The Beginning

Nicky

Everything was eerily quiet. Blue walls awash with grey met coarse grey carpet squares beneath my feet. My eyes danced over white swirls on the ceiling. I glanced at the overhead light and tried not to think about how it sort of looked like a person's breast.

"Nicky?" Deacon Chambers was short of snapping his fingers for my attention.

"Yep." I sat up straight, planting my feet on the floor.

"What do you think?"

I looked from his serene brown eyes to my mom's red-rimmed orbs.

"Dominic." She scolded. Her clutch clapped my thigh as punishment. A string of curses threatened to leave her lips, but she quickly remembered who we sat before and blessed herself instead. "Listen when he speaks to you."

"It's alright, Ms. De La Cruz. These things are hard to talk about." Deacon Chambers turned his attention back to me. "What would you like me to say about your brother?"

"Uh." The word was nothing more than a breath that escaped my throat. I felt suddenly as if I didn't live in my own skin. My chest quaked in an unfamiliar way, and my hands shook. I planted one on my knee and the other over my mouth.

I could tell him all the vicious, hateful words that I'd used to cover my pain. I'd remind everyone that Rico was a victim of his own doing. He was my brother and towards the end, I didn't recognize him. Pitted cheeks, unexplained scrapes, cut and bruises. Rico was a third his usual size. His curly hair had become frayed and ragged, just like his clothes. I should've begged him to move back to Riverside with me, go to rehab and get right with the family. I was too proud, and he'd turn me down anyway. I wished I knew right then that our fight was the last time I'd see him alive. The last time I'd look into eyes identical to mine.

"Rico was the best older brother. When he was around it was like having another parent and a best friend all at once. Santi and I fought a lot growing up."

"Still do." Santi grumbled.

"Rico was our peacemaker. Santi and I shared this red tie when we were kids."

At the memory, Santi snickered, and Mom shook her head.

"It was the best one we had and we'd fight over it every Sunday before church. Rico introduced the idea of a rotation. It worked for a few weeks until I decided that I wanted it two weekends in a row. We must've pulled on it too much because it ripped into two pieces. Santi and I cried tie-less all the way to church. Rico took money from his own savings to buy one for each of us. Then he pointed a finger in our faces and told us if we fought, ripped 'em or ruined 'em, we owed him. That meant we'd have to fight him." Santi and I laughed through our heartache.

"Remember that time you tried?" Santi howled.

"Remember when you tried?" I cackled back.

Mom cleared her throat.

We both sobered quickly, remembering where we were. Across a giant wooden desk from a man who hadn't seen any of us, other than Mom, for the last decade.

Deacon Chambers had a grin on his face as he spoke. "It's good to hear you remember the happy times." He shifted in his seat. "Rico was a wonderful man. He was kind, forgiving and patient. I want you to know that it will be my honor to read your son's eulogy. My deepest sympathy to your family in this time of grief. Please remember that the church is always open to you." Deacon Chambers rose from his chair, prompting us to do the same. He rounded his desk to give Mom a hug before he gave Santi and I a solid handshake.

We barely got past the pews when Mom turned on me. "I'm going to ask you one time, Dominic—"

"I won't, mom." I promised.