A Small Relief

Lalo woke with an overwhelming throbbing in his head.

He pushed the tequila bottle lying next to him off the bed and proceeded to cut his feet on the broken glass below.

Limping to the bathroom, he waded through more tequila bottles on the floor, bags of chips, remnants of fast food, donuts.

He cleaned his bloody feet, wishing it hurt more.

So, he could feel something else than what he felt now.

He stared at his reflection.

She wouldn’t like this, he thought.

“She wouldn’t like this at all,” he said aloud.

“No, I wouldn’t,” came the imagined reply.

“Get dressed,” her phantom said, “Get dressed and go outside. Call someone.”

Lalo continued to stare at his bathroom mirror.

Her towel still hung on the rack behind him.

He turned, held it like it was a child. Breathed in. Her scent was still on it. Faint, but there. It could have been his imagination but he didn’t care. He breathed in deeper. It was beginning to mold but so what? It was hers. He could smell her. He gently put it back, stared at it for another minute.

He walked to the kitchen and took in the empty cabinets, the pile of dirty dishes, the rotten smell coming from the trash can.

“Clean up,” said the phantom, “Clean one dish.”

Lalo ignored the voice and walked to the couch.

It wasn’t her voice, anyway. Not really.

It was in his head and that made it even worse somehow.

That he could imagine her, see and hear every detail, but it was all fake. It wasn’t real.

Lalo shook his head as if shaking it could clear his mind; remove her from his thoughts.

“As if,” he said. A phrase she used a lot. A phrase he made fun of her for using.

“You sound like Cher from Clueless,” he’d say, poking her in the ribs.

She would flip her long hair in response, just like Cher did in the film, going along with the joke. Telling him to ‘talk to the hand.’

If he closed his eyes, he could feel her hair in his hands. The silky smoothness of it. The comfort of it. He could see her washing it in the shower. Her looking over her shoulder at him. Smiling. Asking him to join.

He opened his eyes. His cheeks were yet.

He went to the liquor cabinet and was only a little surprised to find it empty.

“You should stay home,” the phantom said, “Clean. Shower.”

Instead, he put on sandals and walked down to the local liquor store. He bought three more bottles of tequila, hot Cheetos, and powdered donuts.

“The staples,” he said out loud to no one.

The cashier looked up at him, “You again.”

Lalo walked to the counter without responding and paid for his items.

“You ok, man?” the cashier asked, holding Lalo’s bag of items in his hand like a hostage.

Lalo stared without speaking.

The cashier shrugged and handed over the bag.

Lalo took his items and left, grateful that in a few moments he could return to his stupor. He could forget.

He got back to his duplex, opened the door and blinked against the darkness inside.

“I thought I left the light on,” he said.

“You did,” came a voice from inside.

He stepped back, dropping his bag to the floor, the tequila bottles shattering; but he didn’t even care.

From inside, he could the outline of a woman.

A woman with the same shape as his wife.

“Alma?” he whispered.

There was no answer.

He stepped inside and the door closed behind him.

“Sit down,” said the voice.

Lalo edged along the wall to the couch, keeping his distance.

He could see a shape, but he couldn’t make out any details. He couldn’t see a face. For the first time in a long time, he felt something other than despair.

He was afraid.

“You should be afraid,” the voice said.

“Wh-wh-

“Stop,” the voice snapped, “I speak. You listen.”

Lalo sat back in the couch, as far as he could, he gripped his legs close to him and wondered why on earth he had entered his dark house with a phantom inside.

Was it a phantom?

“It doesn’t matter what I am,” the phantom said, coming closer.

Lalo stared wide eyed. It had no face. It was a body with no eyes, no lips, no mouth.

And yet the voice echoed all around him.

Loud, clear, and frightening.

“It was your fault you know,” the voice sneered.

“What?” Lalo croaked.

“Your fault. You drunk, you louse, you sorry excuse for a man,” the voice said, sounding more and more like his wife.

Except it wasn’t, he thought, that’s not her. That could never be her. She would never say those things.

“Oh honey,” the voice laughed, “You have no idea what your wife really thought of you, do you? Oh, dear. She thought you were so boring. Always lounging around. Watching television. God forbid you crack open a book, eh Lalo?”

Lalo cringed. He shut his eyes. He held his hands over his ears. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. He was still asleep.

His wife had loved him. Loved him. Loved-

“She hated you,” the voice whispered, close to his face. He could feel its breath. How could he feel that if it didn’t even have a mouth? “And you know,” the voice continued, “…if only you’d gone to the store yourself, she’d still be here. But you know that don’t you? You know that.”

Lalo opened his eyes and as he stared at the phantom he was suddenly transported back to that day.

The day played on the phantom’s non-existent face like a silent movie.

He could see his wife talking. No sound, but he knew what she was saying. He had played it back to himself countless times before.

“Babe, would you go to the store?” she had asked.

“For what?” he had responded from the couch.

“We need toilet paper and I need some tomatoes for the fideo. I forgot to grab them yesterday,” she said.

Lalo had groaned. A loud, obnoxious sound of reluctance. He was watching the game and he didn’t want to miss a moment.

She had laughed, “Fine, fine. I’ll go.”

Lalo had argued but not really. She kissed him and he felt annoyed. She was blocking his view of the television.

She had given him a look. A look that said, “You kiss me or else.” He had laughed and given her a kiss. A good kiss.

She smiled and left.

He watched in horror as she got into the car, rain pouring down hard.

She drove, head bobbing along to music he couldn’t hear.

She got a text on her phone and looked down for a second.

That’s all it took.

One second.

He watched as a car, running a red light, slammed into her side.

He watched as her car flipped over.

He watched as the glass flew and covered her face, her arms, her legs.

The imaginary camera did a close up on her face.

Her eyes open.

Her mouth forming his name.

He screamed.

He screamed loud and long.

He screamed her name and pounded his fists against the wall.

His scream turned into a sob; a sob that shook his entire body.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, he began to quiet.

His sobs turned into gulps; turned into hiccups.

He slowly opened his eyes to find the phantom gone.

Sunlight shone through the blinds.

He jumped at the sound of knocking on his door.

Was it back?

He warily looked through the keyhole and was relieved to see his brother, Carlos.

Lalo opened the door and they stared at each other in silence.

Carlos brushed past Lalo and walked in.

Lalo watched as Carlos looked around the house.

Carlos walked toward the sink and began to do the dishes.

They said nothing.

Lalo watched his brother for a moment and then began to pick up the trash that was lying around.

He took out the rotting trash sitting in the kitchen. 

Carlos swept.

Lalo mopped.

Once they finished, Carlos said, “Should I order food?”

Lalo shook his head.

“Let’s go out. That, ok?”

Carlos raised an eyebrow, “Out where though? Not a bar…right?”

Lalo smiled, “No. There’s a Soup Plantation down the street. We can get salads.”

Carlos nodded.

Before they left Carlos grabbed Lalo’s arm and looked directly into his eyes. “If you ever not answer my calls or texts for his long, I’m calling our mother to come check on you. Understand?”

Lalo nodded.

“I need to hear you say that you understand,” Carlos said, tightening his grip on Lalo’s shoulder.

“I understand,” Lalo said quietly.

“Good,” Carlos said.

Lalo followed his brother out the door.

His chest still felt hollow.

He still longed to isolate himself in his bedroom with a bottle of tequila.

But he forced himself to get into the car with Carlos.

As they drove away, he could see the phantom through his window.

It’ll be there waiting for me when I get back, he thought.

And the thought didn’t terrify him.

There had been a release after his scream.

He had felt it.

A small relief.

Maybe he would feel it again.