THE YEAR IS 2004 AND FACEBOOK HAD BEEN INVENTED. This had been a new concept for the Joy household that had passed down by the neighbors. That day, the older kids were clustered around the most used computer down the small basement. Drew Joy, the oldest of the teenagers who had started college, gripped the railing to the plummeting stairs. Her bare feet breaks the silence when the wood creaks under her shifting weight. Whispers filled the bottom of the room, she rolled her eyes to this. The nineteen-year-old mutter something under her breath before walking faster down the stairs. There, she saw the illuminating lights of the computer.
“Should we use this picture of her?” A voice she immediately recognized to be her brother, Henry, who was younger by two years.
“Don’t you think this is a bad idea, prima?” A small voice hesitantly asked him, belonging to fourteen years old Klaus. The boy giggled a bit. “Everything is a bad idea. This is just legal.” Everyone was silent for a quiet second, staring down at him. The keys clicked downwards in a fast paste, his leg bouncing with nervousness. Drew reluctantly glanced over at the screen and her eyes widened. A picture no one was meant to see.
Little Caroline clicked the roof. “It’s not like you’re prostituting Drew with her boobs out like that.” She sarcastically says. Even though she was frustrated with her brother, she winced back in shock. How the hell did little Caroline know that word? Now, she’ll think it’s okay and say it in front of their mother and the oldest always gets blamed for that.
“Cállate, coño!” Drew's thick fingers suddenly go through the crowd of youngins and it goes over her brother’s shoulder. He yelled out in surprise, turning around to see an angry looking Drew.
“H-hey Drew.” His voice had to turn into high pitch cracks. The younger kids snickers at him for getting caught. His hand went over to the grey mouse, seemingly moving it around. You could hear the clicks of it and since the nervousness. “Do you want to use the computer?”
Her light eyes squinted, her thick eyebrows- a trait everyone in the family have- raised up. “I own the computer, dipshit.”
“How come you and Eros get a computer?” One of the kids whined.
“He’s younger than me anyways!” Henry exclaimed, which followed by a choir of agreements.
The college student shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe it's because he actually helps around the house and pays some of the rent in the house.” Klaus finally decided to chime in. Meanwhile, he wasn't doing what he was supposed to be doing.
His fingers were dry even from the popcorn in front of him. He hated butter over that food choice more than anything. His eyes, the blue hue that dominated over the green, appeared to be a balance of both from his eyes glued on the television. You could tell his attention was on that from how his legs were crossed over each other. His wild curls shined from the bright screen, his red sweatshirt glowing the most. His room door burst open, revealing his mother with a basket of laundry. A near panic evident on his face when she glanced over at home than to the television that showed a mother and daughter entering a diner as if it was theirs. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, a habit which his mother wanted him to stop because the scars were visible.
“Uh, hey ma. What's,” His hand moves over to the papers on the side, bring it by them closer than him. “What's up?”
“Eros, ¿cuántas veces cómo te dije que no te sías tan cerca de la televisión? ¡Ya usas gafas!” Her voice sharp but her face concerned. He watched his mother walk over to his bed
“Lo siento, mamá. Solo tuve que terminar este episodio.” He explained to her in their tongue. She placed the basket down on his bed, smiling a bit. “You know that was my favorite show when you were growing up.” His mother- who goes by the name Paula- sighed dreamily, her eyes rolling dramatically. Eros Lewis snickered at her, remembering all those times he would come and join her in watching the relationship of Rory and her mother bloom. Finally, the eldest puckered his lips together and let out a whistle.
“Mom, how much sleep did you get?” He stared directly under her eyes, never noticing the raw emotions spilling from her eyes, but the amount of exhaustion she took up.
“It’s nothing.” She instead, gives him a tight smile, different from her childlike grins.
-/-
EROS WAS NAMED AFTER HIS FATHER, EROS HERNANDEZ. According to his mother, he was a spitting image of him on top of that. Loose curls that dangle over their small foreheads and their eyes were difficult to describe. Was it the green that dominated over the blue hue? Or the grey being submissive to the hazel? His mother never told him; Pauline just told him that they were beautiful; always calm by nature, the shores crashing smoothly. The darkness, however, took over that and created a withering storm. Eros wanted more than anything to remain with the flow of rushing rivers than having to be father’s son.
That’s why he insists that everyone can call him Eros Lewis instead of Eros Hernandez.
-/-
THE BULLETS TO THE SHOWER STOPPED FIRING (except for the faucet that was running.) and the door handle opened. The sudden movement startled the Hernandez flinch. The small plastic lens slipped from his wet finger. It whirled down into the dark drain, much to his agitation.
A curse slipped his lips as he desperately tried to grab it. “Get out!” Andrew is the type of teenager who sought out for privacy. “I just dropped my contacts, asshole.” Eros sneered at his cousin. The eighth grader’s face had no trace of sympathy, not even pity. “Sorry.” All the sixteen-year-old could do was glare. His own resentment stopped him from doing something irrational.
I’ll just go without my glasses he told himself in a small voice, soft only he could hear. He grabbed the hand towel on the rim. The wet hair disabled his curls to be as textured as before and he didn’t have time. The towel was wrapped around his waist as water dripped down to his skin. In a whip of time, he rushed downstairs with clothes on. Most likely a dark t-shirt with a long sleeved shirt underneath. The house was in chaos; the younger ones would screech and cry with tears and snot bubbling from their nose as they begged their parents to let them stay home from school. The adults in the house were rushing to iron their clothing and dipped after they got their coffee.
“Amber,” he called for his aunt, who perked up. She was still distracted from her daughter’s whining and the phone near her ear. “Did my mom leave already?” He peered over at the doorway, to see the oldest of the house, grandmother Victoria. She hasn’t moved from the couch for a few years now, only to have the final years of her life drained by her telenovela and yarn, pieced with wooden needles. “Good morning, Gran.” He bent down to peck her on the cheek. He could’ve sworn that he heard a grunt from her. The forty- something-year-old woman didn’t answer his question, however, she did her best not to neglect her nephew.
“Uh, Drew took the car so your mom took yours.” He already got his shoes on and without any goodbyes, Eros Lewis was off. He wished that he did, though. Whenever he did, he never got a response back. It hurts, yes. But, he didn’t want to feel guilty.
A honk butchered him from his thoughts.
