II WISDOM

 Sometimes we fear what we already know or what we don’t understand about ourselves or others around us. It takes a little bit of doubt to stain our hearts—minds—to lose trust in the people who care for us the most in the world. Knowledge is boundless and doesn’t discriminate—it’s an idea—it peaks the mind. What we lack, we make up with knowledge. To be in the know, one can’t fear the answers lying right in front of us. Sarasvati didn’t fear knowledge. The Hindu goddess saw it as a gift, without it, we’d be a shell of a human being without the human part. You might find yourself on a journey, seeking help from a teacher, or you might be the teacher, preaching your mind out to your students or to those who sought after your guidance. Some journeys are rocky at first, but they tend to get better at the end. Look within yourself and you’ll find the answers you seek. 

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—Gio—

I don’t know what to do. Telling him to run-run wouldn't do. I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m as lost as he looked. Gave him a shoulder to hide from the world. Beyond the street, laid nothing of what she was or used to be. Looking down, he broke inside, I could tell. Nothing mattered right now, except for what was in his heart. Mine didn’t count. Nothing else mattered, but his heart. I could tell he was in pain, his shoulders shook slightly in a way it showed, he was not ok. I marred at the streets where he grew, fought the silence being brewed between us.

Tell him it was ok to cry.

I knew he was not all fine, all good, alright. It’s ok to cry every once in a while, maybe even scream and shout to the world about what wasn’t fair. I didn’t want to see him break, but if it’s what he wanted to do, I’ll give him all the time and space in the world to do so. People might tell him to suck it up, let it go—I knew him, this wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to be angry, so, let Ray be angry. Let him hurt if it’s what he wanted; don’t let him filter his thoughts and emotions; be ready to curse everything if it would make him feel better, even though I knew it wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t change the facts, his neighbor had been consumed; tarnished, the essence of herself, the memory of who she was was gone for good. All it left of her was a locket, which might not even have a photo inside. It became evident, it was proof of her being here once; living across the street, the old, and cranky neighbor lived here.

Would it make any difference, if I told him, it happened to everything and everyone The Shadow touched? When it penetrates your weakness, your love, your soul—it would take it all and eat it whole—feeds and feeds because it was always thirsty for more. Some called it the eater, others called it demonic, we called it the shadow. Because it’s what it was—a shadow of who and what those people it consumed were. Ray was a husk. If he were to live in a forest, he would be a tree husk. Laid there, looking absentminded throughout the entire evening. The sun had fallen asleep before we shut the door to his house.

His parents gasped when they quizzed over his pale-stricken and quiet form in my arms. They asked me, “Who are you? What’s going on? What happened to our son?” They only had to look at the caretaker behind them to know.

“Brother! What are you doing in Puerto Rico? When did you arrive?” Ray’s father asked, keeping a cautionary eye on Ray and a scowl on me.

Although he had salt and pepper hair, he held a striking power in his stance. The father held the gun, ready to shoot whoever hurt his son. His hands clenched and opened—a quality Ray inherited from him. Ray’s mother, however, went straight to her son. She didn’t even acknowledge Mr. Rotchird or the rest of the cavalry for that matter. Her glance went from worried to menacing between us. She leered, somehow looking taller than her five-foot-and an extra two-inch heel. It couldn't have been clearer, I presented to be no match for her. I don’t blame the way she judged me, ready to kill me over, melt the flesh off my face. It was understandable, justifiable, and careful. She was aka—the wolf. Her hand clutched the keys, the squint of her eyes raised all alarms, set to drive her car and send Ray off to the hospital for his broken ankle. The blood had flaked on his feet and toes and soaked his converse into a mutty-red. Still, she darted a look at her brother-in-law and narrowed. Mr. Rotchird hobbled to his brother and patted his shoulder. In this precise moment, when they crossed glances at one another, it clicked. I knew then, Ray’s mother had crossed hospitals off her list, for now.

“We can talk over this in your office. Gio should take him to his room. Sid, go with him, his ankle needs more than a look over,” Mr. Rotchird signaled to my little brother, practically squeezing Sid on my back on the way to the stairs.

Julio was ready to take on the reins and pull up rank—he didn’t like people undermining my authority—he liked it less when someone undermined him. Still, he stepped back after he saw I was fine with Mr. Rotchird being in charge. This was home away from home, and we weren’t locals—we were intruders—sort of.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” I said, looking at no one but Ray.

His father scuffed, “a little late for that don’t you think. I’d carry him myself if it wasn’t for breaking my back last summer. Mamita can—”

“I’ll take you both there,” Ray’s mother said, nodded to her husband, and blinked back at Sid. If I didn’t guess it right, she had already made plans to show us the way to Ray’s room. Something in her stare could see through my little brother, even when he made sure to hide his ears and tails. This was Ray’s mother, who knows what she could or couldn’t see through him, even all of us.