The Best Day Ever

TW: child abuse, suicide attempt

The bell rang, signifying the end of the school day. Oscar and his friends pushed and shoved each other playfully on their way out of the classroom, laughing as they talked. As they walked, people strayed from the group to get to their lockers. When it was Oscar’s turn, he waved goodbye and turned down the hall to get to his destination. His smile fell into neutrality as he spun the lock open and retrieved his things.

Today was going to be the best day ever.

Oscar left the school. Once the building was out of sight, he put on a pair of sunglasses, slipped on a mask, and tugged his hood over his head. He nodded his head to the music blasting through his headphones and eyed the people he passed. No one spared him a second look. For the first time in a long time, there were no sneers. No glares or winces. He was nothing more than another person on the street.

Oscar continued his trek along the road, his movements so rhythmic and dynamic, he was practically dancing. He bathed in his newfound freedom until he came upon a strip mall that was busy with shoppers and kids who just got out of school. His eyes found a small café called “Mama Rosa’s” and headed inside.

Everything about the place felt the same as it did when he last visited years ago. The wooden chairs and tables still dotted the floor, armed with napkins and hot sauce, the pictures on the wall hung dutifully in their place like guardians over the establishment, and the sweet and savoury smell of the baked goods permeated the air, a silent promise of comfort to the patrons. Oscar easily recognized the tantalizing treats in the display case, from conchas, to mantecadas, to telera rolls. He was so distracted by the sights and smells, he almost didn’t register the founder of the café, Mama Rosa herself, calling to him, “Hello! Are you ready to order?”

Oscar turned and saw her smiling at him. The lines on her face were more pronounced than they've ever been and her hair was more grey than black. That smile of hers, however, was as friendly as always. Oscar walked up to the counter, removed his headphones, and ordered in a gruff voice. “One burrito with carnitas, one cuernito de nuez, and a medium coffee.”

Mama Rosa nodded as she put down his order. After confirming Oscar’s order with him, she looked up at him again. “Anything else for you today?”

Oscar shook his head. “No, that’s it, thanks.”

“Okay, that’ll be $13.20.” A grin spread across Oscar’s face as he handed Mama Rosa a twenty-dollar bill. Though the prices had gone up a little, she still had the best prices in town.

Mama Rosa handed him his change, receipt, and cup. “Your change is $6.80. Your order number is 82. Here’s your coffee cup.” Oscar took the items and dropped all of the change into the tip jar. He wasn’t going to need it where he was going, and nothing beat the way Mama Rosa’s smile brightened at the gesture. “We’ll call your number when your order is ready. Have a good day!”

Oscar nodded. “You, too.”

He left the counter with his things, filled his coffee cup, and sat at one of the tables next to the windowed storefront. He observed the other patrons until he forced himself to look away. He knew better than to stare too long while letting his thoughts run. If he did, the kids playing with the hot sauce bottles would’ve turned into him, his brother, and his cousins. The adults chatting over coffee and pastries would’ve morphed into his mom, aunts, and uncles. Time would’ve blended together until Oscar was lost in a memory, transported to an era where his dad didn’t ban their household from interacting with his mom’s side of the family, to a time where grief, heartache, and betrayal were nothing more than a figment of imagination.

“82!”

Oscar jumped in his seat. He discretely wiped away the moisture that budded at the corners of his eyes and walked to the counter. Once he thanked the worker and returned to his seat, he opened his burrito, poured salsa on it, slid his mask off, and took a bite. Tears returned to his eyes. It was still the same.

As Oscar ate his burrito, his eyes returned to the window. His heart stopped when, in the distance, he spotted his cousins Genevieve, Gabriel, and Octavia walking through the parking lot of the strip mall. His breathing turned shallow. Who did they come with? Their mom? Their grandma? What if they spotted him there? What if they recognized him? Did he want them to?

He didn’t know if he felt lucky or upset when they entered the grocery store a few doors down. Regardless, Oscar slumped in his seat. He fought his urge to bolt out of the store to find them. They wouldn’t want to see him. Why would they? Since the separation of their families, he became mean at best, unnecessarily cruel at worst. They were no exception to his change.

Still, he wanted to apologize for his behaviour. He wanted to come clean and tell them he didn’t want to change; it was his dad who forced unto him a mask of ruthlessness. He wanted to confess that he yearned for their comfort. He missed the long summer days they spent playing outside. He longed for the get-togethers and movie nights and sleepovers at their home. He wanted to explain to them that he didn’t stand by his dad saying that he stood with his brother—their father—and his claims that what that man did wasn’t as bad as the public claimed it was. He also really wanted to officially meet Octavia and apologize for what his side of the family did to her.

Maybe, in another life, he got to do all of that. But this was not that life.

Oscar quickened his pace, finished his burrito, threw away his trash, and left with the rest of his food. He flinched at the biting cold of the autumn air, a stark contrast to the never-ending warmth of Mama Rosa’s. He shook it off and dipped his cuernito into his coffee and took a bite. His mind flashed back to how his mom did it countless times at that very same café, back when she didn’t float through life with dim, hollow eyes. The cuernito felt like ash against Oscar’s tongue and he swallowed it down hard.

His feet carried his listless self back to his house. The dwelling loomed over him as he approached his front door, coffee and cuernito finished. He pulled out his phone and checked his messages. His mom hadn’t texted anything yet about coming home. His dad had sent a text about coming home later due to work. Oscar’s mouth twitched into a tiny, temporary smile. Good. He had time.

He entered the house and looked around. As always, the house was meticulously put together, no sign of mess anywhere. Straight lines embellished the clean, minimalist theme. The few pictures that hung on the walls highlighted how proper and “put-together” the residents were. But, there was no feeling in them. The only feelings the house bore witness to exploded in moments of weakness. The shadows of the house would then seem to grow, emphasizing the harshness of the environment. They would suck what little warmth was present in the house and redirect it, turn it into ugly, angry heat that fueled the terror that would stand above him.

That didn’t matter. Nothing was going to matter in a few hours. Oscar was excited to introduce the house to a new emotion—relief.

He headed to the kitchen, tossed his garbage, and rummaged through the cabinets. It wasn’t long before he found a sturdy rope in the cabinet under the knives. Oscar refused to think about the implications of it being there. He quietly shut the cabinet and headed upstairs for his bedroom.

Like the rest of the house, his room was crisp and clean. The few pieces of furniture inside revealed nothing about the person using it, which was fine. Oscar didn’t have any physical reminders of moments he wanted to remember. Those had been thrown out a lifetime ago. He also lacked a personality. Or, one that he could call his own, at least. The only sign that the room had been used at least once was the dent in one of the walls, courtesy of the head of the household. Oscar didn’t like thinking about why it was there.

He laid down on the floor, wincing as and stared up at the ceiling fan. He allowed his mind to wander back to his past. The more he reminisced, the more he realized there weren’t a lot of things he liked about his life. Any accomplishments he made that he was genuinely proud of were few and far between. The people he called his “friends” were jerks. He hurt the people he cared about. His dad was responsible for unspeakable things. His mom was barely there, barely living. And his brother, Zach? He had gone from being the best little brother he could’ve asked for to a living, walking nightmare.

Oscar inhaled deeply and sat up. It was time.

He fiddled with the rope in his hands, tying it, untying it, and tying it over and over again. He scowled as it refused to do what it wanted. For once, could something go right in his miserable life?

A knock on his door echoed through the room. Oscar’s heart dropped to his stomach. “Oscar? I know you’re in there. I heard you come home.”

Oscar’s heart quickened. He didn’t take into account that Zach might’ve been home.

“Open the door. We need to talk.”

With shaking hands, Oscar shoved the rope under his pillows and opened the door. Lo and behold, Zach stood outside, arms crossed tight over his chest. Oscar shoved his hands in his pockets and raised an eyebrow. “What do you want?” he questioned.

Zach jutted his chin to Oscar’s bedroom. “I’ll tell you in there.”

He hesitated before stepping aside. Oscar closed the door once Zach was well inside the room. He turned to him, growing impatient. “What do you want?”

Zach didn’t answer. He stubbornly kept his eyes trained at the floor, his arms still crossed over his chest. Oscar was about to snap at him and repeat his question when he noticed a small tremor shaking his frame. Anger melted into concern. “Zach?”

A dam burst in his brother. Zach rushed forward and engulfed Oscar in a hug. He stood there, frozen, while Zach sobbed into his chest. His mind distantly brought up the fact that Zach was still a lot smaller than he was.

Between hiccupping gasps, Zach managed to rasp out, “I d-don’t wanna be mean anymore.”

The walls Oscar built around his heart crumbled. He wrapped his arms around him and pulled them to the ground. He held Zach close and rocked him back and forth as he continued to shake and sob, just like he did all those years ago.

Zach let his thoughts run. “I—I don’t want to keep doing this. I just—I just wanna stop. I don’t want to do what Dad says anymore. I’m so—so scared. I don’t wanna make him mad, but I can’t keep doing this…”

As Zach rambled on, guilt permeated Oscar’s heart. How could Oscar forget that they shared the same father? What he did to Oscar, he probably also did to Zach. It most likely hurt Zach more because he was younger than him.

“I just want it all to stop. I can’t keep doing this. I—I just want it all to stop.”

Oscar buried the lower half of his face in Zach’s crown. “I know,” he muttered. “I know.”

He couldn’t possibly leave Zach alone. Not with their dad. Not while their mom was the way she was. If he left Zach alone to deal with the aftermath of what he wanted to do, he could only imagine how much worse it would be for him.

He couldn’t save his mom. He couldn’t conceptualize saving himself. But, if he could at least save Zach, any work he did would be worth it, no matter what it took.

Oscar pulled Zach in tighter. “I’ll make sure you get out of here,” he whispered. “Whatever it takes. I’ll make sure it ends for you.”