Drown | Ruby da Cherry

6. Crystallization

May 7, 2015

"Wait," you interjected. "What happened to your parents?"

"Oh," I sighed, sinking into the hot, pleather seats. Somebody had just walked through the door, letting a burst of warm, sticky air into the otherwise chilly room. "They're, uh..." You caught me off guard since you didn't press any prior questions that I dodged about my circumstances, so I didn't have my response rehearsed but I was tired of feeling ashamed about it. "They're in Guatemala. They moved...uh...they were, um, deported last year. Anyway, Hannah basically called them 'illegals' so there's really no coming back from that."

I wasn't there when my parents were taken. It was almost exactly a year ago. I remember it clearly; Carmen called me in a panic after her mom saw what happened; my siblings were at school and I was studying for finals in my New York dorm. After I broke the news to my siblings, Carmen watched them while I packed up and finished up the semester. I had to leave my life in the city behind; I didn't want to go but I had no other choice. My siblings would've ended up in foster care, so I had to make a choice, not unlike the same one my parents did in the '90s. We do what must, to survive.

My dad would always tell me that la migra doesn't care how hard we work or how smart we are. I always thought he was just trying to scare me, but I now know he wasn't being hyperbolic. They didn't care that my parents had four young children at home, one of them only a baby. They didn't care that they were ripping my family apart and putting the onus on me. They didn't care that my parents were in this country for sixteen years and ran a business or left to escape the war. My parents worked day in and day out to care for us, even if they weren't always the best, but it didn't matter. I still get scared when I see cops. I don't want them to take me away too. How can they just uproot someone and send them back to the same place they ran from to begin with?

"Oh, shit...fuck, that's rough," you sighed. You reached across the table and put your hand on mine as comfort. "Is that why you came back from New York?"

"Yeah," I replied. "We don't have any other family here so I had to step up. I worked really hard to get into my school, despite all the disapproval from my family, so it really sucked having to give up my spot." You asked me what I was majoring in. "I was studying illustration because I'd like to be a comic book artist or something. My parents didn't really want me going into the arts. They wanted me to be a doctor or something. I was supposed to graduate this year, but I needed a job that will make money now, not in a few years, so I got my CNA certification; I guess it just wasn't meant to be."

"I've told you about my music, right?" you asked. I nodded my head, but you hadn't shown me any of it thus far. "Maybe I'll show you some on the way home... But I hated a regular 9 to 5 job and I'm so glad I got fired and went with my music; it's the best decision I've ever made. I think that if you have a talent and a passion, go for it. Do what you need to do, whatever's best for your family, but do you really want to spend the rest of your life in the hospital?"

I pondered for a moment, only to conclude that you have a valid point. I haven't even been able to handle the past year at the hospital, imagine the next 40 years! I've wanted to be a graphic novelist ever since I read the first Death Note. I finally got a way into the industry but all the signs in the universe told me it wasn't right. I have a family to support now.

We finished up our meal and headed out. By now, the sky had faded to an inky black, with a few white flakes speckled across the canvas. Most of the other people had dispersed for the night, leaving only the two of us and the steady hum of the streetlights above our heads.

You drove me home, telling me all about your career with Ari. You played me a few of your newest songs, which wasn't really my style, but I liked it. I appreciated the vulnerability of the melancholy lyrics, paired with the beat you produced. Though, with a name like $uicideboy$, I might have to leave that part out if it goes far enough to tell my mom about you.

"Since you showed me your art, do you want to see some of my art?" I hesitantly asked.