The Writer’s Corner features poetry, essays, short stories, satire and various fiction and non-fiction from SCAD Atlanta students. To submit your own work for the Writer’s Corner, email features@scadconnector.com.
‘In the Silence – part two’ by Kelly Quintana
Sometimes Paloma thought she’d seen moments when Jayla would open up. They would be eating dinner at their table and Jayla would drop her shoulders. She would look at Paloma with pleading eyes. Those eyes of hers would plead and plead so Paloma would set her spoon down and ask her what she needs. She would reach across the table they had bought together, and Jayla would fall silent. Her pleading eyes would shift, leaving no trace of the emotion they once held. Paloma was always left with the same impossible choice. She could either press for an answer and be met with nothing more than a shrug and words that locked her out, or she could say nothing and be forced to watch Jayla shrink further and further into herself.
Wrapping the gauze around her hands creates second wave of pain that travel up her arms. She should tighten it more, but she needs to be able to move her hands. There are no other hands to help her. Not anymore. She shoves everything back under the bathroom sink and quickly turns to leave. Like everything else in this stupid apartment, they had picked out the bathroom décor together.
Jayla grabbed a green stone tile. “I like this shade.”
“Can we go back to talking about last night?” Paloma said, barely glancing at the tile in Jayla’s hand.
Jayla shrugged. “Just a panic attack. It’s fine.”
“Amor,” Paloma grabbed her hands. Jayla looked at them. “I know I won’t ever get what it’s like okay? But I want to be able to help.”
Jayla pulled her hands away and walked down to the next aisle with bathroom sinks. “Look,” she said, approaching one. “This one would go great with that tile.”
Paloma leans on that sink now. She looks at the bathroom walls filled with the tile Jayla had picked out. She shuts her eyes and takes a couple of deep breaths before walking out. She keeps her eyes down as she walks down the hallway of paintings. Once she reaches the end of the hallway she looks up, and instantly regrets it. It’s not as if she and Jayla only existed in half of the apartment. This was their home.
Jayla might have taken her blankets away, the ones that were thrown over their couches, but her imprint remained. Paloma can see the silhouette of Jayla who would curl up with a book on the couch by the window so that she could pause and look out at the busy streets as she let the words, she read sink in. She would lay across the couch in front of the TV and watch K-pop music videos for hours. Paloma would get home from work to find her fast asleep, K-pop video on and a mug sitting on the table filled with tea that had gone cold. Jayla would look up from her book when Paloma got home, shut it, and tell what her favorite quote was so far and then continue. Paloma would let her read and would make her way to the shower. Many times, Jayla would join her—then she stopped. She stopped looking up from her book. Stopped sleeping on the couch. Instead, she would spend more time at her best friend’s house, so she was never home to join her in the shower anymore.
Her ringtone makes her flinch. She’d been so wrapped up in the silence and stillness of the place she’d called home. Paloma kneels in front of the couch to look for her phone. She and Jayla hadn’t started arguing in the bedroom, they’d just ended up there. The fight started as soon as Paloma walked in to see Jayla packing up her mugs and then it travelled into the living room. Paloma’s phone had been in her hand. She’d been talking to her best friend when she walked in. As they argued back and forth, Paloma’s phone flew out of her hand. She’d seen it slide under the couch but hadn’t bothered picking it up because Jayla was walking away, towards the bedroom.
The contact’s name says Mama Poppins, Jayla’s mom. Paloma watches the phone ring in her hands. Had Jayla told her mother?
“Oh good,” Mama Poppins says. “I was wondering what you girls are up to this Sunday?”
Jayla had not told her mom.
“Ma,” Paloma says. She covers her mouth. Her voice had betrayed her.
“What did my daughter do this time?”
Paloma holds the phone away from her. Her eyes begin to sting with fresh tears. She takes a couple deep breaths.
“Hello? Paloma? Are you still there?”
Paloma clears her throat. “No. I mean yes. I’m here. I’m find Ma. Just been a long day.”
“Oh honey,” the woman on the other end sighs. “You two always overworking yourself. Now you know the Lord said rest is important. I’ll let you go so you can rest, okay?”
“Yes Ma.”
“Tell my daughter she needs to pick up her phone.”
“Yes Ma.”
“And that she needs to come to church this Sunday.”
“Yes Ma.”
“You be good.”
Paloma ends the call and curls into a ball. She loses track of how long she lies on the floor crying but eventually her tears stop and she’s able to catch her breath.
The entire apartment seems to mock her. This place that had been theirs. This place where they had loved one another so completely. It had not been enough. Jayla had told her she could keep the apartment. Paloma will not. She cannot. All those memories now haunt this place. She had loved Jayla for eight years and now that would stay in this apartment. Those moments trapped forever in its history. All those little details she knows of Jayla will either fade away with time or they will linger like ghosts within her memories.
She texts her best friend to let her know she’s heading over. Wiping away fresh tears, she grabs her purse and keys and shuts the apartment door behind her. For a second, she lingers. Hand tight around the doorknob making her fingers bleed again. Paloma shuts her eyes and sees Jayla. She remembers Jayla laughing. Jayla cooking them dinner. The two of them curled on their couch watching movies. All those times Jayla’s face was the first thing she saw in the morning. She sees it all then opens her eyes. The apartment is empty. Paloma finishes locking the door and then lets go.