“Same boat but different ends.”
Shaking his head, my dad looks back at me. “How’s the new job, Ana?”
No sooner does my dad ask the question that it happens. The image of Miller’s blood-thirsty eyes flashes through my mind. And it is followed by Bryan’s condemning words. The mix of fear and uncertainty that possessed me the night before suddenly runs rampant in my heart. But taking an internal deep breath, I display no signs of the flashbacks as I slightly shrug. The pleasant smile on my face remains there. “Just as exciting as you’d think a desk job will be.”
“I’m just glad that you’re not working around that jail anymore. But I still don’t see why you felt like you needed to get a desk job at the police department. I could’ve given you a desk job at our company if you wanted. Better yet, I could’ve let you manage one of the businesses.”
I can’t believe how easily I just lied to my own father’s face. And even more, I can’t believe that he and everyone around me just bought the lie. “I just wanted to try something new, dad. I worked at the family company all through high school and just wanted to work somewhere where I’d get the ‘real’ job environment experience.”
“I think after seeing the ‘real’ job environment, you’ll really start to appreciate the family company more. Most work places aren’t like what your mother and I built.” He takes a deep breath as he glances down at his lap for a quick moment. “But hopefully you don’t want to stay there too long. I’m getting too old to run this company by myself.”
“You’re not even fifty-five dad. I hardly consider that old.”
“Let’s see if you’re still saying that when you’re fifty.”
“Besides, you have Ramon to take over the company.”
“I would, but he’s too much of a pastor now to want to run a company. Between that and running his non-profit, he doesn’t have time to learn the ropes. He’s been on four humanitarian trips this year.” My dad slightly smiles. “I’m not sure what he’s done that he needs to repent so much.”
My brother laughs as he makes his way towards us. In his hands are two plates, each with a cheeseburger and two hotdogs. The closer he comes, the more my taste buds start craving for the flavors as the aromas dance all around me. The food is sizzling hot as the cheese melts into the meat. He places the plates in front of me and my dad. “The first one was for my sins, dad, but the other three were for all yours!”
We lightly laugh before my dad speaks again. “But seriously, Ana, how long do you think you’ll be working there?”
“I don’t know.” There’s more truth to that than any of them realize. In fact, there’s more truth to that than even I know. Because like Cap said, I may not be going back there ever. After what happened yesterday, a part of me doesn’t think I’d live to see my one-month anniversary, let alone a year. As I sit there in my family’s presence, Cap’s words once again replay in the back of my head. I hear him again as he tells me to rethink if I really am capable of doing this.
“Ana?”
I’m suddenly brought back to reality by Laura’s words. My sister-in-law’s hand is on top of mine, causing me to quickly look at her.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Sorry. My mind was somewhere else.”
She and Ramon exchange a glance before she looks back at me. “Well, we have some exciting news to tell you. Mom and dad already know this.”
Ramon takes the reins of the conversation. “Me and Laura are having a baby.”
…what? For a moment, I am speechless. But then my eyes suddenly widen with surprise. “Congratulations!”
My words are quickly followed by a round of hugs for my brother and his wife. But for some reason, I don’t feel the joy everyone else experiences. I don’t know why, but my heart feels hollow as I see the excitement in my family’s eyes and hear their laughter. But I put up a good face.
As can be imagined, the rest of the lunch is spent talking about the upcoming baby, even though the child is still months away. But the honest truth is that I’m glad it goes that way. I’d rather everyone talk about anything else other than my new job. The last thing I want to tell them is that I’m seriously considering leaving the job after only a few days of working there. That would just lead to more questions than I have the answers to right now.
In fact, right now my mind has more questions of its own than it has the answers to.
***
The whole way home, I feel sick to my stomach. I don’t know exactly why. For the hours I was with my family, I was around so much happiness. Talking about the upcoming baby made everything seem so jovial. But from the moment I step out of my parents’ abode, I just want to throw up. Maybe it’s because I lied to my family’s faces without even blinking. Each and every one of them. I did it without a second thought and without hesitating.
Or maybe it’s because I am even more confused than ever about what I need to do. If I don’t turn back, I risk getting myself killed. And even worse, I risk crushing my family’s happiness. My parents were barely able to make it past my sister’s death, and it took them years to do so. Imagine what would happen if they lost another daughter to criminals. And imagine how much worse it’ll be if they found out that I was putting myself in these kinds of situations willingly and had lied to them.
However, if I turn back now, how will I be able to look myself in the mirror? After coming all this way, I’d have quit right before the finish line. I’d never realize the good I could have done. But then again, for all I know, the only thing waiting on the other side of the finish line could be death.
Uncertainty surrounds me. The one thing I do know is that I can’t turn back from whichever decision I make. If I choose to move forward on this path, I’ll have crossed the point-of-no-return and will have chosen to go to death’s door. I will have chosen to go into the shrouded abyss.
And I don’t know where this abyss will end.
My knuckles turn white as I squeeze the steering wheel. I can barely even keep my mind on the road. My heart is low, and it feels like an unbearable weight crushes down on it. As I come to a stop light, I stare at my reflection in the rear-view mirror. I look deep into the brown eyes that stare back at me. These eyes have done almost nothing but lie for the past few days. Lied to the punks I took down. Lied to my parents. And maybe, I’ve been lying to myself. Maybe Cap was right. Maybe they were right in the interview when they asked me why I was doing this.
Maybe it really is because she’s gone.
I’m not sure where I’m going. I’ve been driving aimlessly since I left the bar-b-que. My gaze returns to the street light as it switches from red to green. In that moment, I know where I have to go. It’s the one place where I can never lie to myself. The one place where everything is clear—the one person who is always there for me: Angela.
***
She’s always here. Here under the shade of this ancient oak tree, I can always find her patiently waiting for me. Always the perfect listener, she never says a word back or interrupts me in any way.
But then again, that is what tombstones do.
Angela Rocha
January 7, 1964 to May 31, 1984
Loving Daughter and Sister
Every time I come here, it is the same. No matter the years that have passed, it seems too surreal to see her name on this weathered headstone. Maybe my mind still refuses to accept this fact, even fifteen years after her funeral. A part of me still thinks that she will come walking in through the front doors one day.
My heart sinks as I read the inscription. It feels as helpless as it did the night she was taken. I feel like the seven-year-old girl again who just learned that her sister would never come home.
And I die a litter more each time.
***
The night Angela died was the night I learned what true helplessness is. My mom had put me to bed at seven just like she always did. But as usual, I was still awake when the clock struck nine. My brother was out on a ca
mping trip with the Boy Scouts. All he ever talked about was how he was on track to become the youngest Eagle Scout in his troop. I remember thinking that Angela was out later than usual. On Tuesday night’s Angela did some volunteer work at the local soup kitchen. In fact, three afternoons of her week were normally spent at some kind of charity.
But then the doorbell rang. My first thought was that Angela must’ve forgotten her keys. It wouldn’t be the first time. Like always, I left my bed and came to the top of the stairs. I heard the door open, but I didn’t hear mama’s voice greet Angela or chastise her for being late. In fact, I didn’t hear my mother say a word. I heard somebody step into the house. From my angle I could not see the visitor’s face, but I noticed his recognizable blue uniform. With a gun holstered around his belt, his golden badge remained pinned to his chest.
My first emotion was confusion. Why did this policeman stand where my sister should have been? Maybe a part of me knew. Maybe a part of me—a part deep inside—knew what was happening. Because without thinking, my fingers grasped the handrail.
“Mr. and Mrs. Rocha, I’m sorry to barge in like this.”
“What is it, officer?”
“It’s about your daughter…”
My hand instinctively tightened its grip around the railing.
The man could barely speak and he did not even look my parents in the eyes, knowing the pain his words would cause. “There’s… there’s been a shooting.”
Standing on the top of the stairs, out of view from everyone else, I don’t think I really understood what he was saying or was about to say. I didn’t understand why my parents remained so silent and why the policeman acted so strange.
“Your daughter… s—she was killed.”
He said those words so quickly and softly that I barely heard them. And when I did realize what he had uttered, I thought that this was some kind of a dream. I could not comprehend the officer’s words. I could not understand why my parents broke down into uncontrollable sobs. I could not understand why the officer did not try to console them and just stood there, helplessly watching.
Angela dead? What did that even mean? She couldn’t have just left the house never to come back. That didn’t happen in real life, did it? Any moment now, she’d walk back into the house. She had to. This is not how it happens. People don’t just leave and never come back. Not without saying goodbye.
But as I stood there, listening to the weeping of my mother and bawling of my father, I could not move a muscle. My eyes stayed on the officer as he remained motionless. No matter how hard I tried, I could not go down there; nor could I go back to my room. And so I just stood at the top of the steps… helpless.
It was on those steps that reality began to set in. As my head replayed those solemn words over and over again, it finally began to understand. This was not a dream. There was no waking up from this. And Angela was not going to come home.
In those moments, my childhood ended. Innocence was replaced with harsh reality.
My heart suddenly began racing as my free hand formed into a tight fist. For the first time in my life, it felt as if a heavy weight dropped onto my heart, and I could not remove it no matter how hard I tried. At the center of the whirlwind stood one simple question: why Angela? Of all the people that could have died this night, why my big sister?
It was that night that I learned what loss feels like. I learned what it meant to be helpless. It’s not the sudden rush of emotions. It’s not the flood of grief. It’s the slow reality that sets in. The reality that makes you realize how little you really are. The reality that nothing lasts forever. The reality that with each passing moment, we lose the ones we love.
And there is nothing we can do to stop it.
***
To this day, I have not found the answer to my question. But the one thing I have learned is that death is not considerate of anything. It has no bias.
I keep my gaze focused on Angela’s headstone as I relive that fateful night. Staring at the tomb for the thousandth and first time, I finally do arrive at a realization. No matter how much I deny it, I still refuse to let Angela go—I still cannot accept what happened all those years ago.
And there is one more thing that I finally accept. The question that has haunted me—the question asked by my interviewers—I finally know the answer. The answer is most definitely ‘yes’. It is because of Angela that I took this job. It is because of her that I have come this far.
Angela was simply a victim who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. One of the patrons of the kitchen had double-crossed a local drug lord, and a hit had been put out for him. Ten minutes before Angela’s shift ended, a white van filled with four young men pulled up to the kitchen’s glass doors. The van’s doors opened, revealing four AK-47s aimed right at the building. And in the next moment, they lit the place up.
The ironic thing is that the man they’d come for did not die. He was in the bathroom when the drive-by occurred. Instead of hitting him, the bullets completely destroyed the building from the outside-in, wounding seventeen people in the process.
But one person was killed.
The worst part of it was when my parents learned that Angela did not die instantly. She was shot through her chest seven times. The bullets did not hit her heart or brain, which would have caused an instant death. Instead, they tore her chest to shreds. As she lay there helpless, blood filled her lungs and suffocated her. By the time the paramedics arrived, she was only moments away from death.
It was a slow death… a painful death.
A security camera caught the license plate of the shooters. Within the week, all four were arrested. One was over the age of eighteen and got the death penalty. The other three were minors and were treated as such in the courts. By now, all three of them will be out of prison.
I take a deep breath as I run my hand along the top of the tombstone. I know my parents and brother have found their peace. What happened to Angela occurred fifteen years ago and they have been able to come to terms with it through their faith.
But I can’t.
No matter how long it’s been, it remains fresh on my mind every day. I have searched through religion and have not been able to do what they did. I can’t let this go. Maybe it is because I was so young. Maybe it is because Angela was everything to me.
Or maybe it is because I don’t want peace.
I don’t know what it is I’m looking for. I can’t figure out what is holding me back. But I now know one thing for sure. Come Monday, I’ll be back in my office. Cap said that I should take the week off to figure out if I really want to do this, but I know the answer to that. Visiting here has reaffirmed it.
With every punk I take off the streets, I save countless lives. I will beat down punks like Miller and put my life on the line every day if it means that a little girl will get to see her big sister one more time. I’ll be smarter. Stronger. I’ll do whatever I have to do to make it, even if I have to lie a million times. If I have to lose myself to my duty, then so be it. This is what I’ll do to honor Angela’s memory.
I owe it to myself.
Chapter 5
Partners
Monday morning comes quickly. Bryan is not in his office and the door is closed, but unlocked. At first I feel wrong for going in his office when he’s not there, but then I remember that he did the same thing to me. I guess it’s an eye for an eye.
I lightly close the door behind me before switching on the lights. As I do, I realize that this is my first time in his office. The setup is just as I imagined: simple and mostly unadorned. It’s the same size as mine, except Bryan’s has a window that lends a view of the parking lot. Or at least it would if the blinds weren’t closed.
Mirroring y own office, there’s a wooden desk decorated with a large computer monitor, several photos, a lamp, printer, and a can full of pencils and pens. His is more ordered than mine; all his files are neatly organized in the filing cabinet instead of being scattered across his de
sk. His framed certifications and awards hang from the wall behind his desk. There’s also a bookshelf next to the plaques that is half-filled with books. In a first glance, they appear to be mainly novels. I wouldn’t have imagined Bryan to be much of a reader.
I’m not exactly sure what Cap expected me to find in here. But remembering the way he said it, a part of me is a little apprehensive about finding out what he was referring to. Walking over to Bryan’s desk, I look down at the photos. I do a double-take, not believing my eyes. Bryan is actually smiling. And it’s not that awkward sort he did when we first met.
The first photo shows Bryan standing alongside another man on a fishing boat. I see Galveston Island in the distant backdrop. With the sun setting behind them, they’re dressed in their fishing gear and proudly show their catches to the camera. Bryan holds a forty pound tarpon and his friend has a similar-sized fish. They’re both triumphantly lifting the fishes over their head, and their smiles say it all. Half of me can’t believe that this is the same man who is my no-nonsense, machine-like partner. The satirical part of my mind is convinced that this has to be some kind of twin brother. Looking at the man next to Bryan, something about him just screams police officer.
My gaze travels onto the next photo. I know it’s at the Houston Zoo from all the times I visited there growing up. The photo was taken from just outside the famous lion enclosure. A lion looks at the camera from behind the thick glass. Bryan wears a t-shirt and shorts, and a two-year-old boy sits on his shoulders. The boy is wearing an over-sized cap, his hands around Bryan’s head. There’s a beautiful blonde woman wrapped in one of Bryan’s arms. Her slender figure is a perfect complement to Bryan’s powerful frame. The smiles in this picture are nothing but joyful.
There are four more pictures lined up on the desk, and each of them either holds the woman and child or the other man from the fishing boat. But before I can really study any of them, I am no longer alone in the room.