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It had been happening all. freaking. day.
He’d turn the corner, see a cup or a flower or a damn leaf that somehow reminded him and poof, he’d be someone else. Papi. Dolores. Luisa—a mess of people in quick succession. Thank God he’d managed to keep from changing into her. He didn’t think he could deal with that. Ay, he didn’t think any of them could.
No one blamed him though. When Mirabel witnessed one of his involuntary shifts on his way to the kitchen that morning, she’d just looked at him with that sappy, stupid face she was always making and gave him a hug that maybe did help him feel a little better.
Papi had clapped him hard on the back, keeping a steadying hand on his shoulder as he shifted back down into his own skin. He'd nodded solemnly, giving him a gentle, encouraging lift under the chin.
Tía Julieta just gave him an extra helping at lunch, teary-eyed yet smiling warmly as always.
But it still sucked.
Dios why couldn’t he just get a grip? He felt so jumpy. Everything set him off. He snapped at Antonio when one of his coatis left cacas outside his room again. Even as he spoke he’d known his voice was a too harsh for the situation. He snapped Isabela, and for once she didn’t snap back. She just sent a tiny bloom of flowers settling into his shirt pocket, their stems only a little spikey. He even snapped at Casita when they both knew he'd just tripped on his own two feet.
But he made sure he was on his absolute best behavior around Mami. You want to talk about jumpy? He had nothing on her. Poor Ma.
He managed to hold it together through the rosary, and the next day at mass too, by some miracle. The ceremony was harder, but he pulled through. But then came the reception. Everyone was talking to him and hugging him and offering condolences and ay how many times can you say thank you, I know she's at peace with just the right sad smile before the words start to lose all meaning? Thank you thank you thankyouthankyo—
So. Phwooo. Here he was now, sneaking out of the reception to the back porch of Casita when no one was looking, just to try to fill his stale lungs with a little more air.
After he shut the door quietly behind him, giving a small pat to the wall in thanks to his accomplice Casita, he turned and was surprised to find he in fact was not alone. There, on the small step that led out to the back patio, was Tío Bruno, a rat of course sitting on his shoulder. Eck. Camilo felt a little shiver go down his back.
He considered turning around to find his own private place to brood, but something stopped him. After a moment, and a small nudge from the tiles beneath his feet, he quietly approached instead.
“Hey,” he said lamely.
“Oh!” Bruno startled, flailing comically, but recovered quickly. “Oh, h-hey there Milo.”
Guess I'm not the only one who’s jumpy.
“Do you mind if I…?” he gestured at the empty spot on the stairs next to his tío.
Bruno nodded rapidly, flapping at the spot with his hands and scooting over a minute amount that made absolutely no difference in available space. Camilo sat.
For a while, they didn’t say anything. The rat had disappeared from Tío Bruno’s shoulder to God knows where. They watched the leaves sway on the large gnarled tree that stood proudly behind Casita.
Man, how old was that thing? It had been there as long as he could remember. At some point, a planter had been built around it where Isabela grew a perpetual explosion of flowers, and a swing hung from one of its thicker branches, but he'd seen pictures of when the back porch had let out to just a field and a tree. Camilo found himself wondering if that old thing had always been there, or if it had come with their Miracle.
It looked ancient. The trunk was at least as wide as four humans, twisting and turning up toward the sky at a slight angle before giving way to countless branches, those branches breaking off on their own as well in seemingly infinite chaos. The canopy splayed out above the courtyard in a protective, verdant umbrella so lush that even in the rain, the area underneath often stayed dry. Down below, the roots wove in and out of the soil like great serpents surfacing for air, defying the boundaries of the neat planter and forever upending the level neatness of the patio.
Camilo couldn’t imagine it not being there. He just couldn’t imagine a world without its constant, unshakeable presence. Something heavy and gripping suddenly settled into his chest, and he swallowed hard.
After a moment, his traitorous mouth opened without being told to and he whispered out question so quietly he wasn't sure if Bruno would even hear him.
“What do you think it’s like?”
“Huh?”
“...dying.” Camilo swallowed again, but didn’t look at his uncle. “What do you think it’s like.”
“Oh.” Bruno’s voice was soft. To Camilo’s surprise, he didn’t fidget or squirm like usual. Instead, he seemed to sort of wilt. Camilo glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. He'd leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He stared up toward the big tree too, but he didn’t seem to be really looking at anything.
It was quiet for so long, that Camilo considered cracking some kind of joke to cover his tracks.
What are you thinking anyway, tonto? he thought. Guy just lost his mom. You gonna drop a rock like that on him? He really did need to get a grip. He needed to break the tension, ease the mood.
“Well, it must not have been that bad if Abuela allowed it to happen,” he joked, his voice light, wry, and guarding. “I think even La Muerte herself would have layed off if Abuela had given her that one stern look she had, ya know?" [Death]
Camilo chuckled, but Bruno didn't laugh. He didn't respond at all. He was still looking at the tree with a distant expression. Camilo narrowed his eyes at him—it didn't even seem like he'd heard a thing.
“...Tío?”
At that, Bruno dropped his eyes down to look at his hands, woven together loosely between his bent knees. He tipped his palms up slightly as if he was looking for something there. He took a slow breath, and then he began to speak.
“When I was a kid,” he said, “a-a real little kid, we had this big party at Casita. You know how it goes. House full of people, everything is busy and bright and loud. I don't remember what it was for anymore, b-but the whole time I just was torn between wanting to not miss a minute of it all, but, but, but also trying to be on my best behavior, like I knew Ma would want, a-and also also trying look out for my sisters, who were doing fine by the way, definitely didn't need me looking out for them but—well, anyway.”
Bruno cleared his throat, and Camilo watched him curiously. He nodded for him to continue, and Bruno nodded back.
“A-anyway, I didn't make it through the whole night. I got tired, like kids do, a-and fell asleep in some corner of the courtyard, heh. Passed right out. And Ma—y-your abuela, she found me and picked me up.”
Bruno looked up then, turning to look at Camilo with a sad, crooked smile and an odd brightness in his eyes.
“She carried me upstairs to my room. I could still hear the party—laughter and singing and music and joy—just in the next room over, but in my room with Mamá it was all still and quiet and peaceful. When she tucked me in, she kissed my cheek, and she whispered, ‘You did well, mijo. You did well. I've got you now.’”
Bruno swallowed. “It…it all just felt so…so…safe,” he shrugged. “Like…relief, I guess. Contentment. Idaknow. I think….maybe, um, maybe dying is… something like that.”
The tight feeling was back in Camilo's chest, and he felt a tear streak down his face before he was even aware it was there. He blinked. Bruno looked down at his empty hands again. The air around them had grown cool, the sun now set. The sound of crickets hummed, and the gentle murmurs from the reception wafted out from the warmly lit windows of Casita. Camilo sniffed loudly.
“That doesn't sound so bad,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. Bruno nodded with a broken chuckle, and brought a sleeve up to wipe roughly at his own face.
“Yeah. It doesn't.”
Then, without warning, Camilo’s shoulders quaked, his breath hitching and more tears suddenly appearing as all the pent-up pressure of the day rose to the surface and broke free. He choked out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a cry. Bruno put an arm around him.
The wind blew gently through the branches of the tree, ruffling the leaves in a hushed lullaby. The ropes of the swing creaked sweetly along with it. And there on the porch, settled between the warm murmurs of the reception behind them and the cool peace of the star-filled night, after his breathing had slowed and his tears had been wiped dry, Camilo thought that maybe he could finally feel within him a measure of stillness.