Life of Lola
By Arlene Pereira
CHAPTER 1
Her cheek grazed the cold charcoal
concrete road. Her wet hair in segregated clumps spread out like a fan. Her
blurred eyeliner made her look like a callous geisha who was trying to escape
her oppressor. Lola had been
running. She had been running too fast. Inertia was not a friend at this late
hour. It was two in the morning and all Lola wanted to do was run from her
life, her fragile, meaningless life.
Lola could not imagine how
turbulent the last few weeks had been. Everything seemed normal and mundane on that
Sunday evening. She was relishing the usual cabernet pork roast that her Aunt
Isla was so famous for making. It was raining outside, but it was oddly
pleasing. It was just the two of them, like it had been for the last decade.
The doorbell rang and Lola’s aunt jumped. “Who would be at our doorstep at this
time in the night on a Sunday?” Isla uttered.
Lola
excused herself from the kitchen table and reached for the front door. Behind
the mahogany barrier stood a tall man. He seemed tired and weak, almost
helpless. Lola stared deep into his hazel eyes, which were shockingly similar
to hers. He spoke softly, “Hi, Lola. My name is Oliver. I am your uncle from
North Dakota. My wife has just died and I have no one left to care for me.”
Lola maintained her blank stare. It was like she could look deep into his soul.
The quiver in his voice made her dubious; yet, she was intrigued too by this
unexpected stranger. Those hazel eyes convinced her that he was indeed her
relative. Lola replied, “Please come in.” `
Oliver
politely removed his jacket and shoes. The shoes were clearly an expensive
Italian make. At the same time, it looked like they were worn out. It was as if
he walked from North Dakota to Rhode Island. As the shadow dismissed the tall figure,
the kitchen light shone brightly, exposing his visage.
It
only took Aunt Isla one glance to know who the damp fellow was. Lola watched as
Aunt Isla’s face became purple with disgust. She sternly commanded, “Lola, I
need three eggs for tomorrow morning’s breakfast. You need to be well nourished
for your history exam. I also need some milk and cinnamon sugar.” Lola took the
cue to give the two adults some privacy, and immediately exited the room.
The
tension was palpable. This was understandable as the conversation about to
transpire would be volatile, filled to the brim with anger, regret,
misunderstanding, and hurt feelings. Oliver walked over to Aunt Isla and gave
her an uncomfortable embrace. Aunt Isla proceeded to give him a hard slap on
the side of his weary face. Oliver pleaded, “Please forgive me, Illy. You know
I did not want my life to turn out this way. I never intended to run away from
my complex issues. I am looking for redemption, and most of all lost love. I am
completely empty inside. I feel nothing anymore, and that is no way to live
this beautiful life”.
Isla’s emotions were brewing inside
her, like a witch’s caldron. There was teardrop from ten years ago, a rosary
bead still pink with innocence, a locket from her dead sister, and a false
promise from her brother-in-law. All these remnants, both intangible and
tangible, were broiling together. The amalgamation generated evaporation that
impinged Isla’s wounded heart and scorched her soul.
Oliver
could see that Isla’s was struggling to say the right words. She had always
been a feisty girl, and age had not withered her tenacity. Oliver went closer
to her and spoke in a gentle tone, “Listen, Illy. You do not need to forgive
me; that is not what I request of you. I only ask that you find it in yourself
to accept. Accept the circumstances and redirect your expectations of me. I
come to you as a humble man who has much to rue.” Isla looked at Oliver, deep
into his eyes. They were still as gorgeous and alluring as they were when they
were younger. She caved in and answered, “Ok. You have two weeks to pick up the
shattered pieces. You need to tell Lola everything—and don’t you dare hold back
because you know that I will reveal everything, with all the gory details of
woe.”
Lola stepped into the small home.
She peered through the hallway and saw that Oliver was fast asleep on the
couch. Oliver looked like he had some American Indian blood in him. He had
rough mandarin skin and a defined nose that looked like it had taken a few hits
before. His hair was silky black. Lola felt odd examining his countenance while
he was asleep, but she could not help the intrigue of this nomad sleeping
soundly in her family room.
Lola had the urge to wake him up
and solve the mystery of his sudden presence. She wondered why he would show up
after so many years. Aunt Isla told Lola little of her family and her past. She
gave the reason that her family was irresponsible and incapable of emulating
the true values of loved ones. Lola reluctantly accepted this and never asked
again. Yet, she was curious everyday of her life. Leaving her foster home at
eight was the best experience. Her aunt welcomed her with open arms. Aunt Isla
was stunning; however, she was a big lady. She was strong-willed and nurturing,
everything that Lola needed. Lola felt at home with her aunt and appreciated
her efforts to take care of an orphan.
Despite Isla’s amazing love, Lola was
angry with her past, especially her neglectful parents. She felt unworthy of their invisible
love. She questioned their
integrity and sanity. Why would they leave their lovely baby daughter? Lola
made a promise to herself that she would discover her past and find the answers
that she longed to possess. Lola’s head was spinning as she processed all that
was occurring. She decided to let the man rest and to bother him in the
morning.
Lola would navigate through loops
and pitfalls to discover who she was at the core. She was up to the challenge
and would not back down. It just wasn’t in her blood to give up. Or at least
she assumed…
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