A Game With No Rules

As the sun dips in the western banks of Guadalquivir, the Andalusian street life famous for tapas crawls unravels. Nightclubs like Brío, where I served tables, sometimes tend behind the bar, thrive because of the nightlife in the province of Seville.

Tonight was one of those nights that I enjoyed serving the intoxicated patrons of Brío. Working as a server opened my mind that most people forget to say ‘thank you’ these days; instead, they give out large tips. It’s either to display out to their peers the cash nestled in the mouths of their wallets or just to show off.

Whatever their reason was for giving out tips, I still earned every dime of the 100 euros I got tonight.

I didn’t bother to change my Brío shirt, tossing over a hoodie, shoving my salary for the week together with my tip for tonight in the secret pocket of my backpack.

There were about fifty notifications from all my s’ocial m’edia a’ccounts as I opened my phone, ten messages, and five missed calls from Neil. I didn’t try to open any of them, knowing well what every message would contain—messages of apologies for one drunken night’s mistake.

That is, if hearing his best friend, Celine, moaning his name in the middle of the night can be considered a mistake. It’s been six months since that call, and he still hasn’t given up. It wasn’t a secret that Celine had a thing for him, but I never thought he’d give in to her.

I consider myself lucky we lasted five months of phone calls, messages, and snapshots. Seeing each other but never able to touch. The absence of physical connection had been the greatest hurdle for us until it finally happened. He made a mistake, he said, but he claims he still loves me.

Some people are great at communication. Mom and dad were a testament that LDR can work, but sadly, I lost the ability to communicate with Neil. He wanted to explain, but I didn’t want to listen.

Before mom and I moved here to Las Mencía, a not-so-small town in the province of Seville, my relationship with Neil had already been falling off. Not that any of it was his fault. It was all on me. And I don’t blame him for searching for comfort in the arms of another woman, really. It was all because I had been closed off to the world; I distanced myself from everyone, including Neil. 

I don’t understand why he won’t just move on from me.

Searching for Mom’s number, I sent her a message that my shift had just ended. Her reply was instant; she made ravioli di zucca, one of Dad’s favorite dishes.

It’s an unspoken routine mom, and I fell into. Friday night, since Dad’s accident, is a night we eat his favorite dishes. It’s some kind of nostalgic torture we’re both dealing with.

A compliant thump echoed as I closed my locker, sending mom a reply that I couldn’t wait to get home.

Brío was twenty minutes away from home. I’d walk home with Maya on usual nights, but she’s spending the weekend with her aunt in Barcelona. She asked me to come with her. I was tempted to go. I mean, two nights and two days in Barcelona, free accommodation, food, not to mention a witty tour guide like Maya? Who wouldn’t be tempted to take that offer? Mom even urged me to go, but I couldn’t stomach the fact that I’d be ten hours away from her.

On my way out of the employee’s lounge, I bid goodbye to a few co-workers, skipping out of the club.

The night was still young. The winding cobblestone path illuminated by the glowing street lights brings out the town’s undeniable nighttime passion in full force. There was that familiar orange blossom charging in the mellow summer air, coupled with the mouth-watering aroma emitting from the restaurants along the way.

I almost missed Señor Salvador’s fruit shop, reaching him just in time before the store closed. Mom loves fresh orange juice in the morning; that’s why it became my nightly routine to buy some on my way home.

“Where is Maya?” the elderly fruit vendor asked while his employee, Benjamin, carefully lifted the crates of oranges from the delivery truck, stacking each inside the store.

“In Barcelona, visiting her relatives,” I replied, handing the cash over. He handed me my change; I frowned at the fifty percent cut off from the regular price, yet again.

I handed back the excess from the change, but Señor Salvador waved me off. “We’re about to close, anyway. I would give it for free, but you’re a stubborn child.”

“That’s so sweet, gracias,” I said gratefully.

He knew my late grandmother; from what I gathered, he had a little crush on her, and he admitted that in one of our conversations before.

We chatted for a bit about his farm, how he’s able to produce these sweet oranges, and so on. After mumbling another thank you, I continued my journey home, the subtle light of the golden moon as my guide. I reached the quiet part of town, where the residential buildings begin, marking the end of the festive nightlife trail.

Standing on the curve, clutching a bag of oranges at one hand while the other gripped the strap of my backpack, I waited for the few cars on sight to pass. I was silently humming the last song I heard from the club in my head as I crossed the street.

Just a few more steps away from the sidewalk, a blinding light came from my right side, taking me by surprise. I was almost there, exactly three steps away from the cobblestone path. The irking screech made by the wheels as the driver pulled the motorcycle to the curve, coupled with the screams of the bystanders that witnessed the almost accident, had my heart racing from zero to sixty.

It didn’t hit me. I should consider myself lucky, but I don’t.

The driver quickly hopped off of the motorcycle, removed his helmet, sprinting to where I was.

People dashed to where I stood frozen, onlookers aiming to aid me if I needed help. But all I could hear was my heart thrashing wildly inside my chest cavity.

It was deafening. I could practically hear the rush of my blood pumping through my veins, and then it followed. The image of the shadows the night of the accident. The authorities called it an accident, but I knew better.

All I can see are shadows. Fast shadows of disappearing trees on the street side as endless white light flashed from all directions. It was a dark night illuminated by flashes of guns releasing endless bullets. 

“Are you alright?” the man said. His voice was deep, laced with worry. 

My entire body trembles in fear, eyes misting with tears I could barely see. I flinched back when his hand reached for my shoulders.

On instinct, I slapped his hand away, spinning on my white Nike trainers as I ran like I never did before.

It only takes one person - a reckless person - to remind me of the memories I’ve been trying to suppress for two years.

I willed my feet to move as fast as they could, one leap after another, never bothering to look back at the man who was shouting something I couldn’t understand. All I know is I have to run. The warm air dried my tears as I secured the straps of my backpack, giving me more room to move faster.

There was no time for me to question why I was running. It wasn’t as if I was at fault. I should force the driver to take me to the hospital and have my heart checked by a specialist. Each pound came so fast with loud thuds, breaking the natural laws of a human body.

I reached our home, unlocking the door with the keys I fished out from my jeans pocket.

Mom’s voice crooned from the kitchen; hearing the loud slam of the wooden door, the hinges shook.

‘I can’t let her see me like this.’

I skipped the stairs to my room, two steps at a time, closing the door, locking it. My bag bounced on the bed, falling with a thump on the floorboard.

Mom quickly caught up with me, already knocking on the door.

“Viviana, everything alright?”

I swallowed hard, hoping to sound as calm as I could. It was hard to control the trembling of my hands. Fuck, even my lips were quivering.

“My tummy is upset,” I croaked, tugging my hoodie off with a loud gruff.

“Oh, alright,” mom replied dejectedly.

Dammit! I cursed under my breath, wiping the moisture that kept rolling down my cheeks harshly. I was doing fine. I was doing okay until that stupid, reckless driver!

“I’ll make you some tea,” her voice lost its verve.

This was the last thing I wanted to happen. I should have accepted the fact that I needed to see a specialist. Mom and I, we are both wearing a charade every fucking day that losing dad didn’t set its heavy toll on us. That we’ve both accepted the reality that we will never see him again.

I was a fool to believe that I could hold it together for so long.

“Come out anytime you’re ready.” She didn’t wait for my reply. Upon the sound of her reiterating footsteps, I rushed inside the bathroom, locking the door as well. I didn’t bother to remove my clothes, stepping under the cold drizzle of the shower as the damned dam broke.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are things between you and Neil…” Dad trailed off, clearly uncomfortable with this discussion he’s about to put us into. He cleared his throat, running his fingers through his long brown hair. “...serious?”

We’ve reached the end of the trail, marking the end of our two-day, one-night camping at Platte River Campground. We did a lot of activities together. Boating, canoeing, kayaking, fishing, hiking, and wildlife viewing while catching up.

Dad is going to work overseas again for the rest of the summer. He just waited for my graduation. I’m glad he did. He’ll be stationed in Abu Dhabi for a year. With this new contract he signed with Summit Petroleum, the chances of another camping weekend like this would be scarce.

I tossed my camping bag on the backseat as soon as we reached his Jeep, keeping the door open so he could put it in his bag as well.

“We’re just….” I trailed off as well, eyes focused on the tip of my boots. “Why did you have to ask that again?” I groaned, breaking the awkward tension his question brought to us.

Laugh lines on his face deepened as he chuckled, reaching to ruffle my hair as I closed the door. I slid on the passenger side and answered him truthfully when he was seated in the driver’s seat. “We’re just going with the flow, I guess. I mean, I have college to focus on, and he just started working at the station and all.”

Dad hummed. The car engine revved to life. He set one hand on the back of my headrest, shoulder checking as he reversed out of the parking lot.

“You’re keeping everything safe, right?” He asked, as though he was asking me about the weather, scratching his stubbled-covered jaw.

“Dad!” I cried, covering my face with my palms. Sometimes I hate that mom never comes with us on camping trips.

He chuckled gleefully, green eyes twinkling with mischief as he focused on the road. The sun was just dipping on the horizon. Although the road we were driving through was already dark from the shadows cast by the bountiful trees on the street side.

I still remember everything, from the sound of the owls hooting from a distance, the cool wind blowing my mane hair towards my face, dad’s laughter mingled with mine. Then came the flashes of blinding headlights, five as I counted them, not including the motorcycles that were already closing in on us. And the piercing echoes of the bullets. I still remember everything…. And I don’t want to remember anymore.