She Is Beautiful

Eighteen

Eighteen
Forward

"You've improved a lot." Eusebio's slurred speeches became rare to be heard, his seizure attacks and excessive drooling weren't occurring very often now too.

"Therapy sessions helped." Eusebio bent down, tying his shoelace that he just noticed had come undone. "Thanks."

"No, thanks." Charles briefly carried Eusebio's books for him as he knotted his lace. The boy had been going to his performances, and maybe because of it, they had been talking a lot. Eusebio even gifted him a leather jacket. An early Christmas present he had said. He was a tender-hearted guy. And a good friend.

He gave Eusebio a quick smile before heading out of the school grounds to talk to his Dad. Not one place in the school was safe for private conversations. The convenience store just across was the only safe one.

"Hey, son."

"I woke you up." Charles felt bad. His Dad's voice was raspy, obvious that he just woke up. Shamming a smile, he put on his excited and cheery tone. "Less than three weeks left."

Mr. Felix forced himself to lift his back from the couch. He sat up. "Yeah."

"I'm thinking this year's Christmas will be the best Christmas."

Hearing his son come up with all kinds of things to say to be sure he'll be alright was making him feel more guilty. "Do you actually think it will be the best, son?"

Charles stopped scanning the chocolates arrayed in the rack in front of him. "Yes, Dad. I think it will be."

Mr. Felix covered his mouth as he grunted, not wanting his son to hear it. "Because of the dinner?"

"Yes."

With that, Mr. Felix broke down sobbing. He stifled his shaking and crying voice, his every heavy breath as muted as possible. His son asked him what was wrong. A phone call wasn't enough a barrier for him not to notice the worry in his son's one question. He lied that he just remembered something. That last Christmas they spent together as a family. Him. His wife. And Charles. A family once happy and complete.

He stared at the few empty bottles of liquor lying in a mess on the table and on the floor. He had been drinking the whole day and the whole night yesterday. Three years had passed but he still found it hard to go on. Hard for him to not blame himself. He left his wife not long after she was diagnosed with sepsis. His reasons? He could not take care of her. He was battling anxiety and depression back then without her knowledge. He did not know if he would be able to take care of her. But she, she would always be his home.

"Son, I'm sorry." He picked himself up, headed to the sink to get some dish clothes and went back to the living room to wipe the spills of liquor and clean the mess he created. "Charles, did you know you were the only reason I'm holding on up until now? Forgive me. Forgive me for being such an incompetent father. I will try, son. To do better from now on." As far as Mr. Felix could remember, he never had a heart-to-heart talk with his son.

"Dad." Charles blinked and blinked, a sharp pang of pain pricked his heart. "Dad, you've been doing a really good job all these years. You don't need to do more. I'll see you in two weeks?"

As Mr. Felix hung up, he made his way to the master bedroom, a large room screeching of loneliness. He got down on one knee, pulling the very last drawer of the bedside table and taking out the two-page paper, the only one thing kept inside it. On the second page, below his wife's signature, on the blank line above his name with the word respondent beside it, he groped for a pen on the table and no more havering, he penned his signature. It was but time for him to let go of her. And move forward. With just him and his son.

As his Dad hung up, Charles smiled. Unfeignedly.

He headed back to the school. Lunch was over ten minutes ago, but he stopped by his locker anyway. To finish packing his remaining stuff, to clean all the punk-related posters and stickers he had taped. As he opened his locker though, a slip of blue sticky note floated out down to the floor. He bent to pick it up. Written there was one word. And a name.

'Thanks. -Alona'

Later, after class, he slid a note back to Alona.

'I'm sorry. I lied.'