Black. That was all I saw. No sound could be heard around me; I suppose this is what people call limbo or nothingness itself. It's curious how a simple slip ended like this. I wonder how long it will take for someone to notice that I am dead, assuming that at work I have almost no friends.
I suppose that once the stench starts to be smelled in the building, someone will call the authorities to check my apartment. I can already imagine the landlord's surprise upon finding out that a person died in his apartment. That brought a smile to my face; the man was a vile trickster who practically charged you $3,000 for a small studio in the city center. The only reason I accepted was that the location was ideal, as I could walk to work.
Thinking about it well, it was ironic to think that I died in the most ironic way possible. I always thought I would die of a sudden heart attack due to my unhealthy lifestyle. And the thing is, since the divorce, I have neglected myself quite a bit regarding my lifestyle. Working for Citadel LLC as an investment analyst, I practically couldn't have a normal social or romantic life. After all, working 80 hours a week takes away a lot of time; if the week has 168 hours, then I spend half the time sitting at my desk analyzing stock market trends and answering calls from important clients.
The only thing that kept me in that job was that I made good money at it. I mean, if they pay you 500 thousand annually, I don't think anyone would complain. My superiors had previously offered me a position in management, but I ended up rejecting it; if I had more free time, I wouldn't know what to do. I don't have friends to hang out with, and a partner is out of the question since my ex-wife cheated on me; since then, with women, I don't go beyond one-night stands.
Now then, remembering my whole life, I began to remember the only woman who was always with me: my mother. A woman who came to this country with dreams and aspirations but ended up crashing against the cold reality of life. By coming here and staying illegally, she practically could never get a formal job. In her country, my mother was an accountant; I remember that in our old building in New York, she did the bookkeeping and tax returns for our neighbors.
Those were the best years of my life. I never knew my father. My mother always avoided talking about him in front of me, saying that he was a bad man and that she didn't want to waste saliva on someone like him. Years later, I found out who my father really was. That day, I was returning from my first year of university and wanted to surprise my mother with my arrival home.
I remember that day so vividly. I remember having arrived at Port Authority Bus Terminal and then I took the E line of the train toward Jamaica. I remember how dangerous the neighborhood was, but even so, I remember my days there with affection. Walking through the streets until reaching my mother's apartment on Hillside Ave. I remember going up the stairs of the old building to the apartment door until I heard some voices inside. Paying more attention, I identify that they are my mom and our neighbor, Mrs. Hernandez.
Thinking about Mrs. Hernandez makes me smile indirectly. For me, she was the aunt I never had. I remember the days I stayed in her apartment, the days when my mother had to do double shifts or work extra hours to make ends meet. Which, by the way, was often.
Now then, just when I was going to open the door and announce my presence, I heard something I shouldn't have. "When are you going to tell him, Melissa?" said Mrs. Hernandez to my mom.
"I don't think I should tell him, Paola," said my mom.
"He has a right to know, Melissa," said Mrs. Hernandez, raising her voice.
"And you think I don't know it! But tell me, let's see how I tell him," said mom, finally exploding.
At that question, Mrs. Hernandez remained silent.
"How do you want me to tell him that he is the fruit of an infidelity? That I got involved with a married man?" said my mom, this time between sobs.
After hearing those words, I feel how my world collapses. "So that was the reason why I never knew my father," I think, and then in my head everything starts to fit: why my mother never wants to talk about the subject or always made excuses to my questions. Such is my shock that I drop my suitcase and the sound is heard throughout the floor.
Seconds later, I hear the door open and I see my mom standing in front of me and how her gaze freezes as soon as she sees me.
"Honey, I..." my mom begins to say. She tries to bring her hand to my face but then I push it away with a swat.
"So that's why you never talked to me about my father?" I ask. My mom stays silent, not knowing what to say. "Answer!!" I shouted.
I see my mother trembling on the verge of tears, but I kept ranting. "Is that why you never talked about him, how you met him, what his name was?"
"Honey, everything has an explanation," she continued.
"And what is the explanation, eh? Answer! That my mother is a nobody who got involved with..." suddenly I feel a sting on my cheek and I see my mother with her hand raised and crying.
She had never raised her hand to me in my whole life, but after that, I said something I will regret for the rest of my life.
"I HATE YOU" was the last thing I said before turning around and leaving.
After that, I took the first bus back to the University and never went back, no matter how much my mother tried to get in touch with me. First, they were daily calls the first few months, then they were messages, until finally, there was nothing; there simply stopped being messages or calls. After that, I felt a vacuum in my chest that shrank my heart, but I moved on with my life.
Until that day. I was 28 years old at the time when suddenly I received a call informing me that my mom had died. Hearing those words was like stabbing a dagger into my heart. I immediately left what I was doing and went straight to New York to the funeral. There were only a few people from the building. Once the ceremony was over, a person I hadn't seen in a long time approached: Mrs. Hernandez.
"It's been a long time, hasn't it, Aaron?" Mrs. Hernandez began.
"I..." I began until she cut me off.
"Save it, I don't want to hear your excuses. I just want you to know that you lost the only person who loved you and looked out for you since you were little," she said in a sharp tone.
At her words, I could do nothing but bow my head.
"She always wanted to fix things with you, you know? That day she wanted to tell you the whole truth."
At her words, I couldn't help but tremble.
"And all for what? For a man you never knew, who was never with you?" she continued.
Then, exhaling loudly, she gave me a letter saying: "It was the last thing your mother left me before she died. I hope this answers your questions." Then she left.
With trembling hands, I opened and read the letter. In it, she explained to me that she worked in a mansion as a domestic maid and that there she met my father, who was the son of her bosses. One thing led to another and suddenly they began a romantic relationship, or so she thought, until she discovered she was pregnant and then everything went from bad to worse. My father didn't want to take responsibility and told her to abort or he would have her fired, but at that, my mother said she didn't need him or anyone to get ahead alone.
After reading that letter, I start to cry without stopping. Regret, guilt—it was the only thing I felt. After that moment, my life went from bad to worse. I became a withdrawn and antipathetic person, I got divorced, and that's how I ended up living in that small apartment.
Recalling my whole life, a trace of regret and helplessness crossed my gaze, thinking of everything I would have done to prevent all this from happening. How I could be a better son, how I could have a better life.
Then I heard a voice that whispered to me: "Do you want to change your destiny?"
At that, I looked around and, seeing nothing, I thought it was a hallucination. Then the same voice said: "Do you want to change your destiny?"
After that, I thought I was crazy, but I replied: "Yes."
The same voice continued: "What is it that you would do differently?"
I replied: "I would be a better son, I wouldn't make the same mistakes in the past, and I would live a life without regrets," I replied with an energetic voice at the end.
Then the same voice replied: "So be it."
And suddenly I felt like I was being sucked by a vortex and then nothing.
Seconds later, I felt like I was waking up from a dream. Above my head, a white ceiling with fluorescent lights could be seen, which made me block my eyes with my hand until suddenly I reacted and saw that my hand was much smaller, like that of a child. Then I hear a door open and a woman in a gown says: "I see you woke up," she says with a listless voice, as if seeing children in beds were part of her day-to-day. "Do you remember why you are here?" she asked.
"I..." I began.
I see her frown slightly and then she approached with a flashlight to my eyes and asked: "What is your name?"
"Aaron?" I replied hesitantly.
I saw her write something on her clipboard.
"Do you know what year it is?" she asked.
"No..." I replied.
I see her mutter: "Mild symptoms of amnesia."
Then she began to say: "Okay, Aaron, I want you to stay calm and listen to me. You are in the infirmary because you suffered a blow to the head on the playground."
Hesitantly, I asked: "Excuse me, could you tell me what year it is?" I asked.
At that, the nurse replied: "We are in the year 2000."
After hearing that, I mentally shouted: "What the fuck!!!"