“Iridescent”—Linkin Park
PULLING UP TO MY dad’s house, I couldn’t help but glance longingly next door to Kayde’s old home. As I sat there wishing Kayde would come walking out the front door, flashing his bright smile and raising his hand in a wave, Ty let me know he was awake.
“Momma! Grandpa’s house! Help me. Issss stuck!” Looking back through the rearview mirror, I saw my little man struggling to unbuckle his seat belt from his car seat. Despite only being a few months shy of three, he was such a big boy, it forced me to switch him to a boost-seat-style car seat. He simply didn’t comfortably fit in a toddler car seat anymore.
Ever protective of him, I insisted on getting one with a back that held the strap in the appropriate place and gave him somewhere to rest his head when he fell asleep in the car, as he never failed to do. Since he was a baby, he wouldn’t last five minutes in the car before he was asleep. Unfortunately, he’d been a colicky baby for several months, so I spent a lot of time driving around the neighborhood to allow him to fall asleep. At least that had worked for me; some parents weren’t even that lucky.
Obviously seeing us pull up, my father came out just as I was setting Ty to the ground. A wide grin splitting his face, he swooped my little boy up, swinging him around until Ty giggled uncontrollably. The simple sound of his laughter was music to my ears, and my own smile spread over my face. Ty’s laughter and innocence were two of the only things that brought me joy these days.
“I’ll be in shortly, Papi. I just need to grab the bags.” Every other Saturday, I was off and made dinner for my dad at my childhood home. Today, I had stopped at H-E-B, our grocery store, to pick up fajita fixings. Despite me telling him I had it, my dad took the bags from me and headed inside with Ty in one arm and the bags held in the other.
Just as I was reaching for my purse, Kayde’s grandma peeked out her front door. “Hey, Abuela! How are you doing today?” Everyone in the neighborhood called her abuela because of Kayde, and I was no exception, especially considering I never knew either of my grandmothers.
“Oh, Sera, I’m just fine. I was just on my way to your papi’s house to see if he could help me get my Easter decorations down from the attic. Gus got down everything but my wire Easter egg tree for the yard before he went fishing, and I can’t very well use the boxes of decorations without the tree.” In frustration, she propped her hands on her hips. Abuela went all out for every single holiday. People literally drove from all over to go past her house to see the latest display.
“I can help you.” As I walked toward her front door, she grinned at me, causing deep wrinkles to frame her wise eyes, and a small pang hit me at the realization that she was getting old. Her hair was streaked silver with very little of the midnight black it used to be. Anger at Kayde for his absence in her life over the last few years threatened to overtake me, but I shook it off. She looped her arm through mine and smiled up at me as we went into the house.
As it always did, the smell of something baking assailed my senses as soon as I stepped foot in the front door. She was forever baking bread, biscuits, cookies, pies, cakes—you name it. My stomach rumbled. Passing pictures of Kayde, his uncles, and his mom hanging on the hallway wall, I averted my eyes from a particular picture of all four of us when I was about eleven and the boys were about twelve to thirteen. But not before I absorbed the wide smiles on all our faces, which robbed the one I had been sporting.
The ladder was already propped up under the attic opening, and I frowned thinking she must have been trying to go up there on her own. “Abuela, you shouldn’t be climbing ladders.”
“Pssh! I’m not dead, and I’m careful. But I couldn’t move the box from on top of my tree box. It’s in the corner on the left after you get up there.” As if I didn’t know where she was talking about, she pointed up into the attic.
Holding back my smile the best I could, I climbed up the ladder. It was chilly in the attic, but not too bad. Walking with a crouch over to where she’d directed me, I wondered how Gus maneuvered around up here. The thought of him having to crawl around on his knees had me chuckling as I found the tree.
The box on top of it was a little heavy, and as I set it to the ground, causing the flaps to flutter, I saw why. Reaching into the top, I pulled out one of Kayde’s old sketchbooks. There must have been at least twenty or more of them in there. Nostalgia had me flipping through the one in my hands.
What I saw had my breath catching and my eyes bugging from my head. The book was full of sketches of me. There were charcoal sketches, rough and crude, colored pencil renderings that looked like paintings, detailed pencil drawings, chalk—you name it. And every single one was me.
Some I was laughing, others thoughtful, one I was sleeping in a cheap lounge chair I had bought myself my freshman year of high school when I wanted to “tan” in the backyard. My arm was thrown over my eyes, my other trailing the ground where my glass of lemonade had spilled. I actually remembered that day. He had woken me by tapping the bottom of my foot, then tickling me and telling me I was going to be covered in fire ants if I wasn’t more careful with my sweet drinks.
My senses had gone into overdrive that day, just from the touch of his calloused fingers on the warm skin of my midriff. The contact left me feeling confused and awkward around him the rest of the day. That was when I began to realize that my awareness of him and Tyler had changed. We were no longer little children, and being around them was embarrassing because I was so worried they would know the crazy things my body did when they were near.
Kayde was the worst though. My heart would race, and my belly would tremble like a million butterflies were frantic to escape. Strange tingling would happen between my legs and—oh my God, it made me want to die—my panties would get wet. The first time it happened, I thought I peed myself. It was mortifying. There was no one I could talk to about it because all my friends had crushes on the three of them, and I certainly wasn’t asking Kayde. God!
Tucking the sketchbook of memories away, I quickly grabbed the box I needed and moved to the opening. There was no way I could hand it down to her because it was so awkwardly shaped and heavy that it would’ve knocked her over. Those thoughts had me worried about her safety. It was dangerous that she had even tried to get it down in the first place.
Climbing part way down the ladder, I had to stretch up to slide it through the opening. My sweatshirt rose as I did, and I heard Abuela take a sharp inhaled breath. “Niña! Whatever happened to your back?” Shit. Tugging my hoodie back down to cover the bruises I didn’t realize she would see, I took the last step down and slid the box to the ground.
“Oh, I fell trying to rush up the stairs the other day. It was stupid, and I knew better, but I was running late for work and I was trying to get Ty’s boots, and… well, I was careless. Don’t worry, I’m fine. Just some bumps and bruises for my foolishness.” Pasting a bright smile on my face, I kissed her cheek and told her I needed to get over to my dad’s before Ty ran him ragged.
Her eyes remained narrowed as I left the house and headed next door. Once my back was to her, my smile dropped and I looked at my watch, gauging how much time I had left. While Lawrence allowed me these days with my father, he had strict stipulations on when I should be home. A mere minute late and I would suffer. Thankfully he had left Ty alone, but I was afraid it was only a matter of time before his evil bled over onto my innocent son one way or another.
Like I had a million times over the past year, I told myself I had to find a way out of this fucking mess I had made of my life. Being an ER nurse, I knew how the cycle of abuse worked. People would say I was stupid if they knew what I had been enduring. The problem was, anytime I tried to leave, he made me regret it. My son being his main leverage.
It had taken me over a month to commit to a dinner after my initial acceptance. He was sweet and attentive during the dinner and the six or seven months we dated sporadically. After that, he laid the charm on thick. A little over a year after that first dinner, he persuaded me to move in with him. At the time, it had been a bit of a relief, because memories of Tyler had slammed into me in every nook and cranny of the house we had rented.
Sometimes I blamed my lingering grief, being overwhelmed as a new mother, work, and any number of other things for the signs I missed. Then again, maybe he had just been that good. Before I knew it, he had all my things in his name. My phone was on his plan, Ty switched to a daycare he approved of because he didn’t feel the home daycare I had been using was safe, he had bought me a new car—in his name. Essentially, he had control and access over everything I did and owned. He was a police officer—well, detective. He had worked with my husband. Why would I have reason to think he was hiding a dark, malicious side?
After our first argument, I had tried to call my best friend, Amy, for advice. Before the call connected, he had destroyed my phone and told me our disagreements were our business and we didn’t need to make them worse by involving other people. He had apologized profusely, buying me a new phone, on his plan, to replace mine.
Things had continued to roller coaster. One week he would be the sweet, caring guy I first thought he was, and the next it was a complete one-eighty. Volatile, hateful, and violent. Initially he would apologize after losing his temper and breaking shit, tell me work had been stressful. It wasn’t long before he cut me off from my friends. Any time I wanted to spend time with them, he informed me we had plans that he had “completely forgotten about.” Before long, they quit inviting me anywhere.
The first time I tried to leave, he came out into the garage before I could even get the garage door open and took a baseball bat to my lights, windows, and mirrors. That was how I ended up with the shiny black Charger I now drive—in his name. Fucking hated that car. Pretty sure he had a tracking device on it. Besides, I wanted the red one. Asshole.
The threats continued. If I left he would ruin my brother’s career, or find a way to get my dad arrested and deported, anything to prevent me from gathering up my shit and hitting the highway. Then it progressed. Like I said, I knew things like this got worse, not better, but I was beaten down and scared by that time.
The first time he hit me was because I dropped a cast-iron skillet in the kitchen and cracked the tiles. Of course, he then crouched over where I had stumbled and fallen to the floor, apologizing again, but then telling me I shouldn’t have made him do it, that I should have been “more careful.”
After that it wasn’t long before he would slap me or hit me for imagined infractions. He was always careful not to leave lasting marks anywhere they would be visible. The past threats against my family kept me from trying to leave again, but in my mind, I plotted.
Quickly pasting another fake smile on my face, I entered my dad’s house. “Hey, Papi. Sorry, I had to help Abuela with something.”
He looked up from the book he was reading to Ty to frown at me.
“Ah, mi chiquita, you should have gotten me. I could have helped her so you didn’t have to.” As always, my dad was protective of me, not wanting me to do things he considered “man’s work.” Sometimes he drove me crazy, though I knew he meant well.
“It was no big deal. She just needed some decorations down from the attic. I got it.”
“Read, Gwampa!” Ty slapped his small hand on the book my dad still held as he talked to me.
“Shhh, Niño, we’ll read again in a minute. Ah, Easter? Should have known. She just took down all the little leprechauns.” My dad chuckled when he realized his neighbor’s yard would soon be filled with inflatable rabbits, eggs, and a giant Easter basket. Oh, let’s not forget the tree laden with Easter egg ornaments, lights, and various religious ornaments. It really was a sight to behold. When Kayde was still at home, I used to sneak and watch him through our kitchen window, which looked out over toward their house, as he set things up under Abuela’s strict supervision. Jeans never looked as good on anyone as they did on him as he climbed the ladder and carried stuff back and forth as his abuela tried to decide where she wanted everything at the time.
Once he caught me watching, he roped me into helping. From then on, I was an additional hand each holiday season. It never dawned on me how Tyler and my brother were always “busy” or “working” on the days he was out there decorating. Not that I minded, because I loved spending time with him. His laughter, his smiles, his grumbling, it didn’t matter. I absorbed it all and wore his carefree happiness like a comfy cloak.
Shaking off the nostalgia, I took a deep breath. “If you’re okay keeping an eye on him, I’ll go get supper started.” At my father’s nod, because he had resumed reading to Ty, I went to the kitchen to start cooking.
Chopping up the vegetables, I found myself shaking with tears running down my face. The bleakness of my situation had me wanting to drown in a bottle of alcohol. Only thoughts of leaving my son vulnerable to the devil who inhabited our house kept me sober most nights. Anger began to take over as I continued to slice through the last of the peppers. When I was finished, I reacted without thinking. Hate toward Lawrence had me imagining taking the knife in my hand and plunging it into his wicked, black heart the next time he raised a hand to me.
“Niña!” Shaking the vision out of my head, I turned to where my dad stood in the doorway, eyes round in shock. That’s when I realized I had stabbed the tip of the knife deep into the wooden cutting board, where it still wavered and shook. Sobs burst from me and wracked my body as I crumpled to the floor.