Surviving Valencia

“Roger, where did you get this glass? I swear, we used to have a set like this. Tall ones, short ones,” Adrian called to my father, holding up a glass available at any garage sale.

“That’s the only one we have left anymore, so don’t break it,” joked my father through the screen door.

“Put some extra maraschino cherries in mine, Roger,” called my mother.

Was I invisible? I pulled my sweater tightly around me, shivering. Adrian fit in so well, I realized. Perhaps not intellectually, but he was every bit as disloyal to me as my parents were. I wondered what was next. I pictured the three of them signing a document and a paddywagon arriving to take me to an insane asylum.

“I came here to visit their graves and that is what I intend to do,” I said. No one even looked at me. I reached for the keys in Adrian’s pocket and he grabbed my wrist. It didn’t hurt so much as anger and surprise me.

“I love those little cherries,” sang my mother. Then she burst into a giggle fit.

“Adrian!”

Finally he turned to me and made eye contact. “If you’re going, I’m coming with you and I’m driving. I haven’t had as much as you.”

“You’ve had much more than I have. Let me go. Let me do this alone.”

He stood up. “Roger, Patricia. We’ll be back shortly. It’s going to be too dark to find our way tonight, but your daughter, God love her, gets these ideas…”

“No. I really need to do this by myself,” I said.

“I’m not losing another child!” said my mother, sounding shrill and wasted. This surprised me. I often felt that she thought of me as some kind of relative, but not her child. A younger sister, perhaps.

“Adrian, please,” I whispered.

My dad was back with a bucket of ice cubes. “Try these cubes. Tell me what they taste like.”

“I like this game,” said my drunk mother, popping one into her drink. “Well Roger, let me think. Don’t tell us. These taste like ginger.”

“Noooo. Guess again.”

“Figs? Fig Newtons?”

“Closer.”

“Are these made of prunes?”

“You’re getting warmer.”

And then, miracle of miracles, Adrian handed me the keys.

“Thank you,” I whispered, feeling genuinely grateful. The cemetery was only a mile away. I ran to the car and got in, immediately locking my door as if I were in a scary neighborhood. I adjusted the seat and took a second to catch my breath. It was such a relief to be alone. I felt the pressure in my head instantly begin to dissipate.

Start the car.

Hurry hurry.

Get away before someone stops you.

I decided I might never come back. The best thing to do, the only solid option, was to drive forever.

Adrian tapped on the window then and I had no choice but to open it.

I lowered the window and he leaned in. “I just wanted to give you a kiss. Be careful.” He kissed my temple. “Don’t stay away too long.”

“I won’t.”

“Too many more of these are going to make me sick,” he said, holding up a fresh drink with a plastic sword of cherries bobbing in it.