Suddenly, it hits me. He’s not hungry for dinner, he’s hungry for attention, and not just from anyone. He wants his father.
My heart struggles against this realization. Suddenly, Angel’s absence looms large. He’s out there fighting for us... but what if he doesn’t come home? It seems like Oscar’s already attached, and that’s a good thing... as long as Angel stays safe.
I try to make up for boo-boo’s absence by lifting Oscar up and down in the air from on my back. I’m not nearly as strong as Angel, but it seems to distract the little boy for a while. Still, it doesn’t take long before his eyes turn back to the door. “Boo-boo,” he says in a voice so small in breaks my heart. Ozzy’s little nose scrunches up and I feel tears coming on... then, suddenly, the ancient TV in the corner of the room blares alive.
It startles the hell out of me, and I nearly drop my newly distracted baby boy in the shock. His bright green eyes are twisted away from the door and towards the color screen. I take the opportunity to sit back up and plop us both back down on the couch.
The TV screeches and the sound twists and turns until a loud pop comes from the speakers—it’s followed by radio silence.
“Damn it,” I mutter again. This TV is giving me more trouble than I need right now... but it also seems to have calmed Oscar. A commercial plays silently on the screen as I take a look behind the ancient box to see if there’s anything I can do about the sound. The sudden idea that I could show Oscar cartoons makes my heart flutter. He deserves some sense of normalcy, even if he’d be watching them in an underground bunker while his father leads a revolution above ground.
“Boo-boo,” Oscar chants as I’m confounded by the forest of wires that confront me behind the TV.
“Your bottle is right there!” I call to him, knowing full well that he’s not asking for the formula on the couch. He wants Angel back. So do I, little buddy.
“Boo-boo!” Oscar giggles, and the sound of his clapping hands makes me abandon my little engineering project. What’s he suddenly so happy about? Is Angel home? Was I so concentrated on this stupid TV that I didn’t hear him open the door?
When I pop my head over the top of the ancient box and scan the room, though, I don’t see anyone. I scrunch my brows and look over at Oscar, who’s bouncing on the couch with a big grin on his face. “Boo-boo! Boo-boo!” he chants, giggling and clapping his hands.
“What’s gotten into you, crazy boy,” I smile, giving up on the TV for now. I plop down beside my happy son and follow his chubby little fingers to the silent screen ahead.
“Oh shit...” My hand covers my mouth as quickly as I realize what I just said. Bad Catalina! Don’t swear around Oscar!
Still, a new flurry of curses wants to escape my lips as I stare at a picture of Angel on the television screen before us.
Without sound, it’s impossible to hear what’s being said, but I can still hear Oscar loud and clear. “Boo-boo! Boo-boo!” he continues, pointing at Angel’s flickering picture.
“That’s dada,” I mumble, absent-mindedly.
“Dada...” Oscar repeats, saying the word for the first time.
My heart melts and I kiss my son on the top of his little round head, but my eyes stay fixed on the screen. Worry invades my gut. This can’t be good. From what I’ve been told, Angel and Juan control most of the newspapers, but no one’s ever said anything about the news channels. I can only imagine that Dante has his hand in this.
Oscar and I watch as Angel’s photo is cut in with disturbing images of the fallout from the wedding. White sheets cover dead bodies over bloody grass...
Suddenly, dread fills my chest. How many innocent people died just so Angel could get me back?
My hands start to shake, and I realize that Oscar is watching the same thing I am. There’s no way he knows that there are dead bodies under those white sheets, but I’m not about to subject him to it. I cover his eyes, but he quickly squirms from my grip.
For someone who can’t even walk yet, he sure is quick. He’s at the other end of the couch, leaning towards the TV before I can grab him again. “Dada! Dada!” he shouts with joy as Angel’s image returns to the screen. Every time he says that word, a conflicting bouquet of fireworks erupts behind my chest. My son has a father; at night we all sleep in the same room... but look what it took to get us here.
The bloody images flash behind my eyelids as I pick up my child and turn us both away from the TV. For some reason, I head straight for the bunker door. There’s no fresh air waiting for us out there, but our little room has become too stuffy to bear—it’s filled with the ghosts of the dead, from Dante’s men to the common people who cried my name as they rushed to their deaths.
The door slams shut behind us and the sound echoes through the empty tunnels. There’s no telling which way is west or east or north or south, and the last thing I want to do is get lost in this dark maze,
so, instead of running off, I start to pace back and forth with Oscar in my arms.
He seems undisturbed by my new mood. Thank goodness.
“Dadaa, dada, dadaa, dada, dada,” the little boy sings, without a care in the world. It’s almost comforting. Oscar is alright, and that’s all that matters.
But what about all those who just died? What about all those who will continue to die just so we can be safe? They must have families, too...
“Cat!?” Angel’s deep voice roars through the tunnel like thunder. “What’s wrong!?” he’s at our side before I can process his presence properly.
“Nothing... Nothing,” I lie. “We just needed some fresh—”
“Dada!”