Between The Lines

3.

It was weird. Mom usually left the light on if I was out. Tonight, it was off. Rafael's little old pickup wasn't in the driveway. He was supposed to get off early on Fridays from the bar. I went inside and to the living room. I tossed my bag onto the coffee table, thinking of walking into the kitchen for something to eat, but decided no.

I figured it would be best if I didn't mention my almost-mugging. Mom would freak and Rafael would suggest I not go out for a very long time. It would've been a nice gesture, but I would still be annoyed.

I was about to head up to my room when lights swept across the living room wall. Through the blinds, I could see Rafael's pickup idle on into the driveway. I could see Mom's bleached-blond hair in the passenger seat. Maybe they had gone out, which was pretty good. Rafael Domingo was a great boyfriend to Mom, and he didn't try to pretend to be my dad. He understood that I wanted to keep my dad's things around, although neither of them knew I carried around the lighter; I was sixteen, and I would probably get in trouble if I was ever caught with it. I still held it in my hands.

The door rattled as Rafael struggled with unlocking the door; I didn't remember locking it. Still, he was getting used to living here, so he needed to learn the tricky lock.

He walked in, Mom following him and hugging herself... crying? Why was she crying?

"What's going on?"

Neither of them looked up. Rafael tossed the keys onto the bowl and led Mom to the lime-green sofa. "I'm going to make you some tea, alright?" he said quietly.

"Raff, what is it?" He just walked by-ignoring me completely. "Are you mad at me or something?" He hadn't really agreed to let me go to the party in the first place. He didn't respond. I turned to Mom, who had her face buried in her hands.

I knelt down in front of her. "Mom, what happened?" Had someone died? Did she get fired? There had been a lot of cutbacks at the firm Mom worked in; she was a paralegal, just hired two months ago and probably expendable... one of those 'last hired, first fired' kind of deals.

She didn't look up, not even shaking her head to answer me.

I placed my hand on her knee, but I couldn't feel anything, like it wasn't even there. I reached for her shoulder. "Mom?" Nothing. It was like she wasn't even there. "Mom!" She still didn't look up. I reached for her hands to pry them away, but nothing happened. Nothing was happening, I couldn't feel anything of her, because my hands just... well, it was like they faded away. They didn't go through her-or maybe they did-but they just... I don't know, they fuzzed when I tried to touch her.

I got to my feet before I realized I'd been in the middle of the coffee table. Just like with my hands, my shins faded through the light-brown wood of the table. Other than that, I also noticed I had tossed my bag onto the coffee table earlier, but it wasn't there at all. When I'd thrown it, I wasn't really looking at where it landed, because I was sure it landed on the coffee table.

I wasn't freaking out yet. Maybe it wasn't hitting me. It still didn't hit me as I reached through the coffee table, my hand looking like it didn't exist anymore, and I felt the leather of my bag as it lied on the floor. I picked it up through the table, and it went through just like I did.

The whole time, Mom never looked up once.

"Raff?" I walked out of the table and to the kitchen.

I watched his profile. He was standing in front of the stove, his muscular arms crossed as he stared at the pot of boiling water. In the dimness of the stove light, his red-brown skin looked almost sickly yellow. His shoulders shook. The side of his face I could see glistened with little trails of tears. I walked closer.

"Raff?" I said quietly. In the back of my mind, I must've known he wouldn't hear me, but I still wanted to address him. Maybe he would look up and explain what was happening, why Mom seemed frozen. Maybe he would even explain why I seemed to be going through things.

He didn't look up and notice my presence. I reached for his arm, my fingers fading through it.

I jumped back as he passed a hand over the spot I'd touched, like he was cold.

That's when I started yelling his name. I yelled and started trying to hit him, his shoulders. I kicked at his shins. I tried to slap him, hoarsely yelling his full name throughout. At one point, I tried to tackle him, but I just fell through, almost through the wall too, but I'd caught myself in the middle of my stumble. I hadn't fallen through Raff so much as I was shoved out, if that makes sense, like a big wind had tried keeping me from staying.

He didn't glance up once. Once the water was boiled enough, he turned off the stove. Reached up to the cabinets and took out two mugs, a purple one and a white one. He was probably going to find one of the little boxes of tea-chamomile was Mom's favorite it-but I'd ran back into the living room and repeated it all over with Mom.

She had lied down on the sofa, her head on the headrest, her hands clasped together between her knees like she was cold. She stared blankly, the white of her eyes all veined, her face pale.

Mom didn't do anything, not one thing.

I started to cry because... well, I couldn't help it. I had no idea what to do. I stood in the middle of the living room, just crying, as Rafael walked in with both cups of tea. He walked through me, making me stumble forward.

He set them down on the coffee table. He lifted Mom's legs and sat down, placing them on his lap. And then, nothing.

They just sat there. Not talking. They both stared ahead to the window that faced the street. I stood in front of Mom, crying and then starting to feel a little frustrated. Maybe if they would just start talking, I could know what was....

The car. I straightened up. The car had hit me-hit us, me and the man. I had feared he would do something to me when I didn't hand over the bag, and I figured the only thing that could stop him was the car. Stupid of me, yes, to put myself in the way too, but I would've rather been hit by a car than raped. I mean, I was still a virgin for goodness sake.

But... no. Now I was sure he wouldn't have done something like that to me. His voice had shaken when he had demanded money. Maybe he was new to mugging, and he didn't seem to like it. He was probably desperate, but not one hundred percent bad. He would've let me go-completely unharmed-if I'd just given him those stupid twenties. Then I wouldn't have pulled us in the way of that car.

Where had the car gone?

Oh, my God I was missing the obvious. I was missing the obvious.

The car had hit me-hit us, me and the man.

I was going through things.

I was dead?