It’s eleven o’clock. Mom’s still not home.
And just as I’m about to fall asleep, the door handle rattles. Ani jumps up and starts barking. This is the first time I’ve heard her bark. It’s loud for her size. She runs to the door, growling and barking and scratching at it. I get up and look through the plastic hanging blinds and see it’s Emjay.
I open the door, and he comes inside. He’s soaking wet. I didn’t even know it had started raining.
“Where’s Mom?”
“She went to work,” I say.
He laughs.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“Was she in the dark lipstick? Smoky eye shadow? All dressed up?”
“Well, yeah.”
“You know she’s at a bar, right?”
“No, she’s not. Why would she be at a bar?” I ask.
“How stupid are you?”
“I’m not stupid. Look at you, soaking wet with a dumb haircut. You’re the stupid one,” I say.
Shit. I shouldn’t have said that. He’s wet. He’s in a bad mood. And the littlest things can set him off … And I think I just set him off. But before he can beat the living crap out of me, there’s a knock at the door.
Emjay stops. I freeze. If it’s Child Protective Services, we’re screwed. There’s no back window to sneak out of, and there’s no car to run to. We’re sitting ducks. And to make things worse, Ani goes wild again, barking at the door. I quickly pick her up and try to calm her down.
“Who is it?” Emjay shouts.
“Motel manager,” he shouts back.
Emjay and I look through the window. He’s alone. There’s no officer with him, no woman in a suit holding a clipboard. It’s just him. But what does he want?
Emjay opens the door. “What do you need?”
“Where’s your mother?” he asks.
“Out. Why?”
“I told her, there are no dogs allowed. People are complaining.”
“We’ll keep it down. It just got spooked,” Emjay says.
“No dogs allowed,” he repeats. “Dog leaves now, or you all leave. You choose,” he says.
“Dude. It’s just a dog, not a bear. I said we’ll keep it down.”
“I don’t care what you said. My motel. My rules. Dog goes now, or I’ll call the police.”
My stomach drops. If Mom was here, she’d be able to sweet-talk the guy and make this all go away, but Emjay is not a sweet-talker, he’s a trash-talker, a troublemaker, and he’s making everything worse.
“We’re sorry,” I say. “Please just let us—”
“Stop begging!” Emjay snaps at me. “For once, take it like a man.”
“Take what?” I ask, becoming more confused about where we’re at with all this.
Emjay turns to the motel manager. “No need to call the police. The dog is gone.”
“No!” I shout, and back up against the wall with Ani in my arms.
“Break the rules again, and it won’t be me at your door next time,” he says, and walks out of the room.
Emjay turns to me. “Give it to me.”
“No. We can say we did and just keep her hidden in here. He won’t know,” I cry.
“Opin! If the cops come, Mom goes to jail. You go into foster care, and I’ll die fighting them. You want all that? For a stupid dog?” he says, and approaches me.
“You try to take her from me, and I will fight you. I swear I will.”
He smiles, but it’s a weird smile. Not his scary grin. And not a smile of joy or amusement, but more of a smile like when you’re watching a tiny kitten trying to jump onto a bed but there is absolutely zero chance of it ever happening.
“Mom will get you a new one,” he says, and grabs Ani.
We struggle. He easily overpowers me and pushes me against the wall. I can’t hit him, because I’m trying to hold Ani, so I kick him in the shin. As hard as I can.
He doesn’t like that at all. He slams me onto the floor, takes Ani from my grasp, and starts walking toward the door. As soon as his back is to me, I launch up to my feet and punch him in the back as hard as I can. He stumbles forward and turns around. That hurt him. I can tell by how his eyes are almost watering and turning red.
“This is happening. Accept it,” he says to me.
This is happening. Accept it. I don’t remember much about our dad. Hardly anything, really. But I do remember his stern words to Emjay the night Dad hit Mom. I was crying. Emjay was too. But then he stopped crying and starting fuming. He balled his hands into fists, and he ran in between our dad and our mom. “Leave her alone,” seven-year-old Emjay shouted.
“This is happening. Accept it,” Dad replied, and pushed his son out of the way.
My brother has turned into the monster. The monster Mom has been trying to get away from. My dream was right. Emjay is a traitor.
“NO!” I shout back at him. “I’m not going to let you take her!”
“Grow up, Opin. This is life. This is how it works,” he says, and with one hand holding Ani, he swings and hits me in the chin.
Everything goes blurry. My knees buckle. I hit the floor and feel the carpet on my back. Then, just like a light switch being turned off, my whole world goes black.
I wake up to a screaming match of familiar voices. They sound muffled because I’m still groggy. My body is comfortable and covered with a blanket. My head is on a pillow. I’m in the bed, but who put me in here? Last thing I remember was lying on the carpeted floor because Emjay punched me. Why did he … Oh no! I remember now. Ani!
I launch up and open my eyes. My chin hurts. Emjay and Mom are arguing again. I hop out of bed and search the floor, the couch, the bed again, but Ani is not here. I was hoping and wishing and begging for last night to be nothing more than a horrible nightmare, but it was real.
“Where’s Ani?” I shout.
“Gone,” Emjay says.
I charge at him, but Mom catches me before I can attack. I burst into tears. She holds me back as I try to break free. “What did you do?” I repeat over and over again.
“Go find her,” Mom yells at Emjay.
“Why? So we can do this all over again tonight? Tomorrow night? You didn’t come home until three o’clock in the morning, Mom! You know what happened while you were out? They were going to call the police. Because of me, you’re not in jail and that little crybaby isn’t being shipped off to some foster home,” he yells back.
“Ani was mine! She needs me!” I shout.
“That stupid dog now has a chance to find someone that can take care of her. You think it likes living in a car? No! Let it find a boy that can give it what you can’t.”
“You’re a monster,” I tell him.
“Grow up, Opin. This is real life. Get used to it. It’s not this stupid fairy tale that Mom keeps feeding you. There’s no happy ending. There are no ancestors watching over us. None of this is a game.”
“Shut up,” Mom tells him.
“Why? He should know. Tell him the truth, Mom. There’s no cavalry after us. There’s no magical place we’re going to ever call home. It’s always going to be like this because you split up the family,” he says. “Tell him!”
“I split up the family, are you serious? Leaving your father was the single best thing I have ever done for you kids,” she says.
“Really? Because look at us. Does this look like the best thing for us?”
“You don’t remember him much. But if you did, you’d know why we had to get away from him,” she says.
“I remember enough. Did I like him? No. I hated him. I remember that much. But whoever said we have to like the people we’re stuck with? At least we had a home. Now we got nothing. And why? Because he was mean? Because he drank too much?” Emjay asks as everything bottled up inside of him is finally coming out.
“He was mean. And he did drink too much. And when he did, he was violent,” she says.
“I’m no stranger to violence, Mom. I get hit all the time. Did he ever hit me?” Emjay asks.
“No, Emjay. He never touched you.”
“See? He doesn’t sound like the monster you tell us he is,” Emjay says.
“When I say he never touched you, I mean literally. He never held you. He never wiped the food off your face. He never changed your diaper. He never rocked you to sleep or tucked you into bed. He never so much as smiled at you. Not once.”
I can see Emjay is affected. Almost like he wants to cry, but he won’t. He thinks crying is for babies. He’d die before cry. “Did he ever touch Opin?” he asks.
Mom doesn’t hide her emotions, though. She’s crying while talking. All the past is bubbling up and swallowing us. “When I told your father I was pregnant again, he didn’t smile. He didn’t hug me. You know what he did? He punched me in the stomach. That was the first and last time he touched Opin. After that day, I came up with a plan to leave him. I got a job at McDonald’s. He allowed it as long as I gave him the money. I did, but I hid some of it from him. A few dollars here and there, from each paycheck. Never enough for him to notice. It took me four years to save up enough. I even asked our neighbors for help. My friends. Unfortunately, those friends told their husbands about my plan. Those husbands told your father. He wasn’t happy. And he let his fists fly. Opin was four. You were seven. He beat me and then he took all the money. So, I took you and your brother and left. With nothing. And here we are, Emjay,” she says with tears streaming down her cheeks.
There’s a long silence. I can almost hear all our hearts beating. Mom’s is fast like a runner’s heart. Emjay’s is steady like drums. And mine, well, mine is not beating at all. My heart is broken.
“We still have nothing, Mom,” Emjay says, finally ending the painful silence.
“We have what he would’ve taken away from us. We’re free. We’re safe. We may be broke, but we’re not broken. I regret many things in my life, but leaving that man is not one of them.”
“He was still my dad,” my brother says.
“A dad is someone who loves their kids. And I hid this from you because I don’t want you hurt, but you’re already hurt, Emjay. Maybe the truth will do you some good.”
“What are you talking about?” he asks.
“Every time I walk off to use the phone. Every call I make. Every chance I get … I call your father. I don’t call him for me. Not at all. But I won’t rob you kids of having a father, even one as crappy as him. So, I pray, I hold my breath and pray that just once, just one time, he’ll ask about you two. I wait for those words when he says he misses you. Hoping he’ll ask where you are or want to hear your voice … But he never has. He never cared. He still doesn’t,” Mom says.
“Maybe he’ll change?” Emjay is staring at the floor.
“I’ve lived long enough to see that people don’t change. They just grow. If you are good, you grow to be better. If you’re bad, you grow to be worse. And he is not getting any better, son.”
Emjay falls to his knees. What is happening? I’ve never seen him do this before. His hands cup his face, and he begins to cry. Only for a second, though. As soon as Mom puts her hand on his head, he shoves it away and stands back up. “You’re a liar.”
“I’m not lying, Em. And you know it,” she says.
“Yes, you are. You always lie. You lie about everything. You talk about our ancestors and how they’re watching over us, but they’re not. That’s a lie. They were just people, like us. They were just as lost and confused as we are. They were just trying to survive. Stop filling our heads with this spirit crap. None of it is real. They are dead and gone. We are here. And we are drowning at the bottom of the ocean,” he shouts, fully back to his angry self.
“Where we are now doesn’t define who we are now,” she says.
“Stop it, Mom! No one cares when you toss out some stupid quote to try to make everything better. Screw our blood. Screw our roots. What good are roots if we don’t stay in one place long enough to plant our feet? Just pick a place. They’re all the same. Everywhere is awful for people like us. Can we please just stop? I’m so tired of this. I should have just let them call the police. Maybe a stranger would do a better job than you,” he says all in one breath.
The anger and pain inside of him are battling for control. He’s crying, but fuming. And I’m sure everyone in this motel can hear him. But his last words struck my mom. Like lightning to the chest. But I don’t think she has any tears left. It’s a dry cry.
“I’m trying my best,” she mutters.
“Your best isn’t good enough,” he fires back.
She stands there, stunned and unable to say any more words.
So I speak up. “You’re just like him now. He used his fists, you use your words, but you two are the same. You both hurt Mom. You’re both monsters,” I say.
“I’d rather be a monster with an address than a pathetic bum,” he says to me, grabs his backpack, and heads toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Mom manages to squeeze through her trembling lips.
“I’m done living like this,” he says.
“Do not open that door, Emjay!”
“It’s too late to play the mother, Mom.”
“Emjay … please, don’t leave,” she says.
“I have Uncle Jonny’s address. I’ll know where you’ll be,” he says, opens the door, and turns back to me. “Don’t believe the stuff she tells you. You’ll end up crazy like her,” he says.
“She’s not crazy. And I’d rather end up like her over you any day,” I say.
He laughs. “You’re such a dumb little French fry,” he says.
Mom’s eyes light up in fear. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I ask.
“Yeah, Mom, don’t what? Don’t tell him the truth? How long are you going to lie to him?” Emjay asks.
“Emjay, stop it,” she says.
“What’s he talking about, Mom?” I ask.
“The tater tot should know his mom has been lying to him his entire life,” Emjay adds.
“Why would you do this?” Mom asks him.
“What is going on? Someone tell me!” I shout.
“Your name, Opin. It doesn’t mean ‘adventure seeker.’ Mom didn’t have her stupid book with her when you were born, so she went off memory. Apparently, her memory sucks,” he says, and laughs. “Why do you think there’s a page torn out in her book? Because she screwed up and would rather lie to you forever than to own up to it.”
“Leave,” Mom says, which must mean something huge, because she was just begging him to stay.
“I’m already gone. I’ll let you clean up your own mess,” he says, and walks out of the motel room.
He leaves the door open. I see it’s still raining. But Emjay doesn’t care. The storm was much bigger in this room.
Mom doesn’t chase after him. She knows better. Emjay won’t change his mind. I’ll give him that. When he decides to do something, he does it.
But I’m glad he’s gone. He took away my best friend. My only friend. I’ll never forgive him for that. All those punches and names he’s called me, all of those don’t matter anymore. I would have—could have forgiven him for that stuff, but not this. Never this.
And whatever it was they were talking about regarding my name can wait. Right now, I need to find Ani. I start loading up my backpack with all my stuff. I hurry through the room, shoving everything into bags, and I put my new shoes on. “Come on, Mom. We need to go find Ani,” I say.
She’s still as steel. But her body agrees with me, so she gathers up all her stuff too.
In less than five minutes, we are out the door and in the car. We didn’t bother showering or having breakfast. We are on a mission. I need my little girl back where she belongs … With me.
We don’t listen to any music while we drive through the city. We need our eyes and ears attacking at full capacity. Mom is looking for Emjay, and I am searching for Ani. We are both in pain. We are both scared. And we are both desperate. Alley after alley, park after park, and street after street, we search and search. But … reality sets in. We both have failed at this hunt. We are both terrified of leaving Modesto without those pieces of our hearts, but we also know the sad truth … They are gone.
After another few hours of searching, Mom releases a deep sigh and pulls onto the highway heading south. I know what that sigh means. It’s over. I can’t believe this happened. I lost her. All the remaining tears inside of me pour out of my eyes and head south down my face. I cry and cry and cry. My best friend. My only friend.
Rage tackles my sorrow and pins it down. I taste hatred coating my tongue. It’s sour and hot. I hate Emjay so much. I’ve never hated anyone before, not really, but him I hate. It’s an ugly feeling, to hate someone. It fills the stomach and puts a bad taste in my throat. I swallow to keep it down, but it doesn’t ever go away. It’s like a trapped, angry ghost, scratching at the walls with its sharp claws. I open my mouth to release it, but it doesn’t want to be free. It wants to stay inside of me and make me its home. It wants to haunt me forever.
Hate makes you breathe differently too. It is a rotten feeling that you can’t throw up to get out. Because every time you want it gone, you remember why it’s there and it fills up your gut all over again. I give up trying to force it out. I’m too tired. I close my eyes and listen to the angry ghost. It shouts in a whisper. I hate my brother. I hope someone beats him up badly. I hope a cop sees him stealing a bike or a raincoat and throws him in jail. He’d deserve it. He dumped Ani somewhere out on the streets, all alone, in the rain. She’s probably wondering what she did wrong. She is probably crying under a car, terrified and cold. She’s too small for this world. She’s too nice for this world. She’s too innocent, and Emjay knew all that and did what he did anyway. He did exactly what a monster would do. My dream nightmare was right.
They were visions. They were all the words my mom taught me coming to life. Foreboding. Premonition. Intuition. An omen. Presage. Listen to your dreams, she’s always said. And they told me, they showed me, my brother is a traitor. I should have seen it coming. I should have seen the signs my ancestors were sending me. They were warning me about him. Now my wolf is no more. Now it’s just me and Mom. And we’re both incomplete. And we’re both so very tired. And we’re both so very sad.
“You hungry?” she asks after we pass Fresno.
“No,” I say.
“Fres … No?” she asks, trying to make me smile, which is her attempt at trying to make herself smile too. Because if I do, she does.
But neither of us can. People with broken hearts can’t smile. They can only stare ahead and pretend the world around them isn’t crashing down.
“I’m never going to eat again,” I say.
“Then we’ll just keep driving.”
The silence must be way too loud in here, because Mom grabs a CD and slips it in. “Smooth Criminal” by Michael Jackson plays. I usually love this song, but right now I hate it. It’s mocking me. I swear I can hear Michael Jackson repeating the lines “Ani, are you okay? Ani, are you okay? Are you okay, Ani?” Over and over again.
I hit eject and welcome back the silence. Mom doesn’t protest. She rolls her window down so we can listen to something other than our thoughts. Screaming wind. I turn my head toward the window and look out. California is so ugly. Everything is yellow and dead and dry during the day, and at night it’s even worse. All that darkness, reminding us that no matter how fast we drive and how far we drive, there’s no escaping this tunnel. I hate this game. I wish I never started playing. Life sucks.