Generations Of Silence

Simón skips down the carpeted steps in his home, pausing before the small window at the bottom to peer outside, checking if his mom’s car is still there. Through the raindrops slowly sliding down the glass, he can vaguely make out the silver beaten down Toyota Camry she drives. The passenger window on the driver’s side is still broken, smashed from when someone had tried to find anything of value inside. The black trash bag taped as a temporary fix ripples in the wind but still manages to cling to the car’s window frame.

He frowns to himself, remembering how some of the other kids had laughed when they’d seen him being dropped off in the car. The trash bag had thrashed hard in the wind as his mom had pulled up to the drop off spot, and he had leaped out, shouting a quick thanks to his mom, then dashed from the car. He could see a couple of the kids nearby smirking and nodding their heads back to his mom who was slowly driving off. The sound of the trash bag flapping in the wind had made his cheeks flush with shame as he ducked into the brick building.

He’s snapped out of the memory as he hears quiet humming in the kitchen. He steps into the small room, the smell of coffee and eggs flooding his nose. His mom is at the stove, back turned to him as she cooks breakfast. Tired hands reach into the hot pan to flip the tortillas as the coffee machine sputters out the last dregs of coffee into the deeply stained pot. Simón doesn’t say anything at first, he stands there for a moment, watching her work.

His mind goes to when he was younger, waking before his sister, and coming downstairs before the sun rose as his mom prepared for her early morning shifts at work. The same coffee pot was newer then, giving her the boost needed to make it through another 12 hour shift as a CNA at the nearby nursing home. She had always smiled, asking why he wasn’t still asleep like his sister as she poured herself the first piping hot cup. His reply was always that he wanted to get up early to be like her and she would laugh off the compliment, though he knew even then that it was small things like those words that would get her through the day. She would fuss over him, forcing him to eat breakfast and chiding him for not getting enough sleep. They would sit there for a while, her with strong coffee loaded with sugar, him, too young so a splash of coffee to go with his milk since he insisted on emulating her. At first she would talk about simple things like what she planned to make for dinner and if he wanted anything in particular.

But as the sun rose, so too did the real reason he dragged himself up early to sit with her. Simón would sit there quietly, a living diary for her, as bit by bit she told him her life’s story. Their time was short, so she would skip over some things, knowing that maybe she shouldn’t be telling this to her son when he was so young but the weight of countless years of solitude was growing heavier and heavier as she aged. And though she spoke English fluently, having come to the States from Mexico at only 16, she had never been able to make close friends, always too shy and quiet for any real connections to form. Her relationships had all been explosive in their own ways, flames of early happiness that burned her in the end, leaving scars she would try to avoid imparting on her children.

She told him of how she had grown up. Eldest of too many kids, she had learned to shoulder the burden for her own mother early on. She would complain how her mother had never thanked her for the countless hours she had put into helping raise her own siblings. Instead, her own mom had sent her away to the states, wanting her to work and help provide for the many mouths in their small rancho. She believed family was everything so she had done as she was told.

Quietly, he would sip his coffee flavored milk and hear the long and harsh journey that had brought her to be with him in that small, cozy kitchen. Their ritual would continue for years with him as the silent outlet for her trauma, broken only when they would hear the creak of the floorboards above their heads, signaling that his sister Elena had woken up. Then, through a silent agreement, she would switch to lighter topics as Elena shuffled downstairs for breakfast, oblivious to all but the smell of food. His mother would smile and serve breakfast for her and watch the two of them eating and arguing with each other before glancing at the time and hurriedly rushing out the door. But Simón would see that she walked a little lighter each day, her shoulders sagging a little less than they had earlier in the morning as she walked out the door, or so he would tell himself anyway.

Years later Simón finished middle school and anxiously started high school. Elena, three years older, was already an expert in this life, though she spent all her time out with friends.

His daily confessions with his mom continued. The talks turning from just past events to regrets, old slights, and fears that had never fully faded away. She would walk him through the stories of how her mom had favored her siblings over her, or how his own dad, Luis, had stalked her after they had separated, trying to find a way to steal him and his sister from her. Simón had his own room now along with his own bed instead of sharing one with his sister. And though he had sleep paralysis sometimes and nightmares almost every night — dreaming of awful things happening to his mom and of monsters coming to take him away — he did his best to hide it from her, worried that she would stop telling him about her life or that he would be adding on to her already too heavy burden.

One morning, as the three of them ate breakfast, Elena told Simón and his mom about a new thing her friends were talking about.

“It’s a DNA test so there’s like a package that comes to the house and you spit on the test strip or something and then they can see a whole bunch of stuff.” Elena said through a mouthful of eggs.

“Like what?” Simón asked, glancing at his mom who had gone quieter than normal.

“Like who your parents are and where they’re from and stuff. It’s cool, we could all do it together” she says excitedly. Simón raised an eyebrow, staring at his sister in confusion.

“Why do we need a test for that? We already know who our mom is and we saw Luis before he left, stupid. What is it gonna tell us that we don’t already know, what you think you’re not Mexican or something?” He says mockingly. Their mom nods her head in agreement, seizing on the opportunity.

“I agree, it sounds kind of pointless. Why waste your money on that, you should be saving it anyway.” She says.

“You guys just don’t get it. I’ll do it by myself then.” Elena retorts, shaking her head in frustration. She gets up, storming out of the kitchen with all the quick anger of a 16 year old.

Early the next morning Simón went downstairs, but this time his mom wasn’t in the kitchen like she normally was. He went to check the window, thinking maybe she had gone to work early and just forgotten to tell him, but the car was still parked out front. Frowning, he goes room by room throughout the house, trying to find her, but she isn’t anywhere inside. Finally, he checks the backyard, a small, partially fenced-in grassy area, barely enough to grow a couple of plants on either side of the concrete slab nestled square in the center of the yard. The stars glimmer brightly against the purplish black sky and he can vaguely make out the shape of his mom standing there, staring up at them. He grabs their usual coffee mugs and prepares them just the way they both like, carrying them outside with him.

She turns when she hears the grating of the screen door, smiling lightly when she sees him with the coffee mugs, but he’s old enough now to notice how the smile doesn’t quite reach the corners of her mouth, and to see the somberness of her eyes in the dim moonlight.

“Why you out here mom? It’s cold.” He says quietly as he hands her one of the mugs. She wraps her hands appreciatively around the mug, blowing gently against the rising steam.

“I have to tell you something, but it has to stay between you and me.” She says in response, staring at him through the mess of curly hair that is now more gray than black.

“Yeah mom, I promise. When have I ever told anyone what we talk about?” He replies.

“This time it’s different. The other stuff was bad, but it was the past, it couldn’t come back to hurt anyone. Now it can. Listen, mijo, no matter what, you have to swear that you will never tell Elena. She can never know about this.” He nods his head in silent agreement, sitting on one of their cheap plastic lawn chairs while she remains standing.

“She’s probably going to find this out soon anyway, but I just can’t tell her everything.” She says, the anxiety creeping into her voice. Simón leans forward in his seat, studying her. He’s never seen her so nervous before. She can’t stop fidgeting. Her sun-tanned hands that normally wrap so calmly around her mug are now alternating between clutching the mug until her knuckles are white and drumming a silent beat only she can hear on her leg. Her eyes dart from one shining constellation to another, never resting for more than a second. “You know, before your dad left, we were together for years. We weren’t married but we always told ourselves we would do that when we had the money to spare. I know you never got to see the side of him that I did, but he wasn’t a bad person, especially not at the start.” Simón furrows his brow, unsure why his dad was being brought up. He’d left when Simón had been only 6 years old, claiming he needed to go back to Guatemala to care for his own mom but swearing he would call and come visit soon. They had never heard from him again.

“We’d been together for almost two years, but had gotten in a huge fight about… I don’t even remember anymore to be honest. But we broke up. This was back when I used to work as a cleaning lady in the hotel up near the river, remember I told you about that?” She says. He nods his head but she doesn’t turn to look at him, lost in the past.

“There was another guy there, he worked as the janitor on the same shift I worked so we saw each other often. We would talk and he was an immigrant too, so he knew what I felt. It was never more than friendly but once me and your dad had broken up, we started talking more… I was lonely and I didn’t want to just be by myself all the time, so when he asked me if I wanted to grab dinner and then watch a movie, I said yes.”

“He took me to dinner and then when I asked where the movie theater was, he said there wasn’t one nearby but that his place was close and we could just watch one there.” She sighs, setting down her coffee mug and Simón can see her hands shaking lightly in the dim sunlight poking through the sky.

“My mom used to say guys would only ever want one thing with me if they were trying to take me back to their home, but I heard people at work talking about going to each other’s houses a lot, so I thought maybe it was different here. I didn’t want him to think that I didn’t like him so I said yes. We went back to his place and watched the movie, but I could tell he wasn’t actually watching. Halfway through the movie he grabbed my face and started kissing me. I was surprised but I let it happen because I really did like him. He was being forceful but I thought he had just drank too much and didn’t realize he was hurting me.” Simón stayed silent, trying not to move a muscle, he had a queasy feeling in his stomach and he had to press down on his leg to keep it from bouncing with nervous energy.

“He tried to do more, but I stopped him. I said I wanted to be married before that but…” She takes a shaky breath, her hands wringing against each other, knuckles white and Simón knows what happened before she says it, but he stays silent, knowing this is something she needs to get out on her own. “He got mad. He said that he spent all that money on dinner, and on hearing me talk about my stupid problems at work all day long. So I owed this to him. He said it was the price of him being so good to me. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know the area and it was dark out so when he stepped closer again… I let him.” She’s crying now, tears silently flowing down her weathered face. The sun starts to poke out from the tree tops, waves of blood orange slowly drowning out the stars. She’s frozen in place, unmoving and stoic as she cries. Simón doesn’t know what to do, he’s only ever had to listen, never comfort. This is the first time he’s seen her like this — standing tall and facing the sunrise, but at the same time, he can see the gray in her hair, the dark bags under her eyes and the tears falling one after another as they reach her trembling chin. She’s so broken he thinks to himself and then a second later, she so strong. His heart pounds in his chest and the blood is rushing through his face. He feels like punching something, or crying, or both but instead, he quietly steps up to her, wrapping his skinny arms around her and hugging her, willing God to take her pain and transfer it to him instead.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to. A part of me did, but not like that. It was supposed to be different. I just needed more time to know him more before.” She whispers as she wraps his arms around him. “After I left the next morning, I didn’t know what to do, so I went to your dad and told him everything. Luis was so angry, he wanted to kill him but I begged him not to do anything, I told him I just wanted to move past it and forget. I was embarrassed, because I went home with him so it was my fault too. Luis and I got back together, and when I found out I was pregnant, he said he’d stay with me and we could raise it together.” He can feel her tears dripping onto his scalp and he hugs her tighter trying to ease the pain in the only way he can.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you this. I just wanted to forget about it, but now Elena might find out and I can’t tell her all of this. It would destroy her, I’m just going to tell her it was someone I met before Luis. But she can never know the truth. Don’t tell anyone. Please.” She pleads to him and he nods his head, fighting back the tears he feels welling up because he wants so badly to be strong for her.

They stand together for a while longer, watching the sunrise in silence. Sharing comfort in each other’s presence before she finally takes a deep breath, gives him a quick kiss on the top of his head and goes inside to leave for work.

He stands there in the chill morning air for a while longer, lost in thought. He’s too young to fully comprehend the gravity of what she had told him, or how much it would affect him in the future, but he knows that this is serious and should be something he thinks about for a while. Now that he is alone, he lets the tears come as the sun rises fully into the sky, vanquishing the darkness once more. Just like his mom, the tears come without fanfare, just silent passengers down his cheeks, accompanied only by the shaky breaths he takes every couple of seconds. After a while he heads inside too.

Later, when he is in school, his friends notice his silence and the far-away look in his eyes. They will ask him what’s wrong, but he will think back to his mom and how she had always told him to not tell anyone. So he will reply that it’s nothing, that he just didn’t sleep much, and just like his mom, the burden on his shoulders grows a bit more in silence.