Octavio Villalobos -D10

It wasn't raining when Tavo's mom kicked him out.

It wasn't like in those stories where something tragic happens and the sky conveniently turns grey and moody, the wind blowing strong, angry, carrying fresh leaves and the smell of wet soil.

No, it wasn't like that.

It was a beautiful day, actually.

The smell of spring flowers filled his nose, the morning birds chirping as his mother grabbed him by the hair and threw him face-first into the dirt.

Even filled with tears, her eyes were cold as ice as she uttered her words through closed teeth.

"You are not my daughter, and you sure as hell ain't my son."

Octavio felt those words like a stab to the heart.

He knew from the crib that he was unwanted, his mother blamed him for his father abandoning them, she had always made sure he knew that he had ruined her life. But even then, a part of him still tried to cling to the idea that beneath all of that resentment there was a glimmer of affection.

He was wrong.

He turned up at his uncle Tito's door at age seventeen, bruised and covered in mud. Tito and his wife were happy to welcome him into their home, their children excited to live with their cousin, though a little less excited about having to give up one of their bedrooms.

It took a little getting used to, but soon enough his uncle was happy to call him his nephew, standing up for him at any given opportunity. He welcomed him to work in the family business, a smallish butchery close to the town square. The pay was so good he didn't even need to take tesserae to live in relative comfort.

His life was looking up.

He finally had everything that he'd been wanting for oh so many years.

So why did his heart feel so heavy?

Tavo had always been a bit of a drinker. Ever since he was fourteen he'd steal his mother's rum to go hang out with his friends near the border, it was never anything serious, just a couple of times a month, he was just having fun.

Until it became serious.

After he got kicked out it started to become a habit, locking himself into his room and drowning his pain in alcohol, trying to get his mother's cruel words out of his head.

At first, it was just once per week.

Then a couple of times.

Then almost every night.

First just one or two glasses.

Then a whole bottle.

One day he forgot to lock his door, his uncle barged into his room after hearing some strange noises, found him passed out, choking on his own vomit.

He could have died.

He could have died.

The idea didn't scare him as much as it should, it sounded almost... Appealing.

After that incident he decided he had to slow down, not so much for himself as for his family, for his uncle and aunt who were worried sick, for his cousins who had to stand at his door, horrified, as their dad tried to save him from death.

Why didn't he just let him choke.

He didn't stop drinking, he tried for a little bit, but the withdrawal hit him like a truck. He was so shaky and nauseous that he almost chopped his finger off multiple times at work. So no, quitting was not an option.

Instead, he quickly found a genius alternative: he started to carry a flask around, just one swig every time he needed a little numbing. That was all, no overindulging (most of the time), no horrible headaches the next day, when he started to feel the effects of a hangover he just took another sip and voilá, good as new. He didn't even feel clumsier, he actually felt way more functional than when he was sober.

His plan was going amazing, even when the news got to him he didn't break down, didn't even cry.

"Tavito, tu mamá se murió esta mañana."
[Tavito, your mother died this morning.]

Why should he? She wouldn't cry if she were in his place.

"El funeral va a ser el miércoles."
[The funeral is going to be on Wednesday.]

She never cared for him, she could go to hell, he didn't give a shit.

"¿Estás bien, Tavo?"
[Are you okay, Tavo?]

Was he okay? Oh, he was doing amazing.

Needless to say, he didn't show up to the funeral.

Instead, he celebrated, he rejoiced on his mother's death, why should he be sad? Why should he hurt? Ding-dong the witch was dead, he was ecstatic.

He woke up the next day under a tree in the outskirts of the city with no recollection of how he got there, a noose poorly tied around his neck.

He told his uncle he spent the night at a friend's place.

There was no need to worry him.

Everything was fine.

Everything is fine.

...

Shit.

Tavo always had a thing for the arts.

Ever since he was a child he would spend all class doodling on his notebook, every time the teacher would scold him he would just stop for a few minutes and then get right back to it.

For his sixteenth birthday Louie gifted him a set of ten colored pencils. They were the best gift he'd ever gotten, he was over the moon; he took care of them like they were his children.

But pencils wear down over time.

He was twenty when the last of those pencils became completely unusable.

As soon as the realization downed on him, he broke down sobbing.

It was like losing Louie all over again.

His aunt was quick to enter his room, she held him as he cried and screamed, rocked him and hummed a soft tune until, little by little, he started to calm down.

"... I'm sorry Yanny," he croaked, wiping his eyes and nose as he pulled himself away from her arms "I'm such an ugly crier." A sad chuckle "You... Thank you, just... I'm sorry, pretend that never happened I-"

"Hey," he was interrupted "no need for that, it's okay, things like this happen." She lovingly put her palm over his cheek and it almost burned, he could have started to cry again right at that moment "You're okay." And her smile could light up the entire room.

They spent the next half an hour in complete silence, Tavo went back to hugging her, and Yanny went back to humming while rubbing his back in circular motions, much like a mother would to his child.

Much like his mother never did.

Octavio doesn't know when he started crying again, he wouldn't have noticed himself quietly weeping were it not for his aunt.

"Tell me what's going on baby boy."

Baby boy.

No one had ever called him that before.

He had never realized how much he needed it.

How much he craved a mother's gentle touch.

"M- my... My..." He struggled to get his words out "... My pencils worn out?" And there was the sobbing again "It's so stupid! I can't, I- I can't... I can't breathe..."

"Shhh, shhh, calm down honey, it's okay, I don't think it's stupid, breathe with me okay?"

It took a good minute of deep breathing, but he did eventually calm down again.

"Would you like a glass of water?"

"No, dont worry, I... I'm so-"

"Don't say you're sorry." And then she held his face in his hand, he felt like he was going to melt "Don't ever apologize for this, okay?" She gave him a little peck on the cheek "And don't call me Yanny, I'm your auntie, call me Tita."

Tita smiled, and he couldn't help but to smile back.

The next day when he got back from work there was a brand-new pack of colored pencils on his bed.

His heart filled with pure joy.

It was the anniversary of his mother's passing that day.

His family had been constantly checking up on him all day. They must have thought they were playing it cool, but they really weren't. He was thankful, don't get him wrong, but... He was also incredibly irritated.

He was doing perfectly fine, their well-intentioned actions more than helping were just putting him in edge.

Tavo was okay, and he told them as such every single time they asked.

"Oye Tavito, ¿Quieres ir a visitarla?"
[Hey Tavito, do you want to go visit her?]

Why the fuck would he want that.

It had been two years since she died, and he hadn't gone to visit her grave not one single time.

"No gracias Tito, yo creo que me voy a dormir cuando llegue pa la casa, estoy raspao."
[No thank you Tito, I think I'm going to sleep as soon as I get home, I'm exhausted]

Why would he? Why would he visit the woman who basically tortured him for years on end? She didn't deserve that, she didn't deserve to be given that importance, didn't deserve to be mourned, didn't even deserve to be remembered. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction, not then and not ever.

"Ta bien mijo, vaya con dios."
[It's okay son, god bless you.]

...

He didn't know how he got to the cemetery.

Stumbling drunk, bottle in hand, mumbling something incomprehensible even for himself. He thanked the lord the place was empty, he looked like a mess.

He felt like a mess too.

His eyes were unfocused as he made his way to the end of the cemetery, the place with the unmarked graves, the ones that never had any flowers, the ones that sat there forgotten for years and years until you couldn't even tell there was ever something there anymore.

One of the graves that did have a stone there was his mother's, it took him a good ten minutes to find it under the dim moonlight.

"Here lays Eugenia Villalobos."

That was it.

No "you will be missed", no "beloved by many"...

No "loving mother and sister".

None of that bullshit.

Just her name.

He stared at it as he took a swig of rum.

"Me vuelves a agarrar mis botellas pendeja del diablo y te las parto en la cabeza."
[You take my bottles again you little shit and I'll break them over your head.]

"Heh..." a wry grin formed on his lips.

He took another swig and then sat down on front of it, staring expressionless as he pulled out his switchblade, the one he'd been carrying since he was ten.

"Long time no seen mom" his voice lacked any emotion, just pure dryness.

He felt like he wasn't really there, like he was just an onlooker from afar.

"Do you remember me?"

Mindlessly opening the switchblade, he wondered if she'd thought about him in her last moments, had he crossed her mind as she drowned in that tub? Did she wish he was there? Was she ever sorry for what she did to him?

He doubted it.

"Yeah, you probably don't" taking a last long swig, he put the bottle away, "I'm your not-son... Yeah, things have changed a lot since you left."

His gaze shifted from her gravestone to his knife.

Wait, when did he take it out?

Why did he take it out?

He was on autopilot mode.

What was he doing?

Did it even matter?

... No

Nothing mattered.

He put the switchblade to his neck.

"Ojalá yo nunca te hubiera parido, carajita del coño."
[ I wish I had never birthed you, you bastard child ]

A single drop of blood fell to the ground.

It was almost poetic.

What was better than spitting on that woman's grave?

Bleeding on it.

"... Yeah, I wish so too."

... Did he?

"I really do."

Was he sure about this?

"Vamos a ahorrarle a los demas ese peso."
[Lets spare the others of that burden.]

He wasn't.

As he pressed the blade harder against his skin other memories came to mind.

Not the cold sharp edge of his mother's screams, but a completely different type of memory.

"Tavo, vení pa acá, mirá lo que está haciendo la Martina"
[Tavo, come here, look at what Martina is doing]

His cousin's smile was contagious as she climbed on the door frame, she looked like a little spider.

"Look Tavo! I'm a monkey!"

He threw his head back as he laughed.

"Tan bella mi monita!"
[So cute my little monkey!]

And then she smiled even wider.

... That was a good day.

"Epale Octavio, qué lo qué"
[Hey Octavio, what's up?]

"Eh, could be better" Antonio, a colleague, greeted him with a fist bump, a mildly concerned look on his face at Tavo's response. He stood tall beside his own 172cm frame.

"Why man, what's wrong?"

"Nothing really, I'm just a bit tired, that's all" he lied.

"You know what will cheer you up? My mates and I are going to have a few beers at my place tonight, wanna join us?"

His first instinct was to decline, however, something inside of him compelled him to say:

"Yeah, why not?"

"Awesome dude! Be there at nine, we'll be waiting for you!"

He was sure he was going to regret it.

But he actually ended up having a lot of fun that night.

He was a really thoughtful guy, they weren't close, but he greeted Tavo every day with a smile on his face.

"GOOOOOOOOLAZOOOOOOOOOO" his aunt's voice could probably be heard from the capitol at that moment.

"That's not fair!" Refuted his uncle between labored breaths, "he pushed me! That was a foul!"

"Come on old man! You're just making up things now" Tavito panted, smiling widely as he enjoyed his victory, "just accept it, you're no match against me, I am now crowned..." He took the little plastic tiara Tina gave him, "the king of soccer! Bow for me, you peasants!"

"Oh come on, you're so corny" another one of his cousins snatched the tiara from his head.

"Hey! Don't disrespect your king!"

"King my ass."

"Language!" Reminded him aunt Tita.

"Oh you're gonna pay for that you little dweeb."

Tavo wrestled his cousin to the ground, his aunt being the only one expressing any semblance of disapproval, with his uncle and Tina rooting for either one or the other.

After that they went home and had some home-made sweet bread with goat milk.

He didn't want to do this.

He didn't want to do this.

Just as he had opened it, he closed the switchblade, quickly putting it in his pocket, like he didn't want to give himself the time to change his mind.

He stared at the stone for a few moments more before slurring a few words more:

"You have no power over me"

And then he left.

There was warm beef bone broth waiting for him at home.