A Mother's Tears • Ch. 7 of 16

My Hometown, Forever

We left the sad memories and moved to the beautiful city of Ann Arbor. I was too young to fully experience it at first, to truly treasure its cultural roots and unique style. The older I grew the more thankful I was to be living in such an open-minded place that accepted anyone. Those streets shaped who I was and still am to this day.

At night, I’d lay awake in bed and stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars my mom and I put up together on my ceiling—, I’d imagine I was back in a big city with the night sky directly above. I’d close my eyes and see different skylines of places that probably didn’t even exist. I just wanted to be around an ever-moving lifestream again. I had no idea at the time how significant those dreams would become later on.

I went to school like everyone else, but never applied myself—, a mistake I wish I could change. My mom dreaded every time my report card came in the mail. She knew it wouldn’t be good news. As a testament to her amazing character, all of my professors would eventually meet her at parent-teacher conferences and realize what type of upbringing I had within me. When asked why I wasn’t getting the grades they knew I could get, I’d reply with another excuse.

“I don’t know—, I just..., can’t.”

“Can we talk man to man for a minute?,” my favorite high school teacher asked me one day after class.

“Sure—,” I told him.

“B.S.,” he said to me with a nice dramatic pause in the middle. He tapped into my potential long before I ever did. Aside from skateboards and power chords, my time after school was mostly spent daydreaming. I was always wistfully remembering something, deep in thought. The moments all piled on top of each other, every one looking like the last and so forth. Nothing new would happen or pull me out of my regular routine—, something I’d feel more than once throughout my life.

Torrents

While I floated through my adolescence, my mom kept working tirelessly. Gabriela would walk in through the front door exhausted. She’d head straight for her spot on the floor with the couch propping her up as she drank a full glass of water—, her first and most times, only one of the day. There she sat, gathering herself before getting ready to have dinner with me. I saw all of these things and took them for granted as ‘everyday life,’ not realizing the amount of energy and willpower it took to work as hard as she did, week after week, year after year. Not until I reached high school did she even take a vacation.

“Ten years?!” her newest employer asked wide- eyed at how long it’d been since Gabriela took a break from the constant schedule. We were in Florida a week later.

The highways curved and wound along the palm tree-lined landscape. We drove further into the marshlands, taking in the environment as much as possible. A few drops of rain fell onto the windshield of our rental car—, but they were thicker than normal. They splattered into wide shapes of broken water. Here and there they splashed, randomly and sporadically. A few moments of nothingness passed by, no thunder, no wind, just the car driving down the freeway. Suddenly, like an inverted geyser, the sky erupted into a full downpour. The heavy showers washed out our windows from view—, we couldn’t see a foot in front of us.

“We need to pull over,” my mom hastily said. She slowed the car down to a crawling speed but kept pushing forward through the dense torrent. All of a sudden, everything stopped. Like a switch was flipped, the rain completely cut off. We realized we’d driven underneath a bridge. My mom made her way onto the side of the road and there we stayed. “This is good,” she said, “we’ll wait here until it stops.” That’s what we did. Almost an hour passed by without the rain easing up in the slightest. Finally, my mom decided to continue on and drive until the storm got lighter up ahead, closer to our destination. She slowly pulled the car out from beneath the bridge and began driving through the thunder around us until clearer skies shined from above. Another hour later and we were nearing our home for the next week.

Dreaming of Beach Life

Naples was a stunning little city; right on the Gulf’s coastline. Its charming shops and boutiques filled the narrow avenues. Deeper into the suburbs were houses that emitted sheer grandeur—, each one larger than the last. We finally arrived at our picturesque condo. There was a shallow pool to the right of the front gate as we entered. Inside the two- story home, there was a sense of simple joy all around; bright sunshine burst in through the large living-room windows, the greenery outside grew up and above the brick walls, and the beach was a mere three blocks away. The famed Naples Pier was only a few hundred feet from our street’s entrance so we walked toward it every chance we could. It branched out from the shoreline with impressive style, beckoning its onlookers to come up to the very front ledge. The ritzy elders would gather together at dusk along its wooden planks and drink the champagne they’d brought along with them. The sunsets were a watercolored canvas—, pink and orange tints painted the sky in smoky motions. A glimmering lemon drop hung in the heavens, slowly falling into the blue water below.

We climbed up the steps from our entryway and sat down on one of the benches overlooking the beach. On the sand up ahead, there were half a dozen dressed up people taking pictures. They parted like the Red Sea and there stood the radiant bride; beautiful in her flowing white dress. Her smile was as wide as the waterfront. She moved graciously with each new pose she took. The photographer stood and knelt, snapping the shots from every angle. All the best men gathered around the groom, popping champagne bottles into the air. They made celebrating classy.

“She looks so happy,” my mom softly said. I nodded in silent agreement. The entire scene remained in my mind for years to come—, envying it, wanting it for myself.

“I’d love to live here someday,” I mused aloud. We wouldn’t ever move there though we’d visit another handful of times in the years to follow, and that was enough for me.

A Bit of Travel

My mom and I shared such precious moments, making life-long memories and even within the commotion of our mutual realities we were happy, together in our own world of Friday night pizzas, Taco Bell dinners, and all the movies we’d see at our favorite theater. We started becoming best friends even before I knew what that truly entailed.

We were blessed to travel a bit more—, we drank hot chocolate in Aspen, wandered the riverwalk in San Antonio, and strolled through Rodeo Drive in Los Angeles. Though the place we’d visit most often was Chicago. We’d go every summer. Like clockwork; once June rolled around, we’d start planning our trip. We’d walk the bridges built over the rivers, stay on the highest floor possible in our hotels, and take as many pictures as we could. At night, I’d stare out the window with my mom and people-watch from many stories above. We’d try to guess how their lives led them to this point, at this specific time—, where they were going or where they were coming from. We painted as pretty a background as possible for all we saw. Walking through the streets, I’d look at the high residential towers and wonder if I’d ever live there someday. I’d think to myself how amazing it would be to hop on a random L-train and get off at any given stop just to explore the area around it. Every time we’d leave I’d feel a knot in my stomach and try to hide my sadness. The trips were always fun but the drive home was a reawakening to reality for me.

Bright Lights

My mom came into my room one day and nonchalantly said what every future groom wants to hear of their bachelor party.

“We’re going to Vegas.” A week later we were on a flight out toward the town. Upon landing, we drove past the motels and overnight wedding chapels, finding our way onto South Las Vegas Boulevard. Pulling up to the hotel, its absolute scope took our breath away. The Venetian was unparalleled in beauty and vibe. Walking in, we were transported directly to northeastern Italy. Block-shaped columns reached high up toward the curved ceilings where large paintings were displayed above. Gondolas glided atop the canals at every turn. The artificial sky projected light clouds against a darkening blue background—, dusk was everywhere. Though magnificent, we decided it was too important of a visit to just stay inside the whole time —, we needed to feel the pulse of the city.

My mom and I stepped out into a fluorescent labyrinth. The neon lights lit up the strip in an array of vivid colors—, bright and bursting with promises of endless fun and pure revelry. We walked from The Venetian up toward the other massive hotels slowly and carefully through the crowded streets. There was noise; lots of it—, from all different directions. In-between the metal links of the wired fences were folded up cards; advertisements for local escorts with their phone numbers listed. Each one was different and there seemed to be thousands of them, all lining the railings up and down the avenue. We stopped to take photographs every couple feet. As smartphones were a few years away, people still developed their pictures. Those of our Las Vegas trip were full of wavy lines of light in the backgrounds of shots and blurry movements from our inability to stand still while taking them. They perfectly represented how I felt about the city; wavy lines of light, blurry movements, a sense of eternal excitement surrounding all other emotion. These were streets people made everlasting memories on, and my mom’s snapshots of them reflected that in every way.

We finally reached the end of the strip and turned around to head back but decided to hop on a local bus that was coming in a few minutes instead of walk. There were three or so teenagers about my age standing at the stop with us. They wore ripped jeans that seemed too tight for their frames, torn leather jackets with studs, and had spiked hair that stood straight up. I liked punk rockers even back then. The bus eventually arrived and my mom and I boarded the near-empty shuttle and sat down in the back row. We stayed in silence for a little while, looking out the windows at all the staggering people walking by. The driver went down different streets and passed casino after casino until the big bright lights became more spread out. Soon we realized that we’d been going the wrong way. We quickly pulled the cord to let us off at the nearest stop. We hopped off and noticed that we were in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing around—, not even a gas station we could go into and ask for directions. We walked a few blocks by ourselves until we came upon a lit up twenty-four-hour diner. We entered in through the front and the little bell attached to the doorframe chimed our arrival for all to hear. The patrons sat quietly eating their meals and exchanging few words with each other. We looked around to see who could help us with directions when a blond-haired waitress came up to greet us.

“Two?,” she asked of our party.

“Oh no thank you,” I began, “we’re actually a bit lost and wondering how to get back to the strip.” She looked as if she wanted to tell us the best route but that it’d be too complicated to explain in such a short amount of time. Finally she said the nicest thing she could in her situation.

“You know what? I’m almost done with my shift, when I get off I can drive you back myself.” We were immediately grateful for the generous offer, seeing as she didn’t even know us. We were complete strangers yet she was kind enough to do this, so my mom and I took a seat on the bench by the waiting area and began to take in the small-diner-atmosphere that surrounded us.

Leaving Impressions

Silverware clanged against porcelain plates as omelettes were forked apart, soups were scooped up, and steak was intensely cut. I looked around at the people and wondered if they ever took advantage of the beautiful streets just a few blocks up—, if they loved visiting the strip just as much as tourists did or if they’d lived in Vegas long enough for it to become just as mundane as everything else. Maybe all the tourism was actually a turn-off and for us to ask for directions only implied that we were out-of-towners ourselves. Luckily, we’d run into the sweetest person that we could’ve found. She didn’t give us her name, but I saw her hustling around the restaurant—, always quick on her feet, from table to table, never looking as if she needed to stop or take a break.

A portly man appeared from the backroom and called over the waitress. I couldn’t hear exactly what he said but heard him end his speech to her with a “...and hurry up!” She nodded politely and went back to work. I didn’t like him. I could tell he was on her case more often than not and for as nice as she was, she didn’t deserve that kind of treatment from her manager. She came up to the cash register a few minutes later and punched out from her shift.

“Ready?,” she asked us. We got up from our seats and walked outside into the brisk night air. The waitress excused herself while she went to get her car and a moment later drove up in a dark blue Dodge Neon Sport. She already had an unlit cigarette in her mouth but asked anyway; “mind if I smoke?”

“Of course you can smoke!—, it’s your car,” my mom replied, putting the waitress at ease while she began puffing away. A few blocks over we started to see those bright lights again and like markers we followed them to our destination. She dropped us off right in front of our hotel and I asked my mom if I could give the waitress my spending money I had for the trip—, I felt for her and how hard she worked for a living. Gabriela nodded ‘no,’ reached into her own purse, pulled out a few bills, and discreetly handed them to the blond woman.

“Thank you so much!,” she said to us, “but you don’t have to do that.”

“No, thank you,” my mom replied back, “you saved us tonight.” With that we split ways and we’d never see her again, but I’d often think back to her every once in a while—, did she still have that job? Did her manager ever lighten up on her? Like always, I had many questions I’d never get the answers to. We walked up the massive staircase back toward the front doors of The Venetian and reentered its permanent twilight.

Sprawling Shadows

Those were the moments I cherished most with my mom—, the new places we’d be able to visit and doing it side-by-side. Each held different adventures, no matter how small, they all worked together to give us some of the best memories we have. When we weren’t out of town exploring new cities, we’d continue our routine of work and school at home.

The years passed by from my being a freshman in high school to sophomore and so on. I had an extreme case of senioritis and so rarely thought about schoolwork or what consequences that’d later have on my life. All I wanted to do was have different experiences. I tried smoking but it wouldn’t click with me until years later. The only taste of alcohol I’d had was a shot at sixteen and hated it. Then I turned eighteen and everything changed. Before the party could officially begin, I needed to graduate first. I continued to barely get by with my struggling grades and all I needed was to last a little bit longer until the end of May. I’d ordered my cap and gown and was getting ready for the graduation. The day finally arrived—, I dressed up in my green and gold uniform and drove down to the service hall. I stood in the group with all the other hopefuls who were waiting in line for their names to be called. Then, I heard my own. Walking up to the center of the stage, I almost lived out the moment in a perspective from above—, my principle was there waiting for me with an arm stretched out. I reached the front and shook his hand while being presented with my diploma. Unable to believe the reality of finally graduating, I looked up to the ceiling and mouthed two single words; “Thank you.”

After finishing high school, the time came for my mom and I to move again. We packed up all our belongings during the Winter of 2004–, ready to drive an hour or so out of town. We’d settled in a pleasant little city that had the types of suburbs one sees in the movies. Tall pine trees lined the long streets with houses that seemed straight out of a magazine mere feet away. They each had their own style and one after another, the clusters of homes exuded importance. I’d drive down the avenues in my spray-painted Nissan Sentra and feel as though it was an eyesore for the surrounding landscape. Nobody really stared, but I felt the attention all the same.

Unaware to me at the time, sprawling shadows hidden from sight stood in silence, waiting for me to cross their paths. My new terrain took on entirely different characteristics than I was previously accustomed to. Like being in a forest enshrouded by thick fog, I never saw it coming—, the presence of uncertainty. It wrapped itself around my spirit like a veil altering my future outlook on everything. Neither my mom nor I caught it in time; my downhill climb had already begun months before we moved. I would’ve never predicted such a decline in my personal life a year prior. I thought I’d had it all planned out. Unfortunately, it doesn’t matter how prepared one is, it still eventually rains.