Lessons for Chocolate Confessions

He was still following her. She had stopped looking, but she felt it. His presence pushed against her back and propelled her forward, away from the horrible possibilities of what could happen if he caught up. She didn’t know who he was and what he wanted with her.

It was cold out but Megan was suffocating under her coat. Her shirt was soaked in her sweat and her breath left her in short, forceful bursts. She had already passed her bus stop and didn’t know where she was going. Megan had seen these streets many times, but was never on foot when she passed by. Her high heels prevented her from running so she maintained a fast trot. Which meant that the man could catch up to her whenever he felt like it, yet ever since she got off the train, he had remained the same distance away with a persistent stride and obsessive gaze.

She hadn’t gotten a good look at the man, so she didn’t know what she would say if she managed to call the police. But she was in no position to be making any phone calls anyway. What was she going to do then? Stop and confront him? Yeah, right. Keep running? That’s what she’s been doing and it wasn’t helping. She was choking with panic when suddenly, she was startled by a woman calling to her from across the street.

“Hola! Hey, miss!” 

Megan looked to her right and saw an older woman, full-figured and short, headed in her direction. She was wearing a grey jacket over a crisp, collared shirt with two rows of buttons. She had black slacks, the loose kind that a waitress might wear, and black sneakers. Her hair was in a neat bun at the back of her head. Megan was certain she didn’t know her, but she unconsciously slowed down and the woman came right up next to her. 

They continued forward as the woman said, “Hello, are you okay? I couldn’t help but notice you look lost. Do you need help?” Her voice was gentle and comforting.

Before she could make up her mind whether she could trust this stranger, Megan desperately confided in her with a panicked edge to her voice, “I am lost. But someone is following me and I’m scared. I don’t know what to do.”

Hearing this, the woman became alarmed. She sneaked a look behind them, and she might have seen something move, but it could have easily been an animal or some garbage rolling around in the wind. She didn’t think she saw anyone else other than the young woman when she crossed the street. But now she wasn’t certain.

“Where are you headed?” She asked.

“I was supposed to get on a bus to go home, but I can’t stop to wait for it like this.”

“Hmm,” the woman looked at Megan sympathetically. “You’re right. And I know we just met, but I can’t leave you alone if somebody is following you. I live in an apartment just a few minutes that way,” She pointed towards the next street leading to the right. “If you want to call the police, you can do it from there and be safe. Come with me.”

Under normal circumstances, Megan wouldn’t go to a stranger’s home alone. But she didn’t have a better option at the moment. So she nodded and the woman gripped Megan’s arm reassuringly as she led them towards her apartment.

The apartment, Megan noticed when they arrived, was old. The outside had layers of peeling, faded paint and dirt from years of neglect. They went up the stairs and entered a room, it was exactly just that, a room. The bathroom being an exception, all other living spaces were crammed together and none of the furniture was new. However, when the woman turned on the lights, it was welcoming and felt safe.

“My name is Margarita by the way, but you can call me Rita.”

The women made their belated introductions as Rita locked the door, took off her shoes, and hung up her jacket. Megan was hesitant at first but eventually she took off her coat and held her belongings in her arms. With permission, she kept her shoes on.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Megan. Um, I’m really sorry if I’m causing you any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all! I was just on my way home from work. I work at the hotel down the road as cleaning staff. Where were you coming from? There’s not much around here.”

“Oh, I work in the city at an accounting office,” Megan said.

“The city! So you took the train here first. It’s not very safe at this time of night. Is that how you usually commute?” It made Rita anxious thinking that this young woman traveled the distance from the city alone every night. 

Not that she didn’t think a woman could hold her own, she made it through some narrow encounters herself. Rita just didn’t trust the intentions of the people that lurked about during these hours. She had grown up in a place where you had to be vigilant at all times and she was accustomed to the fact that life was always trying to steal something away from you.

“No, um, actually I just started taking public transportation recently. I used to take my car but...traffic is insane.” answered Megan.

“I understand, but you should really take your car if you have one. There’s sometimes incidents of people being followed like you were. It’s not safe,” Rita said again.

Megan nodded but didn’t say anything more.

“Do you want something to drink? Some tequila?”

“No, thank you. I’ve...quit, drinking.”

“Really, at your age? Then how about some hot chocolate? That will make you feel better.”

“Sure, thank you.”

“Okay, then sit right there and I’ll make some.” Rita gestured to a sunken sofa that looked like it had seen better days. 

As Rita prepared the hot chocolate, Megan sat on the sofa and intently peered through a window that faced the street. Her leg bounced nervously as she looked for the man. She watched a couple leisurely walking a dog before turning at a corner, but nobody else was visible.

Rita brought over a mug for Megan and perched on the arm rest next to her.

After blowing a couple times to cool her drink, Megan took a sip. “Wow, this is really good! Thank you.” She drank very eagerly.

“I’m glad you like it. It was Chico’s favorite.”

Megan looked up at Rita. Was Chico her husband? A family member or friend?

“He is my son. Was, my son. My only child, Ezequiel. Everyone called him Chico. He recently passed away.”

“Oh, I’m...so sorry to hear that.” Megan had never lost a loved one before.

Rita gave her a sad half-smile. Then she got up, grabbed something from the fridge, and came back.

“This is him. Muy guapo, handsome, no?” Rita chuckled good-naturedly as she offered a photograph to Megan, who put down her empty mug and held the photo gently in her hands.

In the photo, a group of thirteen happy children surrounded an unsmiling, serious-looking man. He had thick eyebrows, a thick nose, and a thick neck. His eyes were dark and beady. He had a wispy mustache and a dark beard that just covered his chin. She expected to see that he was good-looking, but it was obvious to anyone that he was not. Nevertheless, she politely agreed with Rita.

Rita playfully patted Megan’s shoulder. “You’re such a nice girl. I’m just kidding. People were always picking fights with him because they thought he was looking at them the wrong way. But that was just how he looked. Here, let me get you some more hot chocolate.” Rita reached for Megan’s mug and went into the kitchen. 

This time, Megan curiously watched her as she poured milk into a saucepan. She had never seen anyone make hot chocolate like that before. Initially, she had been wary of Rita but now she thought that someone who was being so hospitable to a stranger can only be a kind and trustworthy person.

As she stirred the milk, Rita continued, “Chico didn’t have children of his own, but those kids...they were his life. He knew what it was like to grow up Mexican here, to have all the odds against you. Chico always said that he wanted to help educate kids like him, so at least they would have a chance for the life they wanted to live. So he became a teacher.” 

Megan looked down again at the photo, at the thirteen children, and at Chico. She was still feeling uneasy. Did he look familiar? She glanced out the window again but the street was empty now.

“How...how did you say your son passed away?” she asked, turning her head back to Rita.

Rita paused. Then she turned around and Megan saw that she was teary. She sniffed and fanned her eyes with her hand. She gasped sharply, “Oh mi dios! I’m sorry, I’m trying not to cry. Too much of that lately. Chico would be heartbroken to see me like this.”

To Megan, it seemed like Rita was the one who was heartbroken. Rita poured the hot chocolate mixture into the mug that Megan was using earlier, brought it to her, and sat down again.

“My Chico,” she said after a moment, “he was killed. It was the middle of the week. It took him a long time to grade his students’ homework and it got late. I told him to stay home but he insisted on coming to visit me because it was my birthday, you see. He didn’t want me to be alone. He had texted me when he got off the bus so he should’ve been here soon...I texted him, and called him, but no answer. So I went outside, and that’s when I found him.” 

It took Megan a second to process what she had heard, and then she gasped. Found him...found him what, dead? On her birthday?

Rita continued, “He was crossing the street from the bus stop when a car hit him. Nobody saw what had happened. It was a hit and run. The police still haven’t found out who did it.”

When she heard this, Megan felt a tug at her gut as if her heart had dropped into her stomach. Her underarms stung from the sudden gush of sweat and she began to feel a little dizzy. But she had to know one more detail.

“When was this?”

“About two weeks ago.”

Rita didn’t notice that Megan had started shaking. 

“Oh that reminds me, you should call the police now. I can lend you a phone,” she offered.

“No! Um, actually, I think I’ll be heading home now.” Megan abruptly put down her mug and started to fumble with her things.

“What? But it’s not safe to leave without calling the police if that man is still out there. No, you should stay here and call the police.” Rita insisted, confused why Megan was suddenly saying she wanted to leave when she was so afraid from being followed earlier.

Megan rose swiftly, but unsteadily, and put on her coat. She wobbled towards the door as Rita stood up, looking upset and worried for her.

“I’ll...probably call the police later.” Megan’s voice quivered.

“Okay, you’re welcome here anytime. We’re friends now, so you can stay as long as you want to—”

“That’s alright. Thank you so much for letting me stay here. You’ve been really kind but, I need to go home now.” Megan hesitated before asking, “Can I have your phone number just in case?”

“Of course. Let me know if you need anything,” Rita said and they exchanged phone numbers.

“Okay, well, thank you again. Have a good night.”

Rita held open the door and Megan stepped out. She couldn’t stop her from leaving if she was that determined, but she was still concerned about the threat that had led the young woman to her.

“What if that man who was following you is still there?”

“No, he’s not there anymore.” Megan said, almost in a whisper, and then she left.

______________________

When Rita woke up the next morning, she noticed a voicemail from Megan, recorded just an hour ago. She was about to listen to it when she was surprised by a call from the police, so she left it for later. It was enough to know that the young woman got home safely. 

She picked up her phone, “Hello, this is Rita Sanchez.”

[Megan’s voicemail] Rita? It’s Megan. From last night. Thank you for being so kind to me...I didn’t know how to tell you this...I’m really sorry. I’ve done something terrible and I’ve been the worst kind of person since. My guilt follows me wherever I go and I think it led me to you. When I heard you talk about your son’s death, that’s when I realized...Two weeks ago, I had a bad day at work and went drinking afterward. By the time I realized I was too drunk, I was already driving home and I thought I could make it, I guess. I didn’t see him. I was driving near that bus stop when I felt a jolt from the car hitting something. I barely looked, just reversed the car, and drove away. The police can confirm that the evidence matches up. There’s no excuse for what I’ve done, but at least you know now. I’m sorry.