Hasta La Vista

You call after her, begging her to stay, hoping that she will eventually run into your arms. 

She always does. Of course you expect that, she could never leave you. She loves you. A bit too much if you ask me. 

You force your warm arms around her neck gently to restrain her, as if that could stop her from leaving. She continues packing without a word, stuffing all that is possible into the small purple suitcase. 

“Stella, Troy, let’s go.” she croaks out, elbowing you with her sharp little elbows. You groan and let go, but you grab onto her white blouse and pull her in tight. 

“You always come back,” you say, “This won’t be any different. Melanie, I love you more than anything, please, I am so, so sorry I didn’t mean to… ” Right then, all I want to do is scream, “You are lying, you love the whore not Mom”. But I don’t. She doesn’t want to hear it either.  She squeezes your hand tight, as to signal that it is time to leave. You reluctantly let go. You understand, maybe you are even a bit happy that we are leaving so you can spend time with that woman.

I watch Mom reach out for my hand. I grab on to it, holding onto it tight like a lifesaver. I pull my suitcase in and swing my backpack over my shoulder. She puts her arm around Stella who just innocently carries her little plush bunny. 

We walk out the door. No words are said. I look back. You hold back the tears, to appear like the playbook man. But I can see it in your eyes, you beg for her to stay. You have a stupid little hope, a wish, that she will chicken out and stay put. I can’t control myself any longer. I hate you. “You don’t deserve her,” I spit. Your eyes cloud up with anger. Mom yanks on my arm so I don’t aggravate you anymore. We are out of your reach. 

***

“Troy, where have you always wanted to go?” Mom asks. She shows no signs of regret. That’s good. 

“I don’t know.” I don’t want to answer. I know what question this is. We are just going to run away to a foreign land for a fresh start. She’s already done this many times, ever since I was a baby. 

It’s because of you.

“Stella, sweetie, where have you always wanted to go?”

“The moon!” Stella smiles, as if this is a game. Understandable, I think, she is only four. Mom patiently tells her that is not an option.

“Uh, I dunno.” Stella says, fiddling with her stuffed animal.

Mom sighs, dragging us to the subway so we can go to the train station. When we get there, she decides for us. But as she buys our tickets, I see the regret in her face. It’s inevitable. She wants you so badly. 

As much as I don’t want to leave, I have to say, “No, Mom. We cannot go back there.” She stares into the distance. I know she is absent minded, thinking of all the good memories with you, like your first date with her. 

When me and Stella were younger, you and Mom would always tell us about that date how you thought it was always meant to be. You met her on a blind date in college, you were a senior and she was a sophomore. Your friends forced you both into the small Italian bistro across town, watching and giggling the whole date. There was reason to, of course, as you both obviously awkwardly interacted. You spilled water on her blouse. She knocked the bread basket on your pants. You mumbled. She nervously talked about her favorite clothing stores. Your first date was a train wreck. But the detail you never left out was the end. You and Mom went to your car to avoid their friends and just laid on the hood and talked for a while. Nothing special, but you thought she was just the sweetest and she thought you were just the funniest. 

But Mom isn’t reminiscing on the memories of you. She tugs on my sleeve, and then I see it. She is staring right at you. 

You stand in the middle of the train station with a bouquet of wilting pink and white flowers from the gas station nearby and a small plastic container of cheap chocolates, also from the gas station. 

You never follow us back. This time you do because you feel she really will never come back for you. 

It’s sort of pathetic. 

“Melanie, please!” You holler across the station. You take out a cheap little megaphone. You scream through it. Everyone stops and stares at you. They think it’s crazy. I do too. But Mom doesn’t seem to. 

“Melanie, I love you. I love you so, so much. This was a mistake, a one time drunk sorta thing that I will never ever do again. I never meant to sleep with her, I never meant to hurt you this badly. Please, come back. Just one more chance. I promise. The last thing I would want is to break your heart. Please, Melanie. Please.” You cry, you know it’s your last chance, your last shot of ever seeing her. 

It is so cheesy, but some people just think that reclaiming your love is just the sweetest thing. 

You end on a powerful note, whispering through the megaphone in a light, sweet tone, “Will you marry me? Again?”

I look at Mom. I can’t tell what she thinks. Her eyes say no, but her hands start to fidget. And right before my eyes, I see her running to you, kissing your face and crying into your shoulder. She said yes.

Everyone smiles and applauds. 

I swear I see you smirk at me. You are right, I have lost. 

Mom pulls the purple suitcase and motions for me and Stella to come. Come to you? No way. Stella runs and jumps into your arms, happy there is no fighting, gleeful that her parents will stay together. 

I will not stay with them. Mom always runs back to you like a puppy. You always treat her like crap. 

I look at the train tickets. 43A, 43B, 43C, they read. Mom furrows her brows, she senses that I am considering it. 43A, 43B, 43C, I run through my head again. I’m old enough to leave you and Mom, aren’t I? You both are crazy. 

The train approaches and people crowd along, waiting to get in. I look at you. All I can see is all the bad memories of when I caught you in bed, multiple times, with Laura, Sam, Betsy, Angela, Stephanie, Tara, and Kate. I look at Mom. All I see are the times when she runs back to you, full of relief. 

I go on the train. I lug my backpack and lug my little red suitcase on board and recline back in my chair. Your face contorts and starts to grow angry and Mom and Stella start to cry. 

As the train leaves, I watch you, Mom and Stella. But mainly you. As Mom and Stella cry and look away, I see an evil smile plastered on your face as to say hasta la vista. 

Well, hasta la vista to you too.