Luca patiently waits for me next to my motorcycle. We hug each other like we may never see each other again. Before I give a chance for more tears to fall, I climb onto my bike and don’t look back as I drive through the iron gates. If I do, I’m not sure I’ll have the strength to follow through on what I have planned.
It’s almost five when I turn down my uncle’s quiet, picturesque street lined with canopied ficus trees. His home is nestled in a small neighborhood, a block from the beach, with a few other Key West-style homes. The driveway of his light blue house is empty when I pull in. Waves breaking against the shore replace the humming of my motorcycle engine when I turn the engine off. The sound immediately soothes the tension in my chest. The tightness in my arms and legs eases as I stretch them after thehour ride. The key is right where he said it would be, under the small stone statue of happy Buddha.
Natural light floods the entry and living room. Everything is like it’s always been: pastel blue, turquoise, and white are the backdrop to the beachy, nautical décor. The driftwood table, the antique ore propped in the corner, the picture of me winning my first tournament next to the silver octopus lamp, all of it is the same. And although I’ve been here a thousand times, today feels different, more permanent. The house hasn’t changed, but I have. I’m not visiting for a BBQ or watching a martial arts tournament. This time, I’m here to stay, at least for the next several months.
The note on the kitchen counter reads:At the dojo. Be home around 8. Uncle T.
I already know which bedroom is mine. I used to sleep here when my parents went on vacation or when Silvia took time off for her vacations. I make my way down the short hall and push open the door. The queen bed, covered with a light pink comforter, is in the center of the room. A nightstand is to its left, and an armoire is in the corner. A new desk with a chair sits against the opposite wall.
I press the switch to turn on the closet light, then throw my backpack on the floor next to the desk. My uniforms are hanging on the wooden rod just as expected. Black and green are the colors that represent Monarch University, the Vipers.
I hate green.
Heading toward the kitchen, I glance into the family and dining rooms. The house is small but quaint and comfortable. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge. After taking a drink, I roll the cool bottle over my forehead.
“This is my life now,” I mutter and open the French doors. The sound of waves crashing against the shore fills the silence.The soothing noise and salty air immediately begin to calm my jumping nerves.
The movers arrive thirty minutes later with my boxes. It doesn’t take long to put away the few things I brought from home. I set the picture of Mom, Dad, and me on the nightstand, and then the other one with me and Luca winning our first competition. It’s only been three months since that dreadful night. It feels like it happened yesterday and also like it was a lifetime ago. Neither lessens the relentless hurt. I miss him so damn much. The mess of feelings tangled in my heart is in a constant battle: anger, remorse, regret, frustration, loss, emptiness, and sadness, all vying to be at the forefront. None of them win for very long before another takes its place.
The small box I asked the mover to bring sits on the floor under the windowsill. It holds a collection of things left by my father. I haven’t had the courage to open it yet. Maybe it’s fear of what I’ll find that keeps me from being brave enough to lift the lid. Or possibly I don’t open it because when I finally do, I’ll no longer have his treasures to look forward to.
I don’t have the energy to open it today, so I leave it under the sill where the sunshine, the rain, the moon, and the stars can watch over it until I can gather enough courage to lift its lid. I lie back on the bed and watch the ceiling fan spin in lazy circles. It’s crazy how you think your life is untouchable, then BAM! It’s turned upside down in one night. And it will never be the same again.
“Kins, I’m home, and I brought dinner.”
I wake to the sound of my uncle’s voice. Damn, I must have dozed off. Through the curtains, darkness has replaced the light.I glance at my phone. Eight thirty. After pulling on a pair of sweats, I head into the kitchen.
Uncle Trey sets the cardboard box of white paper containers on the island. The smile on his face is as welcoming as it is sad. His short, light brown hair is starting to gray at his sides. With his board shorts and flip-flops, he still looks younger than his forty-two years.
“Come here, kiddo.” He embraces me in a warm hug.
“Thanks, Uncle Trey.”
He rests his chin on the top of my head. “Anything you need, I’m here.”
“Thank you.” For the third time today, I cry.
We make small talk as we eat. After our bellies are full of lo mein, cashew chicken, fried rice, and egg rolls, I fold the tops of the half-eaten boxes and place the leftovers in the fridge.
When I turn, my uncle says, “Here,” and tosses me a fortune cookie.
I catch it and smile. After ripping open the cellophane, I break the cookie in two. The small piece of paper blossoms from its center.
A stranger will teach you true sacrifice.
“Whatever the hell that means,” I mutter as I toss the shred of nonsense into the trash.
Besides getting my uniform ready for tomorrow, there’s one thing I have to do. I tell Uncle Trey good night and head for my room.
He glances at his watch. “Just so I’m not crazy, most college students don’t usually go to bed before ten, right?”
I chuckle. “I’m just tired.”
“Completely understandable. And have no fear, I’ll get the hang of this...” He wags his hand between us. “Just give me a couple of weeks.”
“You got it.” I smile, then head for my room.
In the en suite bathroom, I stare at myself in the mirror as I pull the band from my hair. Light glints off my double eyebrow piercings, one a ring, the other a small, curved barbell. Blonde hair cascades down my back. I’ll miss it a lot, but what I need to do is necessary for what’s to come. I set the box of dye on the edge of the sink.
