Jen's Journal

There was sadness in her eyes as she told him he looked so much like his father. It was her brother, after all. Half, she reassured herself. Not from the same womb, just the same seed.

“Really? I always wondered how he looked. I’ve never even seen a picture of him.”

As he said this, Eva felt ashamed of the jealousy rising in her. Their father might have had children with two different women, but at least he stayed with her family until the end.

She took a crumpled photograph from her wallet and handed it to Oscar. “Keep this. I have an album filled with pictures of him.”

Oscar grabbed the photograph precariously, almost afraid of tarnishing it more than it already was. “Thanks, Eva,” this was all he could get through before his voice cracked.

She said nothing afterward. She held Oscar’s hand as they looked out on the busy street. The elote guy was walking by, and kids from every corner rushed to be the first to buy a treat. The sun felt hot on her head, but she enjoyed the warm weather. It was her dad’s favorite season.

“What was he like?” Oscar asked after a moment.

“He was happy. Always showing his crooked teeth. He helped anyone he could; he wasn’t stingy about money.” Eva took a deep breath before she continued, “But he was also deeply melancholy. When he thought no one was watching, tears would flow freely from his face. I don’t know what went on outside the house, but he came home with bloody knuckles one day.”

“Was he ever violent with you guys?”

“Never. For as long as Dad lived, he never once laid a finger on his girls. My brother, on the other hand, was a different story.”

Eva regretted the words as soon as she said them. Her mother always said you must never speak ill of the dead. The dead are gone though. They can live on in memories and stories, but they will never come back. Eva wondered, does it matter what you speak of them? No, she thought. It only matters how we remember them. She can usually block off all the bad parts of him she remembers and holds on to the nice memories. After some time, there’s nothing left to say. Maybe it was okay to remember the dead as they were. The good parts of them just as much as the bad. After all, you can’t have one without the other.