I See You

Laurel couldn’t breathe. Not that that mattered to her tía Rosa, whose arms crushed her in a bear hug.

“I forget how beautiful you are, mija!” She cried, “why you stay away so long?”

Her family was always prone to exaggeration. Really it had only been a year since they last saw each other on Thanksgiving for her mom’s birthday. Too short a time if you asked Laurel, but she supposed when the black cat lived with her phone on do not disturb a year of unanswered calls could feel like a decade. 

Standing rod stiff in the doorway of her tía’s small bungalow, the view over Rosa’s shoulder was enough to remind Laurel why she spent most of the year wandering national parks alone.

“Vamos,” her tía urged as though Laurel were the one delaying their urgent mission. At last, a morsel of freedom was returned as Rosa let go of Laurel and waddled into the house… if you could even call it that.

Everything was just too big. There was so much crap stuffed inside it was more like a storage unit than a home. Laurel took half a step into the breezeway and had to shimmy around the door to close it. Her elbow slammed into the TV cabinet directly behind her. She fought the urge to curse, growling instead through bared teeth, “ow.”

It’s fine, she told herself. It was one night. She could survive one night, couldn’t she?

“Are you coming, mija?” Rosa called from the kitchen.

“Coming!” 

There was nowhere to put her bag down. Over a dozen decorative pillows lined both couches like dragon scales. A mirror tray, with its gaudy display of crystal sculptures, just about covered the coffee table’s heavy marbled top and the legs below were thick as pillars. They barely allowed any walking space, let alone room for her bag to become part of the fire hazard in the middle of the night. 

Laurel decided upon a precarious balancing act on the back of the couch. Her hands hovered cautiously to catch the bag in case it fell, but by some miracle it stayed in place. Good. She’d hate to have to climb Mt. Pillowmanjaro to retrieve it. She wasn’t kid-sized anymore.

Though just small enough to squeeze between the hutch and dining table, Laurel eyed the spread of cupcakes waiting to be frosted on her way to the kitchen. One of the cooling racks displayed a batch already decorated with bright blue waves carrying ships and islands with chocolate nugget treasure chests. 

“No one told me Romy’s into pirates now,” Laurel questioned with some concern.

Despite being the only person in the family capable enough to help tía Rosa complete her ambitious bake, Laurel had only agreed to sacrifice her own peace for her little cousin Roman. He was turning five tomorrow and couldn’t care less for picture perfect decorations, but knowing their family he was likely to spend the day being scolded for not sitting still in photos. Laurel hoped to avoid her tía’s impending crash out by taking some things off her plate but… wasn’t Romy into Star Wars? He wasn't bound to like this.

“All that space stuff is so ugly,” grumbled her tía. “I hate it.”

It’s not about you… Laurel wanted to say. 

She bit her tongue. 

A moment later, the oven door whined as her tía removed a fresh batch of cupcakes and rushed them to the table, nearly knocking Laurel over. “Can you start icing?” 

“Sure.” 

“There’s extra piping bags and tips under the cabinet.” 

Rosa hurried back to the kitchen. Like the rest of the house it was a maximalist’s dream with every dish, appliance, and decoration sparkling new like it was plucked right out of a prop set for a home magazine. 

Tomorrow, when her frizzy hair is curled, the grays plucked and her haggard face freshened up with make up, she’ll coo and brag about her newest additions to the envy of her sisters. But come the next family gathering, one of them will outdo this whole affair and everything will become a failure.

As a nauseous feeling washed over her, Laurel couldn’t wait for tomorrow to be over. Once Roman opens the millennium falcon Lego set she’d gotten him, she’ll slip out of this cage and hurry back to her beloved wilds, to peace and quiet and room to breathe.

She crouched before the hutch and pulled open the doors, releasing from within the stirring darkness a horrible yowling beast.

Its claws struck fast, aiming for Laurel’s face. She shrieked as her hands flailed to her defense, capturing the beast’s furry body and hurling it aside as hard as she could. There was a crash. The DVD stand fell over and spilled all the cases across the floor as a mere blur of shadow scurried off out of sight. 

“Chewy!” Someone screamed in delight.

With a hand pressed to her frantically beating heart, Laurel peeked around the hutch door to find her cousin Roman bending down to scoop up a small black cat. His smile was wide as he hugged the writhing little animal and nuzzled his face into its fur. The cat whined and hissed at him, scratching up his arms but he didn’t seem to care. “You found him!”

“Jesus Christ!” Laurel exasperated. “When did you get a freaking cat?”

“Emiliano got the thing for his birthday,” her tía scowled, standing at the threshold of the kitchen with a bowl of cake batter and a whisk. Emiliano was Roman’s older brother, always more than happy to do anything to annoy the mother who wished they were girls instead. Since he wasn't at the house, Laurel could only assume he wasn't invited.

Roman held the cat out to her. “Want to hold him? His name’s Chewbacca!”

With its grumpy little face hiding amidst all that long fur, Laurel could see why. She matched the beast’s disgust. 

It wasn’t that she hated cats, per se. They were fine, judgmental divas, but fine. Her main gripe with them was that she was allergic to their hair. Most of them were creepy as well. Always staring at her. 

Roman came closer and the cat, Chewy, took the opportunity to make his escape. He wriggled out of Roman’s hands and disappeared down the dark hallway. A dismayed cry left her cousin’s mouth and he ran after him.

Laurel looked up at her tía, “do you have Claritin?”

“Just Benadryl," said Rosa, and the day passed miserably. 

Laurel was exhausted. Her hands were cramped from all the piping and her head was numb from her tía’s micromanaging obsession as the hours to her grand reveal slipped through their fingers like sand. She didn’t think she would make it. 

Just fifteen minutes after her encounter with Chewbacca her nose started to run. Then her eyes got itchy and she made the terrible mistake, as she always does, of rubbing them raw. They burned. They were an angry red and nearly glued shut, though whether it was because of the dander or the medicine she never knew. By the time she had finished icing the cupcakes, the overstuffed couch in the living room had become a welcome sight. 

The entire day, Chewbacca stalked her every move. He never got close enough to be touched, but remained so far away that often he disappeared in her peripheral vision. Still, she could feel him lurking in his shadows, his green slitted eyes plotting. She just knew it. Sometimes she stared back, glaring as if to say as long as he stayed away from her they would be cordial.

Later she found him curled up on top of her backpack. He showed his little teeth as she approached to wind down for bed. Apparently, this was where he slept.

“Get off,” Laurel hissed, but he didn’t bolt until one of the pillows she yanked off the couch had flown his way, leaving a giant patch of hair on her bag. His grumpy yowl had said it all:

I see you.

Laurel awoke hours later in the dead of night. There was a cold in the house that penetrated through her thin blanket down into her bones. She shivered, tousled and turned on the couch, unable to fall back asleep. She felt like something was watching her.

Minutes passed without that feeling going away. She blinked into the darkness, her eyes adjusting to the bulky shapes of her tia’s home, and it was under the hutch that she saw a darker shadow, poised like a panther in tall grass.

Laurel rubbed her eyes. They were still raw and tired, but when they opened again that shape remained. What little light filtered in through the screen door highlighted two orbs of silver flashing with malice. She held her breath, unable to look away. It was staring right at her.

The shadow did not move, except to open its jaws with a silent hiss. It was Chewbacca, come to reclaim his sleeping spot. 

“Basta,” Laurel demanded.

Chewbacca remained. He watched. 

“I said cut it out.” 

He did not.

He remained.

He stared and hissed.

Terror suddenly crept into Laurel’s entire being. She shrank down into her blanket, feeling as though a thousand eyes were watching her in the darkness. Preying on her. She never did like the dark. No matter where she went the hair on the back of her neck would stand on end. She always felt as though someone were right behind her, breathing down her neck and wanting to do her harm.

That malice radiated from the mound beneath the hutch. It hated her, she was sure of it, hated her for stealing the only place in this wretched, inconsiderate house that it could be content. 

Laurel pulled her blanket over her head. Out of sight, out of mind. But then all she could hear was a low rumble drawing closer and closer. Her heart raced in her chest, but no louder did the blood scream in her ears than that rumbling.

She could feel him, staring, even under the blanket, even with her eyes closed. He was coming. Any moment now, he would pounce and rage. Any moment now he would tear her apart little by little just like the rest of her family. Any moment now.

Suddenly, Laurel was awake. Morning burned against the blanket. Her body was sticky with sweat and her chest ached. Last night she thought she might die of fright, but then here she was. She listened to the new day.

There was still a rumbling. Perhaps she had died, and hell was being haunted by that little demon. But no, it was different now. Softer. Kinder.

Laurel turned on the couch and used her finger to poke a hole in the folds of her blanket to peer out toward the dining room. There in the morning light, the mound still remained beneath the hutch. 

It was blue, not the black she had expected. It was twisted and textured in no resemblance to the little beast who had stalked her all of yesterday and throughout the night. Its silver eyes reflected a dull topaz color now. Not eyes at all she realized, but buttons. The mound was a sweater.

Above her head the rumbling became louder, and as Laurel looked up there was Chewbacca sitting vigil over her. His green eyes peered down at her and they stared at one another in silence.

Chewbacca blinked slowly, then returned his attention to the hall where the sounds of her family slept.