Roses & Bullets

XVII. The Robin

ERIK

Claire doesn't wait for my response and quickly turns away. I watch her descend the stairs before I close the door. I smile as I go back to sit by the window.

Mikey is not her boyfriend. I don't know why I feel relieved, but it's like a thorn has been removed from my chest. I watch the robin on the lawn as it hops around.

It seems so carefree. The little robin continues to hop around, and this time, two more robins join it. The three of them look like kids playing hopscotch.

As I watch the birds, I notice the boy who ran me over earlier ride his bicycle around the neighborhood. When he sees the three little robins on the lawn, he gets off his bike and slowly walks towards them, careful not to scare them away. He kneels down, reaches into his pocket, and takes out something.

I guess it's food because the birds are now approaching him. As he extends his arm, two of the robins fly away, but the other one remains and starts nibbling at his hand. The kid smiles, and once his hand is empty, he gets up and rides off his bike, leaving the bird alone.

Oh, to be young. That's nice of him, really. Being kind to animals often means being kind to everyone.

My train of thought is suddenly interrupted by my ringing phone. My mother wants to video call, and I just realize how much I miss her. I answer the phone cheerfully.

"Hey, mom! How's it going?"

"We're good, son," she answers, and I quickly notice that something is off with her. She looks at my dad before adding, "How about you?"

"I'm fine. What is wrong, guys?" Something must have happened, otherwise, my mother won't be acting this way. She just looks so nervous.

"Nothing's wrong, Erik." This time, it's my dad who speaks. "How's Alabama?"

"Dad, please don't lie to me." They look at each other, and my father nods at my mother as if giving her a go sign.

"Someone broke into our house, Erik," she says, her lips trembling.

"What the f**k? When?"

"The night you left, son," my father replies gently, trying to calm me down. "We just found out the following morning when we saw the window in your room broken. What's weird is, nothing was taken."

"What do you mean nothing was taken?"

"I mean, nothing is missing," my father tells me. "We thought that maybe some kids accidentally hit the window or something. But still, we're not ruling out the possibility of a break-in."

"Why am I only hearing about this now?" I ask exasperatedly.

"We didn't want you to worry," says my father.

"Oh, and you think I'm not worried now?" I ask without realizing that I'm standing up, shouting. "Especially when I'm not there to protect you?"

"Calm down, Erik." My mother starts to cry, and, of course, I feel guilty again.

I let out a sigh and sit back down. I don't speak and wait for them to explain. This is f*****g unbelievable!

"We already filed a report and installed a security system, so you don't have to worry anymore," my mother assures me. "If anything like this happens again, we promise to let you know."

"This better not happen again," I say through gritted teeth.

We all remain quiet, and my mother finally stops crying. My father hugs her, and I feel uncomfortable watching them. I decide to break the silence.

"I'm sorry, mom, dad," I tell them. "I didn't mean to overreact."

"We're sorry, too, for not telling you," my mother replies.

"Just always update me, okay?"

"We will," they both answer at the same time.

"Good."

"Okay, that's enough tension," my father says. "You didn't answer my question, Erik. How's Alabama?"

"It's all right, I guess. It's quiet."

"Are you making any friends?" my mother asks, and my father and I both burst into laughter.

"Seriously, mom?"

"Beth, you're son is not in the first grade."

"Oh, please!" my mother hisses, "He'll always be my little boy."

I watch my parents bicker, and it reminds me of the old times. We would laugh at the silly things that my mother would say, and my father would constantly tease her. Our home was always filled with laughter, but boy, how times have changed.

"Have you been eating on time, Erik?" My mother is always concerned about my diet.

"Yes, mom. The person who prepares the food here is a great cook."

"Really?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. "Is that person a girl?"

"It's a girl, yes," I chuckle. "In fact, she's the daughter of the owner. They're good people, mom."

"What's her name?"

"Jesus, Beth," my father mutters, shaking his head.

"Her name is Claire."

"What a lovely name," she remarks, giggling. "Is she pretty?"

"She's pretty, mom. Very pretty."

"That's nice. At least you have someone to take care of you there."

"Mom, I'm a grown man," I remind her. "I don't need anybody to take care of me."

"If you say so," she tells me sarcastically.

"All right," my father butts in, "that's enough. Erik, we'll just call you again. I think your mother needs more coffee."

"No, I don't!" my mother protests. "Anyway, let's talk again soon, son. We love you."

"I love you guys more."

We end the call, and I look out the window to see if the robin is still there. It already left. I leave my phone on the table before lying down in bed.

For some reason, I feel so tired. It must be because of my workout this morning, but I think there's a deeper reason. I'm not just physically exhausted, but also mentally.

I close my eyes and imagine that I'm a little robin. Young and free. I can fly wherever I want to, whenever I want to.

I can continue flying until my wings can't move anymore. I fall asleep, and I feel glad that I didn't have any bad dreams. When I wake up, it's already dark outside.

As if on cue, the dinner bell starts ringing, so I get up to join the others downstairs. The Koreans are already gone, and I feel a little sorry that I didn't get to see them off. As usual, I sit beside Claire, who prepared lasagna and cheesy garlic bread for dinner.

Claire serves me my portion, and we all start eating. Corey keeps looking at my injured hand, but he doesn't say anything. Actually, I won't mind even if he asks.

"You all right, Erik?" Mr. Wilson inquires, but not particularly referring to my injury.

"Yes, sir," I reply. "I'm all right."

"That's good to hear," he smiles. "Claire, this is delicious. It's a good thing you got your mom's skill at cooking."

"Thank you, daddy," Claire sweetly says. "It's actually her recipe."

"I figured," replies Mr. Wilson.

I take my first bite, and it's heavenly. I immediately take a second bite, and then a third, when I hear Claire chuckling beside me.

I look at her with furrowed eyebrows and a mouth filled with lasagna.

"Slow down, tiger," Claire teases. "there's still more."

Mr. Wilson and Corey laugh, and I can't help but laugh with them. It feels good to be surrounded by these people.

For the first time since I got here, I feel like I belong with them. And I haven't felt that in a long time.