After an hour of silence, I cleaned the dishes and left. I didn’t have the answers she was looking for, and her moment of hopelessness disturbed more than endeared me. Abuelita was the head of the family – I grew up with her calling the shots. It was unsettling to see someone so decisive at such a loss. By the time I left I had decided that something must be done, some sort of reconciliation. Maybe my Tio Miguel would apologize… but an apology can not erase the past. It might be for the best if Miguel was simply banished from the family – he was, after all, doing his best to avoid Abuelita’s financial support. In which case, I had no need to see him, and could wash my hands of the matter. My other family could deal with him, could tell him he wasn’t welcome anymore. But then I would never really know why he tried to kill the most important person in his life. Besides, it was often my job as the people pleaser of the family to solve interpersonal conflict, and something of this magnitude cannot be left unresolved.
Three days later I arranged to get coffee with Tia Grace to ask her what I should do. Her approach to life was similar to Abuelita’s: inexorable and ambitious. It made her very successful, but it also made her very difficult to connect with as a person. She too shared a distaste for unmotivated people, but held none of the familial attachment of her adoptive mother, so it was no surprise when, upon prodding, she condemned Miguel to expulsion.
“Not even worth debating. That dirty good for nothing bastard is dead to me. God knows I’ll kill him if I ever see him again,” she said hotly, whacking her paper coffee cup unimpressively onto the table. Her carefully manicured pale-blond eyebrows furrowed in frustration, darkening the already too-dark chocolate of her irises.
“Some things are not forgivable. He thinks he can get away with anything just because he’s family? No one treats family like that. If you do somehow find him, you tell him that. It won’t matter what he says, do you understand?”
I squirmed underneath the intensity of her gaze. As much as I agreed with her in principle, there was something not right about the whole ordeal. Miguel’s motivation didn’t make any sense – surely there was something else going on. What if he was being extorted, or manipulated? I sheepishly told Tia Grace as much, but her decision was final.
“Abuelita is right, you give people too much credit. Why should we care? He tried to murder her! What great loss is a murderer? What if he had killed her? Would you still be so willing to give him a second chance? You better be careful, maybe he’ll try to kill you too. He’s probably on drugs, not able to think correctly, totally beyond our help. Regardless, the cops are out looking for him. If he somehow survives that, he’ll be beyond any of us anyways.”
“I’m not saying we have to forgive him, Tia,” I responded, “But we should understand, at least! He is – was – family, we owe him that much. You have to admit it doesn’t make any sense – even if he hated her, his own mother!” Tia Grace shook her head, her golden hair gently rocking in response.
“What good can come from trying to understand someone like him? There’s nothing to learn there, just failure. He was a pest, so good riddance. Besides, family is not about fulfilling some biological duty – you don’t owe your uncle anything. Family is a choice. Look at me – Abuelita saved me from an early death as an abandoned child. She chose to bring me into this family, and I choose now to pay back her kindness. Miguel never wanted any of it – he left as soon as he could. As far as I’m concerned he stopped being family the moment he decided he didn’t owe Abuelita anything. I owe your grandmother my life, and Miguel does too, even if he’s too short sighted to see it. He should be grateful for being given a life at all.”
I chose not to argue with Tia Grace, realizing I wouldn’t get anything useful out of her. I changed the subject to her work, and after a while of polite listening I excused myself under the pretense of buying my youngest cousin’s birthday present. Tio Miguel may not have been good to his mother, but he was good to his nieces and nephews. Whatever cash he made from his art that he didn’t use for food and rent was spent on expensive toys for the holidays. He especially loved to give gifts to my 10 year old cousin Alma, who also shared a love for painting. He would supply countless watercolors and paint brushes, and on her last birthday surprised her with a particularly income-denting brand of oils, although their value went way over the child’s head. It was Alma’s 11th birthday tomorrow, and while Miguel wouldn’t dare show his face, I knew he wouldn’t miss a chance to give her a gift.
The Scenic Climax 