LIFE THROUGH HIS EYES
Virginia R. Victorio
Copyright 2013 by Virginia R. Victorio
Lying on a bed, looking at the ceiling, there’s a man with a hopeless look on his face. It’s Sunday morning, the sun is shining outside and, coming through the window, illuminates the bedroom; the worn-out curtains are too thin to block any sunlight.
“At least the sun came up this morning,” he thinks while turning his head to look at the window. “If it was raining, maybe I could have stayed in bed longer.” His face turns back to staring at the ceiling.
“I guess I’ll get up and make some breakfast; Felipe will be up soon.” With this thought he jumps up, put his feet on the floor and sits in bed for a minute. The creaky sounds the bed makes remind him of his childhood in the countryside, where everything was old and rusty.
He rubs his eyes and yawns. Now, looking at the floor, he makes an effort to remember when was the last time he slept for 8 straight hours. Lack of sleep is not the problem; waking up every day at 4 in the morning and staring at the ceiling for hours is the thing that embarrasses him the most. If at least he would get up and read or clean or do anything; but no, he just doesn’t feel like doing anything. He is not proud of this, but he can’t help it either.
He stands up and stretches his arms up, like trying to reach the sky. He walks to the bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror. More white hair has invaded his head lately, like ants after a forgotten lollipop on the street. He doesn’t even care combing his hair and goes directly to his regular morning washing routine. By the time he finishes and comes back to the bedroom, Felipe is already there, sitting on the bed, with anxious eyes.
“Dad, did you know that a hippo can run at 30 kilometers per hour and even faster?” asks Felipe without blinking, not even once.
“I did not know that, son. Where did you hear it?”
“I read it somewhere. I don’t remember where anymore. So what are we going to do today?”
“First, we’ll get you washed up, then we’ll have breakfast and then we can think about what we are going to do today. Ok?”
“Ok dad. I think I agree; I am hungry.”
Mauricio smiles and, closing his eyes, kisses his son on the top of his head. At the very second his lips touch his son’s head, as if by a magical spell, his mind is taken back 10 years. He suddenly sees Felipe as a newborn; so tiny and pink. He remembers the nights spent at the hospital, the multiple tubes going in and out of Felipe’s non-fully developed little body. Felipe was born 2 months before he was supposed to. The birth was complicated. The whole pregnancy was complicated. And even before the pregnancy, things were complicated…
After the 5-second flashback, Mauricio put his arm around Felipe’s shoulder and both head downstairs to the kitchen.
“So, what do you want for breakfast? It’s pancakes alright?” asks Mauricio already pulling the pan out of the cabinet.
“I guess so. Why did you ask me what do I want if you already decided on pancakes? You should have told me we are eating pancakes and I would have accepted anyways. But asking me what I want and then telling me we are having pancakes means that it’s not really my choice but it has already been decided for me... You’re funny, dad,” Felipe replies with a wide smile on his face, like he just heard the most amusing thing on earth.
“Yes I am, son. I guess I am hilarious like that,” says Mauricio putting the pan on top of the stove where the blue-rimmed fire is already waiting for it. Mauricio put the pancake mix together in a second while listening to Felipe’s craziest stories about what he learned in school, what he read in a book and what he heard on TV. It was never different with Felipe: tireless and unsettled, good-hearted and well intentioned, always with a good story to share, often offering new perspectives to common things.
Pancakes flipped and syrup poured, they sit on the table and eat their breakfast. Mauricio was frequently quiet during mealtime and Felipe was an expert filling silences. Felipe never knew a different Mauricio so, to him, his silence was normal; it’s just the way his father was, but today he asked:
“You’re very quiet, dad. Are you sick?”
“No, son, I’m not sick, just tired.”
“Why? You just woke up from sleeping, how can you be tired? You’re being funny again!” he says, laughing. He’s often amused by ordinary events or normal comments people make. Through his candid eyes, life is too simple and nothing is ever wrong.
“What do you think if we go to the mall today? You like that pizza they have there. We can walk around the stores until you’re hungry and then have pizza. What do you think?” says Mauricio hoping Felipe would forget everything about his mood this morning.
“Yeah, I like going to the mall. Let’s go!”
They finished breakfast and left the unwashed dishes in the sink. “We’ll worry about that later,” Mauricio usually says.
They got dressed quickly and went outside where the car is waiting. Felipe rides in the backseat because he’s only 10 years old. This is often reason for disputes between father and son. Since it’s always only the two of them, Felipe thinks it irrational that Mauricio rides in the front seat by himself and often speaks his mind about the subject. Today is not the exception.
“Dad, can I ride in the front seat today?”
“Mmm, let me think…” says Mauricio rolling his eyes upward and grabbing his chin with his right thumb and index fingers. Felipe’s wide, open eyes look like they’re trying to jump out of their sockets.
“Nothing changed since yesterday when you last asked so… no, you can’t,” cries out Mauricio playfully while opening the rear left hand door with a quick movement followed by a polite gesture, like a carriage driver from the eighteenth century, inviting Felipe to hop in. Felipe accepts the invitation and, without saying a word, climbs into the backseat. He stays awkwardly silent for a couple of minutes, which is very unusual. Mauricio looks at him through the rear view mirror and can’t help noticing the gloomy look on his son’s face.
“Felipe, did you know that in Japan the highest ranking person sits behind the driver and the lowest rides shotgun?”
“That makes no sense at all…” utters Felipe in a low voice. “Why should we imitate what Japan does anyway? They don’t use chairs and we do!” exclaims then with stronger tone, convinced that he has found a loophole in his father’s argument.
Mauricio laughs out loud. “Smart kid…” he sighs.
It’s around 10 in the morning when they arrive at the mall. It’s Sunday so there are lots of people wandering about, in and out of stores, chattering and laughing; children eating ice cream and drinking soda, highly contributing to their forever-sticky hands and hyperactive nature. Mauricio really can’t stand coming to the mall but Felipe likes it. He likes being around people and talking to strangers.
After an hour and a half of walking and going into a few stores, Felipe starts to feel hungry so both, father and son, decide they’ll head to the food court where they’ll find the pizza place that Felipe likes. Luckily, it’s a little before noon so there’s no queue. There’s only a young woman and a little boy before them in line and they are already ordering. The little boy is about 3 years old and is wearing a Spider-Man shirt. Felipe likes Spider-Man; it’s one of his favorites super heroes. Mauricio feels somehow tense; he knows his son and one of Felipe’s many weaknesses is the urge to talk aloud; not only to talk aloud but also to talk to people, anybody. And even more if he finds people he has interests in common with. He is absolutely not ashamed of his son, not at all. But he doesn’t like when other people feel embarrassed or uncomfortable because of his son. While he was thinking all this, he didn’t notice that Felipe was already walking fast, making his way
toward the little boy.
“Hey, Spider-Man!” Felipe shouts, pointing out to the boy standing in line.
The boy looks at Felipe with puzzled eyes, not knowing what to do or what to say. And then, what Mauricio most feared happened: Felipe grabs the little boy by his shirt and points to the athletic and colorful Spider-Man figure on it. Mauricio has told Felipe many, many times that it’s not ok to touch people. He can talk to everybody, but should touch no one.
“You like Spider-Man! Me too!” Felipe cries, delighted. He was so excited to have found somebody to talk to, and somebody with similar tastes.
The little boy looked at the young woman, who Mauricio thought must be his mother, and didn’t say a word. He looked scared.
“Felipe, come here,” Mauricio says calmly, in a tender tone.
“So, you like Spider-Man too? He’s great, ha?” The young woman was not embarrassed; she was actually smiling and talking back to Felipe.
“He likes Spider-Man, just like you!” she told her son, as if trying to calm him after the abrupt interruption Felipe had caused minutes earlier. She has kind eyes, Mauricio perceives, and one bright smile. Felipe now notices her.
“Hi! My name is Felipe and this is my dad, Mauricio.” Mauricio’s heart skipped a beat. It’s not the first time Felipe introduces himself to strangers but it’s