“H… how do you know that song?” I whispered.
“Because I know who you are, Solana. Well, I didn’t before I sold you that shit, which is my bad, by the way. But I know who you are.”
He flipped the phone around, the flashlight now pointing at his face, with his phone screen illuminating my face. My eyes focused on him instead of the phone, taking a moment to outline his features. He looked like a young adult, yet there was a softness and hardness in his face at the same time.
“Look, Solana.”
I took a step back from the picture on his phone, falling onto the mattress since there was nowhere else for me to go. I blinked nonstop, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.
“¿Cómo conseguiste esa foto de mi madre y de mí?(How did you get that picture of my mother and I?)
“Tengo la foto porque esta es mi hermana.(I have the picture because this is my sister.)”
He pointed to the photo, and my ears burned as my brows creased, trying to process his words.
Wait, he is speaking in Spanish.
“Este eres tú y esta es mi madre. Nuestra madre.(This is you, and this is my mother. Our mother.)
“You speak Spanish?”
“Yes. I speak a few languages. My mother made sure my sibling and I were fluent in most. Now, we have to go, Solana. I won't hurt you. I’m sorry for sellin’ you drugs. I’m sorry for everything. But lemme fix it.”
In disbelief, I just stared at him. I didn’t have any siblings from my mother. My mother didn’t have any more children. I was her first child, and she died giving birth to me—or so I was told. My father’s words were so few about my mother that anything seemed possible, like a drug-dealing, Spanish-speaking man claiming to be my brother.
Brother.
Not like I was short of those, but my mother’s son.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes, okay.”
“Uh… Aite. Come on.”
I stood but then stopped. “Wait. I can’t leave the baby.”
“What baby?”
“She’s on the bed.”
He shifted the light and there was a jump scare. Shya was sitting up in the bed, eyes wide open.
“Hey. I-I’m Uncle Ro. Can I pick you up?”
Ro. His name is Ro,I thought to myself, not remembering if Italian or the girls had told me his name.
“Ngisize,” Shyla said while whining.
“She doesn’t speak,” I said as I stuffed my feet into a pair of house shoes. I didn’t know where we were going, but with the lights off in the house and no one here, I had to trust him. Plus, he had a picture of me with our mother. It was indeed me in the picture because I had the same photo, except there was no sister in it.
Did I have a sister?
Ro moved toward the bed. Lighting was scarce, but from his phone, I could see enough.
Shya climbed into his arms.
