I woke up for the first time without the presence of someone making noise, as I had been used to. I woke up at my latest—2 PM. The house felt eerily empty, but it also gave me a feeling of freedom.
Welp, I should try getting these ashes over there.
"I couldn't explain why I wished to do as my dad wished with the ashes. After all, it really didn't matter anymore in my perspective. He's dead, and there's nothing else to it, and I'll gain nothing from doing this task. Yet my body moved on with the task at hand."
I opened the fridge. The regular assortment of items I was used to were inside—everything my dad had stocked there before he died. I grabbed some eggs and bacon and cooked up a quick meal. I downed it with a glass of soda.
I was ready to go out.
I grabbed the bag I had used when I was in middle school and packed it with some things I thought I would need. Then I headed toward my dad's room.
a neatly assorted room greeted me the sun shined throw the window curtains in a dramatic fashion I was unamused.
Whole $2000 in cash inside the nightstand. There was more in the card, but for now, I'd be using this cash. There was also a safe in this room...
"I'll open it up once I get desperate enough for money. Hahahaha."
I grabbed $500 and left the room, finally heading out.
I walked for a good 15 minutes with my dad's ashes at hand to the nearest bus station. The bus ride was long and uninteresting, yet it felt good to go out this far by myself. I thought I would feel some sort of anxiety because I had been isolated for so long, but it felt quite fun.
I guess because I didn't have to worry about much, thanks to the money left for me.
Although there was little cash, the bank account was another question—it had $100K in it. Seems like my dad never spent the money he left aside for my college, plus some other savings.
"I guess I'm really lucky?"
Finally, I reached my stop. I walked for a bit before getting into familiar territory. The whole town felt nostalgic—this is where I grew up. Just the air of this place filled my mind with peace. I wandered around and felt hungry after that 3-hour-long bus ride, so I entered a Taco Bell and ordered the most nitpicky thing I'd always order at this place:
"I'll get a Cheesy Gordita Crunch—no lettuce."
Yup, this is an autistic meal if I've ever seen one.
The refillable cup full of Mountain Dew sweated from how cold it was. I took a bite into it and remembered some fond memories of this exact place—when my dad would bring me and my mom here and call it "Taco Day."
Yeah, pretty sure Mexicans would not approve of this "Taco Day." But oh well.
Instead of looking immediately at my phone like I usually do while eating, I stared out of the window. A large amount of cops were outside.
"Huh. Wonder what they're doing."
Before I took the last bite of my taco, I rifled my cup and grabbed my dad's ashes, then headed out. I took a couple of sips of my soda and admired the nostalgic scenery.
This place had progressed quite a bit from the last time I was here. I mostly remembered it as a suburban neighborhood where you would have to drive for a while to get to a grocery store. That charm had disappeared, though—maybe for the better? It was now full of apartments and other new buildings.
I stopped my train of thought.
I could feel a presence behind me. It wasn't something alarming, yet there was definitely someone lingering.
"Hello, buddy," I said before turning around.
A small, pale boy stood in front of me. Seems like I startled him.
"I need help."
"What do you need help with?"
He's all alone. I guess he would need help, but on the other hand, some parents would let a kid this age linger around. Maybe I shouldn't be too alarmed.
"Ummmm, my mom and dad got deported."
"Really?"
"Yeah!"
I almost let out a chuckle. I expected everything except that—especially since this kid doesn't look... deportable? He looks even more white than me.
"Wait, so the police over there at the Taco Bell were for your parents?"
He nodded.
"And you thought the best course of action would be to follow some random dude?
"Mhm."
"Hahahaha!"
This time, I did laugh out loud.
"Why are you laughing? I was scared when those people came, so I just ran!"
I guess they must've told this kid that cops were bad since they're illegal.
"Sigh."
The kid looked at me with glaring eyes—the kind of glare that could only come from an innocent kid.
"Okay, I'm going to be direct with you. I'm going to give you your options, and you'll have to choose out of them. I'll explain a bit about your situation."
For some reason, I took pity on the kid. He reminded me of myself—except ten times worse. If anything, I'm lucky.
He nodded at what I said.
"Okay, let me explain what happened. Your parents got deported to their country of origin. You're completely alone right now. They're probably heading to a detention center."
His stare seemed a bit lost. Maybe he wasn't understanding what I was saying. Maybe he doesn't even speak English well.
"Are you following along with what I'm saying, buddy?"
He nodded.
"Okay... so you have two options. I can either turn you into an adoption center, and they would probably accept you, or turn you into the police for them to see if they can send you off with your parents."
Huh. That second option doesn't sound all that good. What if his country of origin is a hellhole?
He shook his head in disagreement at both options.
"Hey, buddy, I can't just let you follow me until the ends of the earth."
"All of those things sound scary, though."
"MORE SCARY THAN STAYING WITH A WEIRDO LIKE ME?"
"YES."
"Hahahaha!"
I laughed out loud again. To be honest, this kid was growing on me.
"Fine, fine. How about I give you time to decide? Let's walk together—either to go dump my dad's ashes, and once that's done, you decide. How does that sound?"
He still seemed unsure but nodded in agreement.
"So how much do you like your parents"
He did an amusing side eye and decided to ignore that question, although it annoyed me a bit because I wanted to know which of the 2 options would be better for him, I continued.
"how old are you?"
"I'm 12 in a half!"
he said it very enthusiastically; he was actually much older than what I thought in all honesty I expected him to be no older than 8 do to how he talks... "maybe his autistic?"
"Do you have any sicknesses I need to know about do you use medication?"
he shook his head side to side, so his pretty healthy, I guess.
"Do you have any siblings?"
"noooooo"
"that's an odd no..."
"..."
"What country do your parents come from"
"theyyyy come from cube"
"cube?" do you mean Cuba?"
"ya that"
I laughed at the miss understanding but also thought, don't those people get automatic citizenship when they get here?
Maybe this is deeper than some deportation. maybe they were criminals of some sort, shit this is getting more complicated. we went on and on with more irrelevant small talk.
Now, it was me and this little boy going off to dump my father's ashes.
For whatever reason, I started rethinking this whole little trip again.
We reached a park I remembered—the gateway to the lake where my dad wanted his ashes scattered. Memories flickered: a kid playing here, his parents laughing. Simpler times.
"Tag!"
The kid smacked my back and bolted, taking me out of my daze. I chuckled at the realization of what he wanted
"Come on buddy this is going to be embarrassing for you"
I sprinted, caught him in two strides, and wheezed.
"Told you… it'd be… embarrassing."
"Again!"
"Nah. you know those swings over there look quite appealing."
I said while trying to catch my breath.
I pushed him lightly, but he demanded more speed, then jumped mid-air, tumbling into a roll.
"buddy!" My heart lurched—but he popped up grinning.
Little adrenaline junkie.
I do admit that it was quite impressive, the boy stared off at the sky.
The sunset painted the lake gold. Dramatic enough for you, Dad?
"Hey, I need to go do something I'll be back in a bit you can keep playing or come with me it's up to you.
he didn't have much of a reaction to what I said, I decided to advance to the little bridge they had for fishing and such.
I could hear him lingering behind me.
"Well dad you picked a pretty good spot"
the view was mesmerizing manly due to the nostalgic thoughts I was having, regardless it would still be enjoyable to the common person.
I scooped a handful of ashes with my right hand. Should I just dump the whole urn? the thought had passed my mind before looking back. The kid's eyes glued to me. Nah. Go for the aesthetic.
I flung them. The wind carried the dust left, sparing me a faceful.
For a second, my dad's face flashed in my mind—I couldn't quite Invision it properly anymore he had become a fading memory just like everyone else I had mourned throw-out the years
*bzzzzz*
Most people wouldn't move on so quickly, throw-out my whole life I had a lack of empathy for those who I had deemed to have lived a full life and yet despite that I-
*bzzzzz*
Stupid mosquito.
I slapped my forehead with my left hand—
Then the world went black.
I floated in darkness, weightless, drowning in nothing. Then—snap—someone else's memories hijacked my mind.
A baby, umbilical cord choking its neck. A midwife's frantic hands. The scream of life.
A sickly child, six years old before he even knew of his own existence. A house stinking of poverty. A boy who barely survived each winter.
The—me. But not me.
A man's voice, guttural, screaming:
"YOU FUCKER"
followed by a full force punch to my face and the tears that weren't mine, I couldn't see the man Infront of me completely due to the teary eyes.
the first memory form my father was one of fear.
my emotions wanted to interfere with the tantric unfolding of the memory, but they soon dissolved into my fathers. the emotions of anger were formed into the original emotions of fear and despair.
I felt egg yolks soaking my clothes the punch I had just resaved set in, and I could feel the painful sting.
the man picked me up by the collar of my shirt.
"PLEASE STOP"
̸̬͌T̸̀͜h̶͎͆e̸͝ͅ ̴̰̉w̶̱̾r̸͖̾ė̴̞n̵͇̎c̷̫̐h̵͕̽i̶̝̍n̵͜͠ĝ̸̜ ̴̱̽c̴̞̽ȓ̷̗y̶͍̎ ̷̞͒ȍ̸͙f̴̩̚ ̵͕́a̶̝̍ ̶̜͑w̴̪̾o̴̘͂m̸̮̈e̸̦̓n̸̖̈ ̵̩̓c̵̼̅o̸̧͌ù̶̙ĺ̴͍d̸͙̎ ̶̖͐b̸͕̓e̵̱͋ ̷͙̃h̸͇͑e̸̲͋ȁ̶͍r̵͎͘d̷̗̋
the cry of my mother was gut wrenching.
my mother latched on to his legs at an attempt to stop ̸͕̉ṱ̴̐h̶͖͠e̷͕̐ ̴͕͘m̷͈͐a̵̞͋ņ̸̎.̴̬̃
my father...
kicked her away aggressively before pacing off into another room.
my mother quickly embraced me and repeated one word as she cried.
"sorry"
"sorry"
"sorry"
t̷̤͒h̴̥͘e̶͙̓ ̵̹͒s̴̼͠ȃ̸̗m̶̙͝e̷̠͌ ̵̘́b̸̩̅ȉ̶̗t̷̖͋ ̴̱̿r̶͈͌e̷̢͛p̶̜͝e̸̘̋a̷͖͂t̸̙́e̶̪͒d̵̨̓ ̴̤̄i̷̳͗t̶̨̓s̸̯͒é̴͍l̵̘͋f̴̼̊ ̷̟̐o̸̻̓v̴̧͛e̵̩̚r̴͌͜ ̵̯͛ȁ̴̰n̸̨̿d̴̰͐ ̵͙̃o̵͇̽v̸̲͝ḛ̵͘r̴͉̍ ̵̡̕a̸̮̾g̸̀͜ã̷̖i̵̥̎n̴͇͝ ̶̯̈r̷̫̓e̶̜̽p̵̹̿e̸̛͕t̷̠͝ȉ̸͎t̴̙͗ĩ̸͈v̴͔̈e̴͇͐ ̵̑͜ẻ̴̫ṋ̵͗ö̸̞́u̵̲̿g̸̩͒h̸͉̀ ̶̼̐f̸̯̃o̵͎͆r̸̹͝ ̴̲͆i̶̪͂t̷̬́ ̴̹̉t̸͖̀ō̸̻ ̸̭͊b̶̲̿e̷̹̽ ̴̻̽b̶̘̾e̵̱̓ã̶̤r̵͙͌a̶̠̾ḅ̶̈́l̶̯̊ĕ̸̩ ̴̹͂a̸̰̾f̸͙́ṫ̸̨ḙ̴̀r̶̭͒ ̷͛ͅl̵̲̿i̵̭͠v̶͍͌i̵͕͗n̷͎͌g̷͋ͅ ̵̲͑ĭ̷͚ṯ̴̓ ̶̡̛s̷͕̑o̷̱͝ ̴̐͜m̵͖̀å̶̧ň̸̳y̶̛͈ ̸͍́t̵͇̄ï̸̳m̶̡͛e̴͍̅s̴̗̈́ ̶͔̀b̴́ͅṷ̵̊t̶͓́ ̴̡̎i̸̦͠s̴͙͌ ̴͉͋t̵̬̆h̵͇͂á̷̺ṭ̶̇ ̸̞͝r̴̮͊ḙ̵͂a̸͎͛l̵̬͌l̴̖̄y̸̟͘ ̵͔́ạ̶̾ ̷͙̈l̷̥̔į̶̈́f̵̼̅ě̷̡ ̶̺͌f̷̝͗o̶̙͠ṛ̸̓ ̴̗̊â̴̟n̵͙͛y̵̖͠ ̵̓ͅh̵̯̑u̶͖̅m̷̭͆à̵͔n̸̤̕?̴͇̅ ̷̧̈́
As the days went by, as the months passed, as the years flew on, I thought to myself, Nothing will ever change. I'm sorry, Mother.