Page 29 of Silent Oaths
“Thiswill be your home for now,”FatherCallowaysays as he leads me to a small room at the end of the hall. “We’llmake sure you’re looked after.”
Theroom is tiny, with plain white walls and a single bed pushed up against the corner.Ablanket covers the mattress, and there’s a small dresser against the wall.Itsmells a little like soap.Mysuitcase, containing the few thingsIhave left, sits at the foot of the bed.
“Thankyou,Father,” the social worker says before she kneels to my level. “You’regoing to be okay here,Julian.You’llmake friends, and they’ll take good care of you.”
Idon’t respond.Ionly nod.
FatherCallowaypats my shoulder gently. “We’lllet you settle in.You’rewelcome to join us in the dining hall when you’re ready.”
Heleaves, and the door clicks shut behind them.
Isit on the edge of the bed, my fingers brushing against the zipper of my backpack, andIpull it open just enough to see the photograph tucked inside—me andMamaat the park, her arm around my shoulders, both of us smiling.
Asob catches in my throat, andIpress my hand over my mouth to keep it in.
* * *
Thatnight,Ican’t sleep.
Thebed feels strange, the air too cold.Theother boys’ laughter and whispers come through the walls.Icurl into a ball, clutching the blanket around me.
Eventually,Idrift off.
IseeMamaagain, walking on the sidewalk, under the yellow light.She’swearing her favorite jacket, the one with the worn-out elbows.Herpurse is hanging over her shoulder, her hands gripping the strap tightly as she walks home.Thesound of her boots thumping against the pavement echoes in the air.
Then, they appear.Themen.Shadowsat first.Theysurround her, yelling wordsIdon’t understand.Shetries to run, but they grab her, one of them striking her across the face.Shefalls, her head hitting the ground with a sickening crack.
“Mama!”Iscream, but she can’t hear me.Itry to run to her, but my feet won’t move.Thescene replays over and over, her body crumpled on the pavement, blood pooling beneath her.
Iwake up in a startle, tears streaming down my face.Iwant her.Iwant her to hold me and tell me it’s just a bad dream, but she’s gone.
I’malone.
Ipull the quilt tighter around me and bury my face in my knees.
I’mnot sure how longIsit like that before exhaustion finally pulls me under again.Buteven in my sleep, the ache in my chest doesn’t go away.Itremains a constant pain that reminds me of everythingI’velost.
* * *
Daysturn into weeks.Weeksturn into months.
Timepasses in a wayIcan’t quite measure, each day blending into the next like the smudged pages of my notebook.
Overtime,I’vefound a new normal atSt.Dismas.Iwake up to the same creaking floors and drafty halls.Eatmeals in the crowded dining room where the other boys laugh and joke.Sitoutside in the small, overgrown courtyard, where weeds grow through cracks in the pavement.
It’snot home, but it’s allIhave.
Ikeep to myself mostly, talking only when necessary.
Now,Ican speakEnglishfluently—it wasn’t so hard onceIreally started listening.Idon’t use it much because the moreIuseEnglish, the moreIfeel likeI’mlosing something else.
Spanishis my last connection toMama.Thelanguage sounds like her voice, soft and warm, like the way she used to call memi corazón.Ican’t let it go.
So,Istart writing her letters inSpanish.
Inmy notebook, the one they gave me whenIarrived,Iwrite to her every night before bed.Sometimes,Ionly write a few lines.Othertimes,Ifill the whole page.Itmakes me feel like she’s still there, likeIcan still talk to her.
Irandomly open a page.
