When Bluebirds Fly | ✔

Part Three : Chapter Eighteen

I entered my room in my fresh pyjamas to find my dad slouching over the desk with his head buried in his hands. His shoulders were shaking slightly and the minute I gently touched him, his body stiffened like soft clay hardening into a stone. His hands slowly rubbed his face and his head tilted, revealing a distraught expression under the yellow light of the lamp on the desk.

It was futile to ask whether he was alright since he clearly wasn't, so I asked quietly, "What happened?" He shook his head dismissively and I asked again, this time a bit more firmly, "What happened papá?"

"I got a job at another firm," his voice was barely a whisper and I thought that I had heard wrong, but he confirmed, "I got a job, mija."

"That's great," I said. His countenance . . . His defeated posture . . . His red-rimmed eyes . . . All seemed misplaced for a much awaited news like this. And the joy of this news didn't seem to reach my heart either like a broken seashell being repeatedly thrown over on the shore by the waves, not quite reaching the depths of the ocean. Could this newness bring happiness to me? Or was it simply another test, a false smile before the real villany?

The moroseness on his face became more agonising at my lack of enthusiasm or interest. "I know you aren't pleased with me, Mariana. I know that I have failed you . . . " His voice faltered and pinching the bridge of his nose, he forcibly squeezed his eyes shut. "I couldn't do much for you. You were always worried where we-we will go next . . . Live next . . . You didn't want to come here and I-I . . . I'm sorry that I failed you. I-I'm so sorry . . . Y-You just-just . . ." His voice was cracking, unable to form coherent sentences and he swore, "Joder."

Fuck indeed.

He was breathing noisily through his mouth, his chest heavily heaving up and down and under the glow of the lamp, I saw tears rolling down his eyes which he wiped quickly at the instant they appeared. But the tears became uncontrollable and he couldn't hide them anymore, vainly massaging his face and swearing under his breath. I stood there meekly, my hands loose by my sides. Finally, when a choked cry escaped his lips, I could no longer stand still. I pressed his head against my stomach, securely wrapping my hands around his head and letting the material of my t-shirt soak and muffle his tears. His own pain somehow found its way in me like rainwater seeping naturally in the grassland and I shut my eyes, my hands tightening around his head.

We were all children with childish wants of love, care and attention and years of living had only made us suppress these wants for fear of getting rejected. 

A surprising tear or two from my own eyes landed softly on his head and he abashedly leaned away, becoming aware of his surroundings and feeling pressurised to be the grown up that he was supposed to be. His tears had ceased and he was breathing soundlessly again through his nose. My hands were back to being awkwardly hanging by my sides, fidgeting with the hem of my wet t-shirt or scratching my perfectly unirritated skin.

"I'm happy here," I said eventually, feeling responsible for assurance to quell his discomfort. "It feels like I have a family."

The earnestness of my voice made him nod in understanding, although it weren't the correct words to say. My papá. He was supposed to be all my family. He remained silent, his eyes downcast and trying hard to focus as if he was attempting to gather his scattered thoughts. I added, "Juan takes so much of my time, throwing a toy here and picking a gadget there and putting in his mouth."

The corners of his mouth slightly lifted up in a strange, merry smile and he said, "We had to switch on the helicopter noise on that toy I got him so he would get scared and wouldn't put in his mouth."

"Yeah? Abuela said that he's imitating the helicopter sounds."

He laughed lightly, the tension on his face dissipating and nodded. "It's the funniest, you should hear him do that!"

"He'll do that all day tomorrow," I said positively and another odd, prolonged silence followed which I broke again, "Which firm are you going to work for?"

"We have to move," he said softly, his eyes warily fixed on me and gauging my every reaction. I remained passively quiet so he continued to tell me how we had to move states because of this firm's location and how it was way safer there. He retrieved his phone and excitedly showed me pictures of a decent-looking apartment. "We'll have a bigger apartment and at a nicer area. Look, here . . . And this . . . " He scrolled through, this time the his face radiating of a brightness that no lamp beside could match. "You could apply to this college here, see the campus and the faculty . . . Better than the one you were planning to go . . . To the place next to the university Allison was going to, no?"

He was right. That college was significantly better than the one I was going to go, next to Isaac's university. That idea no longer appealed to me in contrast to my dad's plan and his thrilling pleasure which was a rare sight. I couldn't hurt him when he had toiled away to provide me with our limited dream of an adequate livelihood of which we had spoken all the time, during breakfasts before he went hopeless searching for a job and during dinners when he had hopelessly returned from not finding a job.

"It's perfect," I murmured, concentrating on the jovial gleam of his dark eyes and suppressing my promises to a particular, curly-haired boy with his own dreams and aspirations encompassing in his pale-grey eyes.

We went outside to have dinner, laughing freely at Juan miming a helicopter and gorging on the delicious chicken rice of my abuela's. After dinner that night, I took a deep breath and determinedly opened my phone. Several unread of messages of Isaac's to which I responded before typing, hey, I don't think i'll be able to move in with you.

A message popped and I impulsively clicked on it, but it wasn't from Isaac.

Unknown number-

I'm sending you the address. Come there on Friday at 7pm. I'll see what I can do.

Feeling nauseous, I carelessly tossed my phone away, crawled in the bed, curled myself in the blanket, forming a protective cocoon.