stood as she neared me, my height towering over her shorter frame. "Can we talk?" I asked.

Selah looked up, her nose wrinkling in confusion. "Okay," she replied.

"Not here. Too many eyes."

"Where?" she asked.

"There's a park down the street. I go to it when I need to think."

She unlocked her door and got in, I followed her lead and we left. Out of curiosity, I looked into the backseat, but they were gone. I hoped she had returned them.

"Which way?" she asked.

"A left five blocks down and then two rights."

The car felt smaller inside than it looked. My knees grazed the passenger dash and there was no place to lean my left arm. Neither of us talked on the drive, but Selah kept both hands on the wheel, eyes on the road and her fingers strumming the edges.

She pulled in the lot and parked. By the first left I realized how nice she smelled, so I hopped out before she had a chance to turn the car off. I walked straight to the swing set and took a seat. A minute passed and then she followed, sitting in the empty swing next to me.

We both began to pump our legs quick and hard. Building momentum. Building height. The park was empty. Isolated. It was just me and her. Us.

The way I wanted it.

Clouds were sparse, as the blue of the sky dominated my vision. Birds lined up on the telephone wire across the street. The merry-go-round screeched an inch left and then an inch right. The breeze was coming in strong tonight.

Leaves tumbled by against the chalky gravel covering the ground, and the metal rings of the empty swings on our left swayed with simple movement.

We continued on for several minutes. Flying. Soaring. Breathing. A car drove by and I found my calm.

"Thank you," I said to Selah. The words came out less powerful than I had anticipated.

Her legs stopped pumping and her momentum slowed until she sat—still, waiting and quiet. But I had to keep swinging. She turned in her seat and watched me while I stared at the empty sky.

"Thank you for what?" she asked.

I lowered my feet and drug them across the pebbles. Three more sways and then I stopped.

"For my shoes," I replied.

She smiled, her cheeks doubling in color. "You're welcome."

"Can I ask you a question?" I said while wrapping my fingers across the metal rings.

"If I have the answer," she replied.

"How'd you know my size?"

She lowered her face and began to twirl in her seat, the chains twisting above her head. "Lucky guess."

I laughed. "Lucky indeed."

"Question?" she replied.

I watched as she lifted her foot and let herself spin out of control. The swing going round and round and round. "If I have the answer," I said with a short smile.

When her swing stopped, she lifted her hand and ran it across the base of her neck. "Where are they from, the scars?" she asked, tilting her head to the side and exposing the underside of her throat.

My brow hardened, and I pushed myself from side to side. "Why?" I asked.

"Why what?" she replied.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because," she said.

"Because..."

"You touch them. A lot."

They were hard to notice. Unless ... unless you were paying attention. She sat there playing with a strand of loose hair, her fingers twisting the studs in her ears. Was she curious, concerned or confused?

"Please," she continued.

Breathe, Javier. In and out. Breathe. I twisted to the left and began to wrap the metal rings, while rotating in a circle. The metal strained against the pressure. Pulling, grinding, wrenching. I twisted until I couldn't twist anymore, looked Selah in the eyes and then let go.

My hands gripped the metal as I unfurled and spun in the opposite direction. Building speed. Building confusion. My thoughts tumbled around with each quick rotation.

Should I. Shouldn't. Should I. Shouldn't.

Eventually the metal wrapped back around in the opposite direction and I catapulted back and forth as the spinning slowed. And then I stopped.

Selah grabbed my swing and pulled me to her.

"Please," she repeated.

Do I trust her? I don't know.

Standing up, I moved away from the swing and sat down on a cold concrete bench. I leaned back and stared up at the sky. Selah followed and took a seat. With her right hand, she grabbed my left and squeezed.

"Please," she said one last time.

I released her hand and wiped my face—the fear of her response and the frustration of my past building along my forehead.

"Sophomore year, I went to a dance. A girl asked me and I said yes. I liked her. A lot. She was sweet and made me laugh." I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees. "Nathan felt the same way."

"Is she still here?" Selah asked.

"Yes," I replied.

"Who?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Did she ever find out?"

"Find out what?"

"Whatever it was that happened."

I looked at her from the corner of my eye. "What do you think happened?" I asked.

"I don't know. I'm assuming something did," she replied.

"Something did," I said and I began to kick the loose rocks, the chalky dust turning the tips of my shoes white. "I arrived early but never made it to the dance."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because what?"

"Nathan came."

"And—?"

I ran my hands across the top of my head and stood up. "Nathan came," I repeated.

"So it was Nathan?" she asked. Selah stayed sitting, her eyes wide, but turned down at the corners. "Nathan who gave you those scars?"

"No. That ... that was me." I rubbed my neck, reflecting on that night. The years seemed like decades now. "How much has Izzy said anyway?" I asked.

"About you and Nathan? Not much. That you have a past. Been friends since you were little."

"Are you ready then?" I asked.

"For what?" she replied.

"The end of my past and the beginning of my present." I walked over, grabbed her hand and started to explain.

Chapter 22

Homecoming Dance - The Past

(Javier)

My mom told me to sit down on the bathroom counter and hold very still. She was filling the sink with warm water and opened the medicine cabinet, pulling out a pink razor and shaving cream.

"Mama!" I screamed with shock as my thick Spanish accent took over my words. "Ay dios mio! Do you honestly think I am going to help you shave your legs? Tu estas loca!"

"Calmate, mijo!" she replied in frustration. "I do not need you to help me shave my legs. I can shave them quite well on my own. I am, however, going to teach you how to shave your face." Her hands squeezed my cheeks and then she jiggled them from side to side in excitement.

"But, I don't need to shave yet, and it'll hurt." I rubbed my hands on my face trying to make the ache from my mother's aggressive touch disappear.

"Nonsense. It's about time you learned and since tonight is your big night it’s the perfect opportunity."

"Okay, but how are you supposed to teach me if you've never done it? It's not like you shave your face. Unless you do and you're just that good at keeping up the maintenance." I grinned at her in amusement. Teasing her was something I had always enjoyed, but the opportunity rarely came. The opportunity for much of anything rarely came.

"Don't be silly. I used to watch my mother shave your abuelo's face all the time. It was very sweet." My mother ached as she recalled the memory. She hadn't seen them in a very long time, and she hardly, if ever, spoke to them. They hadn't approved of her decision to stay in the States and raise me.

"Well, if you think it’s necessary, then by all means, show me." I smiled down at her in acceptance. There wasn't a single person on the planet that I cared for more than my mother and if she wanted to teach me how to shave my face, then she could teach me how to shave my face.

***

An hour later and I was all ready to go. My face was freshly shaved, but it didn't look a single bit different. My mom argued otherwise. Nicole and I had arranged to meet at the school, since neither one of us could drive. We both lived in opposite directions of campus. I had my mom drop me off at seven. I wanted to get there before her so she wasn't standing around waiting. My boutonniere was in place and her corsage sat in my sweaty hands. I went over to take a seat on a bench near the front lawn. Cars were coming and going and the headlights flickering in the dark started to make me dizzy.