The family car was a nice maroon and gray 1989 Mitsubishi Colt Vista. The interior of the car wasn’t clean at all, which is very usual when a family has three boys. Dad used to drive all the time: mom in the front seat, my sister Rebeca and I in the second row, and my brothers Pablo and Sami in the third row. The rides were never quiet; there was at least one fight per ride. Rebeca would get car-sick and puke, and I would always make fun of her: “she’s gonna puke! She’s gonna puke! She’s gonna puke!” Mom and Dad would argue because we were lost, or other circumstances. So, the rides were not precisely quality time with the family. Or maybe they were, depending on the point of view of the family member. The worst rides were the Sunday morning rides. Everybody was late, Dad didn’t have enough time to finish his sermon, Mom was cooking breakfast, and we were running around the house instead of getting ready for church.
“The hole,” as we used to call the last row in the car, was always a dangerous place; not because it was unsafe to ride there, but because the fights between Pablo and Sami were off the charts. “Pablo! Stop touching me!” Sami said.
“I am not touching you!” Pablo replied.
“Yes you are.”
“NO I’M NOT!”
“Mom, Pablo is putting his finger close to my leg! HE IS TOUCHING ME!”
“No I’m not!”
“You are crossing your line, Mom, Pablo is crossing his line!”
“What freaking line? There is no line here”
“Yes, there is a freaking line!”
“No there isn’t!”
“Yes! Don’t you see this line?” Sami asked, referring to the seam on the car’s tapestry.
The fight over the imaginary line between the two of them could go for hours, or in Sunday’s morning case, the whole ride to the church. Somehow, with the wisdom of the universe and centuries of philosophy, both knew that there was an imaginary line dividing the two worlds, and as Sami would say, that line could be the difference between life and death in a car accident. That line seemed to be the apple of discord between them. The one who possessed the line would rule the world, and of course, the car’s seat “Stop fighting!” Dad said.
“But… he is crossing his line!” Sami replied.
“But… Nothing, there is no buts in this discussion”
“Why?”
“Because I said so!”
“But he is invading my space!”
“But… nothing, I don’t wanna tell you again to shut up! Stop complaining!”
There was silence for a few seconds. Then, on a traffic light on red, the car started shaking, and Sami started screaming, “No Pablo No! Stop beating me! Please stop!”
“Are you crazy, I am not doing anything!”
“Pablo, stop! stop!”
“What! I am not doing anything!”
“Then, why do I have these scratches on my arms and these bruises on my arms?” Sami complained.
The car looked crazy from the outside, shaking and moving. People from outside would try to figure out what was happening inside the car. A child yelling and crying out for help was not necessarily a good situation, especially for the Pastoral family. Dad started the car again and kept going. “Stop the car!” Mom said, “But honey, we are really late for church!” Dad said.
“Don’t you see that those two are fighting on the back?”
“Ok, ok, but if we are late it’s going to be your fault!”
Dad stopped the car; Mom jumped off and said, “you! Move to the hole right now!”
“But I didn’t do anything!” I said.
“I don’t care. If I say move, you move, if a say jump, you ask h ow high. So, MOVE!”
I moved to the hole and Sami took the middle row seat. “This is so unfair!” I complained. We had turns to ride on the middle row. I always thought that it was unfair, because as the older brother it was my right to sit there. At least, that is what I used to think. I mean, putting it in my perspective, I am older, stronger, bigger; it was my place, isn’t it? Besides, Sunday was one of my days to ride in the middle seat. Little Sami was taking my place! “Why in the world he can’t take a few punches, suck it up and stay in his place! He is stealing my place” I thought. “This is so unfair!” I said again. “I wasn’t even involved in the fight Mom!”
“Life is not fair” Rebeca said, making fun of me, taking the opportunity to pay me back for singing all the way to the Church “She’s gonna puke! She’s gonna puke! She’s gonna puke!”
That was the story of almost every Sunday: Pablo and Sami fighting, and Sami stealing my place. This happened until the day we discovered the truth that ruled the back seat universe. Of course Sami had proof of the aggression, the bruises and scratches don’t lie, right? The wounds were real. “Why is Pablo such a big liar?” I thought, trying to understand the constant fight. Then, I had to take Sami’s mock “I have the middle seat! I have the middle seat!” What we didn’t know is that Sami had a dark secret, a clandestine weapon against Pablo.
On the way back to the house, everything started again. “Pablo, you are crossing your line again!” Sami said. “No, I am not!” Pablo replied. They started fighting again, but this time something was different. “Stop it right now!” Mom said. Moving quickly with her eyes lightened with fire, almost like an apocalyptic figure of the judgment day, she turned around to face the two kids sitting in The Hole. Then, her face change from anger to surprise, she looked completely astonished. Her eyes were almost falling out from her face. When I realized that she wasn’t trying to move me to the hole I turned my head to see what she was seeing. We saw a display of acting skills worthy of an Oscar’s nomination for the best action star.
Sitting on his side, without crossing the line, and with his arms crossed, Pablo was watching the acting display with what I would say was annoyance, frustration and maybe, just maybe, a little anger. Sami was jumping, smashing his head against the window, punching his arms and legs, saying “Pablo, please don’t beat me!” he felt five pairs of eyes staring at him and he slowly calmed down and stopped his act. Once he stopped, he just sat down and a silly nervous smile appeared on his face. “hihi… hihi” Sami nervously laughed. I couldn’t believe the mastery of a five year old boy to actually fake a fight, and beat himself hard enough to get what he wanted, the middle sit! “Do you believe me now?” Pablo asked, “When I say that I didn’t do anything, it’s because I didn’t do anything!” I think my Mom was trying to understand what she was looking in that moment. Why would Sami want to get Pablo in trouble? There is no reason for that. She was trying to comprehend why her baby would do such a thing.
Now that I have grown up, I see back to these and other memories, and I laugh. My brothers and I were such a drama triangle. The five-year-old master of manipulation little brother, The Dad’s favorite and trouble-maker middle brother, and the quiet risk-manager and left-behind older brother, were always fighting to survive and get the resources. The car seat was just a symbol of what we wanted, a symbol of power and privilege. Recalling these stories makes me wonder: is there still a “car seat,” and an “imaginary line” between us? I don’t know. Perhaps I will find that out in a couple years when I look back to this time of my life.
theurbanwonderer 