Page 4 of Something Like Winter
Tim turned his attention back to the outside world. When the car parked and his mother got out, he found himself more comfortable people-watching than facing the silence in the car. What would they talk about, anyway? Besides sports, of course, but Tim wasn’t in the mood for that.
The radio clicked on, voices babbling back and forth rather than singing. Thomas liked talk radio, Tim’s mother tiring of it easily, so now was his father’s only opportunity. The voices were prattling on about some Defense of Marriage Act, a title that sounded ridiculous, like too many weddings had been gunned down by mobsters and needed military protection. Tim paid more attention when the debate became heated.
“This isn’t a bipartisan issue,”one voice on the radio argued.“President Clinton himself said, when interviewed by gay magazine,The Advocate,‘I remain opposed to same-sex marriage. I believe marriage is an institution for the union of a man and a woman. This has been my long-standing position, and it is not being reviewed or reconsidered.’ So you see—”
Thomas turned down the radio. “Maybe there’s hope for the Democrats yet,” he said as his wife reached the car.
Tim didn’t respond.
Next they cut across the street to the nearest gas station. Only when Thomas finished pumping gas and went to pay, did Tim’s mother turn around in the seat to face him. She was always like that. Her husband was the focus of her world. Tim admired her devotion, in a way, but it always came at his expense. The irritation must have shown on his face, because she responded to it.
“There will be other girls,” Ella said. “I know leaving your girlfriend behind can be hard, but you are young and handsome.”
Could she be more clueless? Tim was sure he told her that he and Carla had broken up. As soon as Carla had started spreading the rumors, all Tim had done was mope around the house. How could his parents have missed that? Hadn’t they sensed his relief when they announced the move to Texas?
The timing couldn’t have been better, not that the two events were related. His father wanted to sort out the southern division of his company, the regional manager having been dismissed under allegations of embezzlement. Ella worked as a translator for a company that had locations all over the country, so the move wasn’t inconvenient for her. If his parents had wondered what Tim thought about being uprooted halfway through high school, they hadn’t bothered to ask.
“You know I hate it when you look sad,Gordito.”
Tim sighed, his anger draining away. His momdidhate seeing him unhappy. When she wasn’t preoccupied with her husband, like when Thomas was out of town for business, she lavished attention on Tim. Her elegant lashes would bat in his direction, like they did now, and she would smile until he couldn’t help joining her. Then she would baby him like he was still a kid and treat him like the most important person in the world, Tim forgiving her for all the lonely days when he felt ignored.
He forced himself to smile. “I’m all right.”
“Moving can be hard,” Ella said. “When I decided to come back here with your father—oh, my heart nearly broke! You always see Mexicans on television eager to get into the USA. Not me. It was the most difficult decision I ever made.”
Tim could sympathize. His parents visited Mexico City every couple of years, and for those trips only, they actually brought Tim along. That had everything to do with his grandmother, a leathery old woman who had spent a lifetime in the sun. She insisted on seeing her grandson. The one visit he hadn’t been brought along, his grandma had chewed out “The American,” as she called his father in sarcastic and heavily accented English. She was just as feisty and vital as the city she lived in, and Tim adored them both.
“Too bad we can’t move there,” he said. “Couldn’t Dad commute to work from Mexico City?”
Ella’s eyes lit up with the idea, and she laughed. Then the driver’s side door opened, and her head turned back to her husband. His parents haggled over the choice of fast-food restaurants, Tim forgotten until it came time to order. He wanted his burger without pickles or onions, and when they got to the window, they were told to pull forward to wait while their order was prepared. His father’s eyes met his again in the rearview mirror, seeming to blame him for the inconvenience, until Ella filled the silence.
“We have to pray before we keep travelling.”
“We did before we left.” Tim complained.
“And it got us this far safely.”
Ella closed her eyes and bowed her head, her husband doing the same as she launched into her favorite Spanish prayer. Tim watched her. She wasn’t pushy about religion. Her devotion was so strong that she assumed everyone shared her belief. No one needed to be converted to Catholicism because in her mind, everyone already belonged to God, one way or another.
Even when Tim refused to go to church anymore, she simply said she would pray for them both—that God was always with him no matter where Tim did or didn’t go. To his mom, even the interior of an SUV could become a church, the beige leather seats transformed into pews, the dashboard an altar.
What the hell. Just for her, Tim closed his eyes and bowed his head. * * * * *
The rhythm of the tires changed, Tim jarring awake in response. He smacked his mouth and pulled his head away from the puddle of drool. Not the best treatment for leather seats, but oh well. The car stopped, the turn signal clicking. With any luck, they had finally arrived. His mother kept murmuring how beautiful it all was. Tim remained reclined until his head cleared and his hard-on subsided. Then he sat up and took in his new home town.
The Woodlands. The name sounded like a country club, not a city. What sort of place started with “The”? Inspiration for the name was obvious: trees, trees, and more trees. Aside from the occasional shopping center sign, they could have been in the middle of a forest.
“Doesn’t look like much is here,” Tim said loud enough to be heard in the front seat.
“There’s plenty,” his father responded. “It’s all behind the trees. I couldn’t find a thing the first time I visited. The offices are just through there.”
The street split off to the right, and for a moment they could glimpse a parking lot and a generic office building before the camouflage of trees returned. As they drove farther into town, they saw some areas that were more exposed. Man-made lakes, for instance, nestled up against parks and housing developments.
One thing was for sure—and Tim hoped this was the last time the damned saying would spring to mind—he wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Everything here was flat, the horizon hidden. The sensation was almost claustrophobic, but he soon took to the idea. He had wanted to flee his former life. What better place to hide than a city that couldn’t be seen?
The neighborhood they pulled into fit the anonymous theme, its houses soullessly new. Some didn’t appear lived-in yet, a handful still under construction.
“¡Muy hermosa!” his mother said in approval as they pulled into a driveway. The three-car garage meant room for both cars—once Ella’s was transported down—and his father’s boat. To the left, entryway windows stretched up to the second story, a huge iron lamp hanging over the front porch. For oneTwilight Zonemoment, the house looked so similar to their previous home in Kansas that Tim thought they had retuned there. He knew this one didn’t have a pool, which sucked, but he hoped his room and the studio space in the basement were decent.
