Babysitting the Devil's Son

02 VALERIE

I don’t know how much a human being can suffer without breaking down. Without trying to end their own life, or asking someone else to do it. My name is Valerie, and a month ago I turned twenty. I have medium brown hair that reaches halfway down my back. I’m skinny, but I don’t have a toned or perfect body. I have medium legs, a modest bust, and my belly isn’t flat. When I sit, there are bicycle tires. Hahaha. Anyone who sees me laughing like that wouldn't think that right now, I’m burying my mother.

Let me start from the beginning so you can understand. My parents were always simple people. They worked hard to have a house to live in and food to eat. We never had luxury, but we never lived in trash. We had what we needed and enough to survive and live well and happily.

I was born and raised in São Paulo. We lived in a simple neighborhood in the city of Osasco. I grew up there and made friends. That’s where I discovered what it means to have friends, where I found my first love. It was where I had my first kiss and almost lost my virginity. In this state, in this city, in the Jardim das Bandeiras neighborhood, that’s where I discovered what life is and what it’s like to live with little but happily.

When I turned fourteen, my father lost his job. In fact, the company let him go because he took them to court. My father worked with chemicals in a company that made cleaning products. The company did not provide the right work equipment for its employees, and my father ended up getting sick from frequently inhaling the products.

When I turned fifteen, I had two bad news at once. My grandmother passed away, and my father’s illness progressed from a throat and lung infection to severe and untreatable cancer.

With my father unemployed and my mother earning little, they made the decision to move to America. My grandmother left the house and the life insurance to my father, and this helped us to live here in Elarian Heights, Phoenix at first.

It was difficult for me to say goodbye to my best friend and my first love. But nothing is greater than the love I had and have for my parents.

When we arrived here, the owner of the place asked my parents a zillion questions, and they had to speak to him. I stayed at my grandmother’s house. When my parents came home, they said we could stay and told me all the rules. Like the good scaredy-cat I was, I stayed away from all eyes, especially from the guys who were involved in the drug trade. I’ve never been one to lower my head to anyone. In São Paulo, if they came at me, I would shout or slap them. But not here. Here I always kept myself hidden. Even when I started working at the central bar, I stayed hidden. I only worked in the kitchen, so I didn’t have contact with anyone.

I started working at the central bar when I was seventeen. I was a kitchen assistant. The owner of it was and still is a bore. But I needed to help my mother take care of the house and my father, who was getting worse every day.

My father underwent several treatments and took countless medications that, unfortunately, only delayed the inevitable. Seven months ago, my father passed away. It was the men of Elarian Heights who helped us get him to the hospital. When we arrived, they couldn’t revive him, and there I lost one of the great loves of my life. My hero, my best friend, my father.

If burying my father was difficult, seeing my mother sink into a profound and severe depression was even worse. Watching her give up on life broke me. I didn’t know what I could do. I asked her every day to try to get back on her feet for me, for herself, but it was no use.

Every day I went to work, afraid of going home and not seeing her alive anymore. I thanked God every day when I got home and saw her breathing. But yesterday, when I came home from work, the sight that greeted me was different and not good.

Seven months ago, I buried my father, who lost his life to cancer. Today, I bury my mother, who lost her life to the sadness of living without my father. I don’t know how much a human being can love another to the point of becoming like that.

I have never loved a person the way my mother and father loved each other. I had a boyfriend in São Paulo, Hugo, and now I’ve been dating Edison for two years. But I’ve never felt the kind of love for either of them that would make me lose myself or give myself up to death for that love.

I cried as I saw the coffin descend into the grave, feeling more alone than ever. Literally. I lost my hero, I lost my queen, and the two people I am closest to, who I could consider my family, couldn’t be here with me today.

Edison, my boyfriend, works on the asphalt. He’s a street vendor. Venus, my best friend here in Elarian Heights, met me at the bar where she works as a waitress. When we saw each other, we became close, and today we are inseparable. She couldn’t come to the funeral. The bar owner is a tyrant and didn’t let her go, and Edison couldn’t miss work.

I cried an agonizing cry because I didn’t know what to do, where to go, or how to start over again. When my father passed away, I had to gather all my strength to support my mother. But now it’s just me. Where do I find the strength to continue?

I remember when my father discovered his illness. He told me:

MEMORIES

“My little one, do you know what you do when life trips you up?” he asked me, and I shook my head. “You get up and move on,” he said, and I smiled at him. “One day at a time. One step at a time. That way, you’ll be able to rise up, rebuild yourself, and continue.” He smiled even more. “Promise me that even when you think there is no way out, you’ll keep walking, one step at a time. Live one day at a time and always hope for the best to happen. Promise me?” he asked, and I promised.

As long as I had life, I would never give up.

After receiving condolences from a few people who came to my mother’s funeral, I gathered my bits and pieces and left the cemetery. I stopped at a bus stop and stood there with my thoughts far away. I only noticed the bus when it stopped in front of me because someone signaled, and I’m grateful for that. It was already eight o’clock at night, and it’s deserted here at those times.

I took the bus and sat on an empty bench. Twenty minutes later, I signaled to get off at the point that is about five minutes’ walk from the Elarian Heights’ barrier. Arriving close to the barrier, I saw the boys who are there doing the containment, and I decided to take a motorcycle taxi.

I got up the hill, watching the movement for the dance that’s being held today since it’s Friday. I can’t see the excitement in anything. When the motorcycle taxi stopped at the gate of my house, I saw Edison standing there, all dressed up, looking like he was going to the dance.

“What a f*****g long time,” he said, and my heart squeezed painfully because of what he said.

“Are you going somewhere?” I asked, and his smile faded.

“What do you think?” he asked, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

“If you’re going, you should go. I want to go into my house, take a shower, and be quiet,” I said, knowing that sleeping will be difficult since I live close to the court where the dances are held.

“I want to talk to you first,” he said, and I sighed.

“Not today. I want to be alone,” I replied and saw the anger in his eyes after hearing what I had just said.

“I hope that tomorrow when I see you, you will be at least ninety percent less unbearable,” he said, and I looked at him indignantly but said nothing. I just went in.

I hoped to find support in him, a shoulder to cry on, but I was wrong. As I stepped into my house, the weight of my memories crashed down on me, squeezing my chest like a vise. I rushed to my room at the back, desperate to escape the flood of emotions. Once inside, I headed straight to the bathroom and stepped into the shower, letting the water wash over me. I tried to convince myself that from now on, it's just me.

Only me.