brow raised. “This has been all a dream and I’m going to wake up soon?”
“No,” he says with a sigh. “Just that you have visitors. Your mother and your brother. They’ll be happy to know that you’re awake this time.”
Apparently my mother came by yesterday but I was half-asleep and barely coherent during it. I honestly don’t remember, so it would be nice to actually see the both of them, or just see anyone that doesn’t work at this hospital.
The last few days since the accident have been a complete blur. I don’t really remember any of it, especially not the game. I wouldn’t have even known exactly what happened to me if a nurse (and a die-hard Madridista) hadn’t given me the play-by-play of the accident this morning, using a plastic knife and fork from the cafeteria in a re-enactment.
It sounded pretty violent and insane, (I mean, she broke the neck of the fork), so naturally, once I get out of here, the first thing I’m doing watching is the slow-motion replay.
The doctor looks me over one last time and then leaves the room.
In his place, my mother and brother come in.
My mother’s face looks pale and gaunt and the same goes for my brother, even though he’s trying to play it cool by chewing gum.
“Alejo?” she says softly as they approach me, staying close to each other, almost afraid to leave each other’s side.
“Hi mama,” I say to her, my voice coming out hoarse and weak. I smile at Armando, overjoyed to see them. “Armando.”
“Oh Alejo,” my mother cries out and immediately bursts into tears.
I can’t tell you the last time I saw my mother cry.
Oh wait, I can.
Sneaking in through the house, passing by the living room where my mother had her face in her hands, sobbing, the team of police offers around her, my parents’ bedroom down the hall, beckoning me.
That’s the last time I saw her cry, the night of my father’s death.
And here she’s crying again, for me.
She practically throws herself on top of me, her hands wrapping around my hands, her head in my chest as she sobs, her back heaving.
“Mama,” Armando says, trying to lift her off of me. “Please. Give him room.”
She lifts up a little and Armando gets her a chair to sit on, standing behind her with his hand on her shoulder, trying to console her.
I’m starting to get choked up, not expecting this emotion from her. I know my mother loves me, of course she does, but she’s such a hard-ass most of the time that I’m never really sure what gets through to her.
Apparently this will do it.
“Mama,” I tell her, squeezing her hand. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m awake. I’m alive. I’m going to be okay. It’s just a concussion.”
She just shakes her head and cries onto my hands that she holds up to her chest, like I’m part of her prayer.
“She hasn’t been doing well,” Armando says quietly. “She’s been like this ever since the accident.” He glances down at her and now my little brother’s face is starting to crumble. “She thought she lost you. She was afraid she lost you, just like Papa.”
Fuck.
Now I’m feeling it. I squeeze her hand tighter. “Mama, you didn’t lose me. Okay. I’m here. I’m here.”
“I know,” she cries out, raising her head to look at me, tears rolling down her cheeks. “You’re here. But I thought I lost you. I couldn’t stand the pain of losing you, not after losing your father. You and Armando are all I have left. My boys, my family.” She breaks down again.
Armando leans over and gives my mother a hug and now he’s crying too.
And now I understand.
This isn’t just for me.
This is for my father.
The death they swept under the rug, the grief they denied themselves. It’s all coming out now, finally, for them to realize and grasp and process.
For them to finally heal.
“I miss him too,” I tell them, because I know it’s what they can’t put into words. “I wish so badly I could go back in time and change that night. I wish Armando and I hadn’t left the house. I wish we hadn’t gone to the beach. I wish we had stayed with you. I could have stopped him. I could have stopped him.” My heart sinks in my chest, down into the invisible fathoms, where I can’t see it anymore. “If only he had seen me, maybe he wouldn’t have done it. Maybe we’d still