New Boy | Miguel Diaz

Just Memories

As she drove into the parking lot, I made a clear check for any sign of Miguel or my dad. Neither of them are here.

The car doors slammed shut, and I followed her to the apartment door whilst she took the key out.

While she unlocked the door, I could tell she was hesitant to open it. But when she did, her body relaxed, and she was the first to enter.

When I walked in, the slight smell of smoke still
hung in the air. I shut the door and watched as she stepped into the kitchen.

My drawings were still on the fridge, as were some of the magnets I would collect.

I can't imagine how gross and moldy all the food would be.

There was mail stacked up by the front door; none opened. The lights didn't turn on, and the water wasn't running.

"I'm surprised they hadn't officially kicked you out. Especially with all the unpaid bills."

She ignored me, and walked into the hallway. Assuming she went into her own room, there was another door across from it.

It was cracked open, and I could easily tell it was my old room.

I pushed the door open, and I immediately felt how relieved I was without leaving my room dirty when I left.

I'd be so disappointed.

My bed was made, drawers were closed, no dirty dishes or clothes spread around.

On my desk; books, chapstick, pens, and picture frames. One specifically had a picture of me, Aisha, and Sam from the fourth grade talent show.

We had made up our own rap song and came up with the choreography. We didn't win— but however got 2nd place.

On my nightstand by my bed, a picture of me, Demetri, and Hawk with our medals that we won from science camp.

We were such nerds.

A polaroid picture that was faced down on my dresser; Miguel and I.

We were cleaning the mats while my dad was out getting beer.

I put the picture in my pocket, and decided it was time to leave.

"Hey, Mom!" I called out as I walked into the living room. She wasn't here or in the kitchen, so she must've still been in her room.

From outside, I could hear a car door slam. I looked through the curtains, and saw a boy walking up.

"Miguel." I whispered to myself, watching him unlock his front door, and step inside.

"He's cute." I gasped, and turned around, facing my mother. "He your boyfriend or something?"

"Something."

"Well, I think I'm ready to leave. Not sure I can take it standing in this place anymore. How about you— you ready?"

I looked around the apartment one more time. I think we can all agree that all of this was just memories by now.

"Yeah— I'm ready."