Page 91 of Out of the Blue

Tenor approaches me, hunched down on all four legs. Then he meows, turns tail, and runs out of the building. Even his defection can’t penetrate my positivity today. He’ll be back, and I’ll get him to come inside. My luck is changing.I hope.

Returning inside, I pick up my phone and scroll through Instagram, landing on a recent photo of Trent and Brax. Together. I torture myself by staring at both of their faces, knowing I’ll never be a part of their world again. The open wound otherwise known as my heart scabs over. In an indirect way, they helped me get out of the red. I close the app and check my emails one final time.

A new one has arrived fromRecord Newsmagazine, if the “from” line is to be believed. Yeah, right. Out of curiosity, I open the email and my mouth drops open. It’s from a Jeremy Davis, supposedly one of their writers. I skim the email where he asks me for the scoop about how I figured out Hector Gomez was trying to undermine TLR by sending information toFirst RumorsandIn the Know.He also says he wants to know about my background to include in the piece.

Wow.

I reply, and a meeting is scheduled for Sunday, the only day I’m completely off. I pinch my arm and the sting tells me I’m not dreaming.

Since Juanita’s out with her friends tonight, the evening stretches before me. I could hit up a local bar like I used to. I could actually pay for my own drinks, too. Maybe even get laid. My stomach sours. No way do I want to return to the role of party girl.

Shaking my head, I transfer myself to the couch. Instead of picking up the remote, I sit in silence. Is this how my new life is going to be? Silent?

Maybe it’s for the best.

I scan the living room and decide. It’s time. I’ve paid our rent for the month, Mamá’s moved in with her new boyfriend—for however long it lasts this time—and I deserve to make this change. I grab my pillow and walk into her room, which is now mine. The window looks out onto a brick wall. But there’s a bed. A real bed, not a pullout. A proper closet and dresser. When she left, she emptied these, so I can move my stuff in.

I enter Juanita’s room and take my hanging things out of her overstuffed closet. After five trips, all my stuff’s in my new bedroom. Next up, I go to the hall closet and drag out my shoes. When they’re all in the hallway, I scoop them up and dump them onto the floor in my closet. I pair them and line them up in nice rows.

I stop at the overstuffed dresser I used as a kid that’s been shoved outside the bathroom. Because it has a marble top, Mamá used it to display our family photos. Rather, framed pictures of her and her latest boyfriend, plus baby photos for Juanita and me. She left all these photos behind. My first order of business is to toss all of them into the trash, except for the two of my sister and me. Better. We can decorate it with current pictures. Well, photos of her since nothing about me is worth framing.

I brush my hands against my legs. Only one place left from which to relocate my stuff. In the living room, I approach the plastic bins stacked in a corner and sort through my folded clothes. Once in my new room, I open the dresser drawers and lay my underwear, bras, and socks in their new home.

Pulling open the bottom drawer, I pick up my nighties and go to dump them into it. Something at the bottom of the drawer catches my eye. There’s paper stuck between the bottom and the side. What did Mamá leave behind?

With some cajoling, I maneuver out a letter. Shaking the open envelope, a couple of photos fall to the bed. My father’s grin stares back at me. My limbs seize.

I pick up the two pictures and focus on the first one. In it, I’m about three and am staring up at the man who gave me life with love shining on my face. He looks down at me with a big smile. The pictures float to the bed. I follow suit.

What am I seeing? This can’t be real … can it?

I retrieve the pictures again and flip to the second one. In it, my father’s hand is under my chin, tipping my head up. His lips are on my forehead. Such a tender moment between a father and his five-year-old daughter. Tender? What the fuck?

Tears roll down my cheeks as I absorb these scenes. Biting my lip, I flip the pictures over and suffer another blow. One of the photos is blank. But the other … In my father’s handwriting, I read, “I love you so much, my baby girl.”

What? I hiccup as my tears turn into full-blown sobs. He loved me? So much? He called me his baby girl? I clasp the photo to my chest and cry over the man I lost way too soon. To the outside, he may not have been a good man—after all, he was sent to jail for doing bad things—but he did love me.

I fish out the envelope in which the two pictures were stored, but it only has Mamá’s name and address, with Papá’s return address from prison in the upper-left side and a canceled stamp. Only these two photos. Why would Mamá have kept them away from me?

Discarding my negative thoughts about her, I focus on my father once more. His words sear into my soul.

He loved me.

He didn’t abandon me willingly.

I was enough.

My body rids itself of the pain I’ve held all my life. I cry out the hurt and rejection, and breathe in acceptance. A warmth spreads through my limbs. “I loved you too, Papá.”

I remain on the bed, soaking in my newfound glow.

Outside, people on the street yell at one another, fighting over how he was flirting with another woman at some party. He yells at her for the outfit she’s wearing. Sounds like so many of the fights I’ve witnessed over the years between my mother and whatever guy she was with at the time.

As my thoughts land on Mamá, my newfound peace is replaced with a raging anger. How dare she hide these photos from me? That woman has been nothing but awful to me and Juanita for years. She’s always played the victim, fostering my feelings of guilt. Exhibit A—Juanita’s tuition.Shegambled it away, and somehow it becamemyproblem. My backbone stiffens. Time to set her straight.

With newfound conviction, I wash my face, shove my feet into my shoes, and storm out of our apartment. My ire never wanes as I make my way to her new boyfriend’s place. By the time I arrive at her latest doorstep, I swear smoke’s coming out of my ears. The building is well-maintained, with pretty marble reliefs. Double-checking I’m at the right place, I find his last name and ring the bell.

Several times.

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