There was only so much I could do for my own situation, and there was only so much I even understood about his, but what I could do, I would. Even if he was a bit of a shit. But there had to be a good heart in there somewhere for him to do what he did for this world.
Some people criticized the Trinity for not doing more, for not jumping into every situation that went haywire, for not saving every single person in every unfortunate incident. I understood though; there was only so much they could do. So many places they could be. I’d read someone’s hypothesis on what they believed regarding their involvement—the Trinity didn’t get involved in political affairs unless mass, innocent casualties were at stake. They helped in smaller situations if they were already in the area. Mostly though, they only stepped in if whatever was happening would cause mass damage to the planet. If crime had gone down over the last couple of decades, it was out of humanity’s fear of the planet’s powerful protectors.
Plus, there had been that phase for a couple of years where idiots had tried shooting them with guns and grenade launchers, and the world had learned real quick that weapons were nothing more than gnats to them.
Maybe not even that.
I figured we should all be grateful for their existence and quit expecting them to constantly save us. They did what they could. And that reason alone was why I was here.
Maybe he would never need help again in his life, so I had to make this count, I told myself again as I made it to the mailbox and opened it. There was nothing in there, as expected. Most of the little mail I got went to my PO Box. I’d just wanted an excuse to get out of the house for a minute, and this had been the first excuse I could think of. The house felt so small with him in it.
Then add him being a pain in the ass and the urge to talk to him but being fully aware I couldn’t, and… here I was.
I rubbed my face.
Palming my phone, I pulled it out of my pocket and hit the buttons on the screen to call my voice mail. A few more touches started replaying my saved messages.
“Call me. I love you, bye”was the first simple message left by my grandpa in Spanish.
The second one was a butt dial where I could hear them talking in the background but couldn’t actually tell what they were saying.
“Graciela,”my grandmother’s serious voice started to say in Spanish during the third message, using her nickname for me.“Can you stop on the way home and bring some plantains and tortillas?”
They were nothing special, but they were the last voice mails either of them had left me. I would never delete them.
I listened to them one more time, careful not to delete them, before slipping my cell back into my pocket.
Then I rubbed my face again.
I’d never had close friends because I’d been told it was a bad idea, that it put me at risk. My students didn’t even know my real last name, and I’d known some of them for years.
And what did I have? I didn’t even have the cat I’d always wanted to get after Ryu passed away. I didn’t have a dog. I didn’t have shit.
Should I have ignored every strict rule they had raised me with?
That same thought that occasionally popped in my head came back. What was the point of everything if I couldn’t even enjoy my life the way I really wanted to? Surviving wasn’t the same thing as living. Was it?
Maybe things weren’t as dire as I’d always thought, as I’d been told. And maybe I was just desperate and lonely and a little scared about what these damn stomachaches meant and considering making stupid decisions because of it.
I started to make my way back toward my single-wide. The moon was just a sliver managing to slice across The Defender’s face. His eyes were still closed.
He almost looked at peace.
Then again, so did Venus flytraps at a distance.
Walking slowly, I watched him the whole time… because he was doing the same to me, I realized. His eyes were narrowed, not closed.
Watching, always fucking watching.And judging. And more than likely thinking of what I was doing that was suspicious.
I couldn’t say I blamed him either.
We’re all products of our circumstances. I knew that better than anyone. Being nice, kissing ass, was so much fucking work.
When I was close enough, I held out my hand. “I’ll help you back in,” I offered.
This motherfucker didn’t even think about it.
“Fuck no,” he muttered before slowly turning on his own, going back inside in his pained, limping-shuffle, just leaving me there.
