Plenty Wrong, But Still Here

Chapter 6: Back Home

I spluttered. "Why would you—"

Tía grabbed me by the shirt collar. "Don't you dare run away from your home. Ever. You're lucky enough to have a home to go back to. People to lean on."

Suddenly, my shirt was released and Tia's hand pushed me back. I stumbled, trying to regain my balance. "I used to have that, but I fucked it up." Tia's voice quivered as she glared me down.

Ray put her hand on Tia's shoulder. "Mamá," she said softly.

She brushed her hand off. "That's a mess that's long gone. There's no changing or fixing it. But I don't want you to go through the same thing."

My heart was stuck somewhere between fear and confusion. "What thing?"

José punched my shoulder. "Shut up," he whispered. "She doesn't like talking about it."

Tía Maria shook her head at us. "Just go. Adrian, you don't want to lose your mother. Trust me."

José nodded and turned towards me. I opened my mouth to ask him what was going on, but before I could, he grabbed me by the ear and dragged me towards the staircase.

I complained, "Ow, dude, what's your problem?"

He pulled me behind the stairs, out of Tía's sight. "Don't ask questions yet," he said, pulling his coat on. "Just get ready to leave."

I fumbled with my boots, struggling to put them on before he left without me. "Okay, but what's happening?"

José scowled. "Are you stupid? I just told you to not ask questions yet." He draped a hoodie over me. "At least put this on. Ms. Cope might skin me if you get a cold."

I tucked my chin into the hoodie. "If she'd skin you, she'd murder me first."

José rolled his eyes, swung the door open, and walked to the sidewalk, leaving footprints in the soft snow. "Hurry up and close the door. Heat's expensive."

I closed the door behind me and jogged up to him. "Why was Tía so mad at me?"

José took in a deep breath and sighed. "Well, it's kind of a long story, and she doesn't like talking about it a lot. My dad told me when I was little that back in Mexico, when my mom was little, she only lived with her mom. But my grandma wasn't exactly...the most attentive mother."

I tilted my head, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Well, my grandma came from a relatively wealthy family, and back then, having an illegitimate child was basically like having a blaring sign above your head that you were a slut. She blamed my mom for bringing them into poverty because she was a—"

José made air quotes. "—bastard that she should've aborted."

"Holy shit," I whispered. "What kind of mom does that?"

"A terrible one," José replied. "Anyway, so my mom ran away from home because obviously, she was devastated. She didn't do much, just hung around the neighborhood for a while with her friends, but by the time she came back, her mom was dead, her body swinging from a noose."

The only sound that was there was the crunch of our boots sinking into the snow, and yet the words "her mom was dead, her body swinging from a noose" rang in my ears. Ticking, filling my entire mind like a broken metronome. That could've been me. That could've been Mom. It could've been her body, swinging from a noose.

We were both silent for a moment that felt like an eternity. I didn't feel José's presence drop behind me. I didn't hear him stop and turn. I didn't feel the cold or warmth, in fact, it felt like I didn't feel anything at all.