The Cold (An Easy English Story): Part 7
Carlos picks me up in front of the mall. I get in his car, close the door, and whisper, “I saw something crazy.”
“An ice body? Should we call the police?” Carlos looks worried.
“No, but there was ice. And it was still cold, so it must be new.”
Carlos laughs. “But it’s winter! There’s ice everywhere. And there’s about five restaurants in the mall. They use ice.”
“But this ice was in an old cafe! Remember Green Leaves? They’re closed now.”
“Ari, you went into the construction area? You can’t do that! And you can’t write a news article about the ice. If the police read the article, they’ll know that you trespassed.”
I sigh. Carlos is right.
Carlos pauses, and then asks, “Do you think the ice was used for the ice body?”
I nod. “The cafe is right next to the dumpster.”
“Do you think the construction workers killed someone?”
“No,” I say. “I think that someone put the body in the freezer overnight. The construction workers only work during the day. They seemed normal, too. I don’t think they killed anyone.”
Carlos and I are quiet for the rest of the car ride.
When I get home, I walk into the living room. Mom is reading a book on the couch. She looks up. “Is Dad still parking the car?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Did he go somewhere?”
Mom frowns. “He went to pick you up from the mall.”
“Carlos picked me up, remember?”
Mom closes her book and goes to the garage. Dad’s car is not there. “He said that you called him. He said that Carlos couldn’t bring you home, so you asked him. I heard him talking to you on the phone!”
My hands begin to sweat. “That wasn’t me. I never called Dad.”
Mom picks up the phone and dials 9-1-1. She tells the police that her husband is missing and that he might be at the mall. The police ask for information about him, and they say that they will call again soon.
Mom and I wait. We sit quietly in the living room for hours. When a car drives by our house, Mom jumps up to see if it is Dad’s car. It never is.
The sun rises. My eyes want to shut, but I keep them open. Mom looks tired, too. I know that we are thinking the same thing: What if Dad becomes an ice body?
Mom’s shoulders shake, and she puts her head in her hands. I cover her with the blanket on the couch. “Dad will be okay,” I say. But I don’t believe it. “I’m not hungry, but let’s eat something, okay?” I don’t have the energy to cook, so I put bread in the toaster and boil water for tea. Mom lies down on the couch, looking at the window.
Right after we finish breakfast, Mom’s phone rings. “We still can’t find your husband or his car,” the policeman says. “But we will keep looking.” Mom begins to cry again.
“This is good,” I say, hoping to comfort her. “If they didn’t find him yet, he’s probably okay.”
“But what if the police find Dad’s car in a river, like with Alex? It took the police two days to find him. Maybe Dad’s car slipped on ice or…” Mom can’t stop crying. We almost never talk about Alex. But we remember Alex in everything we do. Now we drink tea because he liked coffee. We eat dinner in front of the TV because the table feels empty with three people and four chairs. We keep his old bedroom closed, untouched.
I begin to cry, too. Mom may be right.
After calling Ms. Sato to explain that I have a family emergency, I went upstairs to try to sleep. Mom went to her bedroom, too. But I can’t sleep. I think about Alex. He died last year in a flood. He was 17. It was raining hard, but he wanted to go to his friend’s house. He stayed until the night, and when he drove home, he didn’t see that the river water was above the bridge. The water quickly washed his car into the river. The car flipped over, and he drowned in the water.
After Alex died, my parents fought a lot. Mom asked Dad, “Why did you buy him a car?” and Dad asked Mom, “Why did you let him go out when it was raining?” I stayed in my room and studied for my exams. Slowly, Mom and Dad stopped talking about Alex. They couldn’t find answers for their questions, so they stopped asking questions.
I still miss Alex.
I miss his loud music. I miss his baseball collection. I miss his wide smile. I miss his messy bedroom.
Without thinking, I get out of bed and walk down the hallway to Alex’s old room. When I open the door, I smell Alex’s favorite body spray. I used to hate that body spray. Now the smell makes me feel like Alex is hugging me.
I look around his bedroom. It is exactly the same as one year ago. His homework is still on the desk. His dirty clothes are still on the floor. Even his coffee cup is sitting next to his bed. I lie down on his bed and look at the tree outside his window. This tree had flowers on it when he died. What did he think when he looked at those flowers in the morning on that day?
When I open my eyes, it is dark. Probably 6:00. Remembering I am in Alex’s room, I feel the furniture in front of me until I find his desk lamp. His bad handwriting on his English homework makes me smile.
And then I see another piece of paper next to the homework. This paper has neat handwriting with small letters. Dad’s handwriting. The paper only has three sentences:
I’m sorry, Alex. If I didn’t buy you that car, you would never have died. It’s all my fault.
Fun for Fluency! 