Stevan Mena - Transience

“More paperwork. Sit.”

She sat down beside him, wondering why she agreed to this. He handed her the book.

“This looks like someone’s diary.” She opened it and flipped a few pages. “You’re not supposed to read these,” she said with a sly grin, but serious.

“It’s okay, it’s not supposed to exist. Can you read her handwriting?”

“She drew these pictures? Man… they sick, oh shit.”

“Can you read it?”

“I’m reading it.”

“Out loud?”

“Which page?”

“I don’t know. Just read.”

“Today was cloudy. I stubbed my toe on my bedpost, it hurt so bad. My little brother won’t stop singing that stupid song—”

“Skip to the next page.” Jack twirled his hand in a rush.

“I miss my papa. Haven’t seen him for a few days, he is working nights again.”

“Next one.”

She mumbled, straining to read the first few scribbles. “ January 12. Ummm, to a, to see it hanging there, knowing so many people could admire it for years to come. My papa was so proud, I came in first place. I got a gift; free dinner for two at Cafe Gianna’s. I gave it to my father, to take my mother. He works so hard. He cried when he saw it. He touched my name at the bottom. He’s been back there three times since it went up. He tells me, this is just the beginning.”

“Skip to the final entry,” Jack said.

She flipped to the last written page. “ April 17. Today in class a man posed nude for us to paint. I know it was not a sin, but I felt ashamed. Like I do when I have those feelings. Victor gets angry at me. He scares me sometimes. I love him with my heart. I want to love him with my body- ooh, this is getting good.”

“Just keep reading.”

“ I want to love him with my body, but I don’t want to lose the love of the Lord. My mother would kill me if she knew. How can something so beautiful be such a sin?”

“She mention Victor’s last name?” Jack asked.

The girl read a few more sentences to herself, mumbling as she scanned the lines.

“No, but there’s a phone number next to this, look.”

Jack took the book back and stood up. “Thanks.” He handed her ten dollars and walked back to his car.

“This girl gonna get pissed if she finds out you read her diary?” Jack opened his door and climbed in.

“No, she’d dead.”

The girl shivered and wiped her hands on her jeans, grossed out.

Rebecca crept past Laura, asleep on the couch in the living room. She had taken some aspirin and dozed off while watching TV, still on with the volume low. Rebecca moved through the kitchen to the laundry room in back.

Inside were stacks of boxes, some opened, some still sealed with box tape since the move. She’d seen her mother carry a small book into this room and return empty handed. Her mother had been crying, unaware she’d been watching her from the staircase, which gave a clear view into the kitchen and the entrance to the laundry area if she crouched down under the metal railing.

Rebecca went to the open boxes first. One was filled with clothes of hers that she no longer fit into, donate to Goodwill was scribbled on the side . Another had pots and pans in it. Rebecca moved that box aside and something in it shifted, making a loud noise. Rebecca froze and listened for her mother. She waited a good minute before she continued, opening another box that was filled with old photo albums. The first one was a flip book from Disney World. Rebecca was just 3 or 4 years old. She had no memory of going, but from the photographs it looked like she had fun. She wondered why she had so much trouble remembering things from when she was younger.

She opened her parent’s wedding album. The first picture was a large color print of the two of them, happy, kissing. She puffed out her cheeks and frowned. She quickly closed it and moved it aside. There were some loose pictures at the bottom. She gathered them up and flipped through one by one. Most were of her mother when she was younger. Her hair much longer than it is now. There was one of her grandfather. He looked angry in the photo, his eyes going in different directions.

Then she found a small black phone book at the bottom of the box. She recognized the binding — this was the book her mother was holding . There was a picture inside. It was faded, but she could clearly make out her mother with her arm around the girl from the paper. Carmen. It was all true. Why did she lie to me? The betrayal made Rebecca feel very alone.

She recalled the doctor asking her a question after the third or fourth session:

“Rebecca, tell me, who is Carmen?”

He said she had told him her name was Carmen while she was under. She had no idea who he was talking about, she had no memory of that name or who it belonged to. Certainly no memory of ever saying it.

After their last session, she came out of it to find the doctor was sweating and very nervous. When she got up from his comfortable couch, she noticed the small green lamp that normally sat on the table beside her was on the floor, smashed. That was the last time she ever sat alone with the doctor.

The following visit, the doctor brought her and her mother in his office, all serious like. He asked her mother if she knew who Carmen was. Her mom got all fidgety, turned to her like she’d said a curse word or something. Her mother said to wait for her outside with the secretary. A few minutes later she came out all upset, grabbed her arm and said they were never coming back. She wouldn’t even let her go back to pick up her sketchbook.

She had waited two days, until her mother stopped muttering to herself, to ask her who the doctor was talking about. Who was Carmen? She sensed her mother was keeping something from her. She’d always sensed it. Then the report on the news. Why would she lie? Was she scared of her nightmares being real?

She flipped through the book to C, but found no entry. She flipped to the M’s and there it was, the name Carmen Muniz circled with a heart. She placed the book on her lap and repacked the box, closing it. She clutched the book and returned to the kitchen. She sat on a tall stool with a round red cushion and picked up the phone.

The drone of the dial tone made her shiver nervously. She swallowed, listening a moment to make sure her mom wasn’t up and about. She dialed the first few digits, her small fingers trembling. The terror was making her head ache, but her curiosity was so intense she decided facing the inevitable was her only choice. The pain and fear would be there anyway.

She finished dialing, hesitating before inputting the last number. She pressed it, sending the signal whisking along its way, then held the phone with both hands — waiting.

She looked over her shoulders several times, making sure the coast was clear. She checked the clock over the sink. 12:30 A.M. She hadn’t slept a normal schedule in so long, it never occurred to her that whoever answered on the other end might not be too pleased to be getting a call this late, regardless of who was on the line.

It rang once, twice, three times… four times. Rebecca went to hang up when she heard a click.

“Hola?” a voice said. It was Francisco. Rebecca sat silently, her mouth open, but no words. “Hola? Hello?” he said again.

“¿Quién es, Francisco?” Hester’s voice said in the background, nervously. The sound bounced around in Rebecca’s ears — she recognized it. She opened her mouth wider, but again nothing came out. Rebecca could hear the phone change hands.

“Hello?” Hester said, clearing her throat, still groggy. Rebecca pulled the phone away from her ear in terror, but curiosity pushed it right back, fastening it to her head. “Hello, who is this? Nada, no one.”