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“Sorry about that.” I apologized, approaching Erin as quickly as possible.
“No, hunny, no need to apologize. I think your mother’s behind on a refill…” She stated, being sensitive with her words as she handed me an empty orange bottle. I stared down, looking at the date and label, wondering how long it had been since Claire took her last pill. I looked up at Alejandro, while Claire still laughed in a euphoric cloud.
She told me she was taking these; she gave me her word. Was this a new problem? On top of everything else, did I need to fear this too? I had the choice to scold her, to remind her that never once was she a mother, but instead it was me who carried those responsibilities. But what good would that be, other than to reinforce the guilt she produced? I was expected to be here, I was born for her, not for me.
“I’ll call now.” I assured, taking the bottle from her hands, leaving down the hall. It was dark given there were no windows, but the length seemed shorter than what I remembered as a child. I didn't realize how small the place was, forgetting already from the time I visited while working with Gerard. I suppose I just tried to block it out, each moment here was an unpleasant surprise.
I approached my room, hesitant to enter, but doing so regardless for privacy. I tried not to dottle, dialing the pharmacy to place the order. As the call rang, I caught myself in a large mirror by the corner; the one whose frame was outlined with photos, most of which were Parker and me.
It was like a piece of us, held in the past, preserved in faded old snapshots. I moved closer, smiling at one in particular, an image of a determined Parker winning Andy, a stuffed giraffe from the county fair. He saved every ticket he had that summer, ensuring I got the one toy I truly wanted. He never gave up on me, but I couldn’t help but feel like a part of me gave up on him. Was it wrong to shut him out on this part of my life, after all he’d done, didn’t he just want to be as close as he could? We were friends, truly, and maybe that’s all it would ever be.
“Shit.” I muttered to myself as the phone rang to voicemail. I shut it off.
“Nice room.” Alejandro’s compliment took me by surprise, along with his sudden appearance. How long had he been there?
“Hardly, but thanks. We should probably just go.” I stated, stepping forward as he blocked the door.
“How are you?” He asked, not once moving. I wasn’t willing to squeeze by, so instead I focused on the floor.
“Ok, I think,” I admitted. “How’s Claire?”
“Better, I think. But right now, all I care about is you.”
“It’s nothing new,” I promised. “She just… has her moments.”
“I’m familiar.” He walked past me to enter my room. He looked around, studying the mirror and walls as he made his way to my bed, taking a seat at its edge. The springs creaked, as the weight of his body creased my purple comforter with stars.
Unlike my room at Parker’s, my walls were mostly colorless, absent of any St. La Vie magazine clippings. A few things were still on display though, such as theTwilightposter I got at the theatre on my thirteenth birthday. This was subjected to Alejandro’s eyes, along with the cup of milky gel pens that had surely lost their ink. He didn’t linger long on these things, or the Hamptons postcards that sat thumbtacked by his side. “Sit with me.” He requested, nodding to the space beside his lap. I curled the bottle in my hand, tucking it away from his eyes, following as he ordered.
“I’m not sure what you heard,” I started. “I don’t think it was very professional of me to bring you here.” I wiped my eyes, feeling bad about what I’d done. This was my job, and maybe Claire was right, I should have been here to prevent this whole mess. I wasn’t enough, I’d failed in so many things, and Claire was quick to point out the worst of my flaws, not being a good daughter one of them.
“I’m not interested in professionalism,” Alejandro cooed, “you’re more than capable of that, and not just that alone.” He reassured, guarding me already from the doubt I had. I stared across from the bed at the sliding closet door, whose railing was falling off the track. It was where I hid alone when I was scared, plotted with worn teddy bears and childhood clothes that could no longer fit. I made out a familiar yellow shirt, one with a large smiling daisy on its front. It was an ironic and cruel contrast to the little girl that once wore it.
What if I had an Alejandro back then, when I was just a child? Would he have held me, or would he have pulled me out from there and carried me away? It was likely the latter, considering how persistent he was, or who knows, maybe he would’ve been there by my side, just like he did for his brother in the dark. I touched my neck from the memories, the night it happened, when my dad left, and I hid.
“Why do you do that?” he asked. “Touch your neck?” It was a simple question but lacked a simple answer. Maybe this was his chance to save me, but I couldn’t risk it, not now. No matter what he’d seen or what he saw in me, time felt like the only remedy I could consider before talking about that day, so instead, I revealed only what I could in this moment.
“Cigarettes.” I answered, “Just like how cherries remind you of your mom, cigarette smoke reminds me of mine… but in a bad way.”
“And when you touch your neck around me?” He asked.
“Just a nervous habit I suppose.” That was true, I had done it so long it expanded beyond where it came from. “But not just from you… sometimes I get scared.”
“Like loud noises?”
“Mhmm… or…” I opened my fist to the empty orange bottle, showing what I held, “Are you ever afraid of becoming something you can’t control? A victim of something bigger? Something… inherited?” My words popped out like a quiet blast. Everything was silent around us, except for the rise of his chest, which slowly collapsed as he watched over me.
“Like a disease?” He asked, almost in his own world, but I didn't answer right away. How could I explain what I hated to hear out loud?
“Well,” I mumbled, “a disorder, technically.” He looked down at my hand, observing the empty bottle.
“If you’re asking if I’ve ever been afraid of such a thing, then the answer is yes.” He stated, reaching his hand for my palm, closing it shut. He held it tightly.
“So, you do get scared?” I asked, relieved by his candor.
“Absolutely. I hope to never be the things I saw while growing up, nor the people who caused it.” His eyes no longer fixed on mine, but rather our hands. There was so much more to him than he shared, but he was here for me. Could I ever be there for him? That night at The Met, the photo of the man he slashed, it was a frightening and raw glimpse of how he felt. Alejandro wanted to grow, that was clear, but how could I ever be more than what I was, a failure with my dreams, a failure with love? Claire thought I wasn't enough, so would it be the same for him too?
My phone buzzed by my side with Parker’s name flashing across the screen. Was this some cosmic interjection, a sign to run away? He was in the room, but even now I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t answer his questions. I pressed the button, silencing his call, feeling guilty again for shutting out the man I loved so dearly. I couldn’t be who I was, which was less than what I felt I should be.
