Magnetic Field

It was the last day of winter. The rattling noise of the broken radiator drilled into my ears, and the cold air stung my nose. I ran my stiff fingers along the wooden frame and pulled down the poorly fitted window, letting out a long sigh that formed a small cloud of mist. Lately, I’ve been hearing my mother’s nervous voice almost every day. She stammers about the bills, and even though she never tells me anything outright, the fact that we’ve spent the entire winter without heat gives me a pretty good idea of ​​what’s going on.

My father left six months ago, he married another woman and moved to France. She was a lovely lady—tall and elegant—but she had terrible taste in lipstick; red just wasn't her color. My older sister left too. —moving in with her girlfriend two months after Dad—and my mother was devastated.

Now, we’re poor.

While I knew poverty was a possibility, I never imagined I’d be wearing worn-out sneakers this soon. Nor did I imagine seeing the dark circles under my mother’s eyes every morning. And I certainly never imagined sleeping under five blankets and three pairs of socks just to stay warm. It’s ridiculous how much your quality of life can drop when you’re living with a single parent, but it’s not her fault. My mom was a stay-at-home parent until just six months ago, since she never went to college and has no work experience, no one wants to hire her long-term or pay her anything more than the bare minimum.

Maybe it would have been a good idea to sue my father for a few bucks before he ran off to a luxury hotel in Paris.

We were too slow.

I pulled on a blue sweatshirt and a scarf, one I’d probably take off halfway there, but if I left without it, my mom would definitely yell at me. I put on my headphones, quickly queued up my "Songs for running through the plaza and looking like a sexy athlete" playlist, and headed downstairs. My mother, Milén, was sitting on a dining room chair, head down and brow furrowed as she looked at some papers that she quickly hid the moment she heard me arrive.

"Are you leaving already?" She stepped closer and adjusted my scarf. "Are you leaving your phone behind again? I know you only need the music player, but it wouldn't hurt to take it with you."

"It distracts me."

"Yeah, your father was the same way," she murmured, and silence filled the room. "I’m calling Melissa later. Should I wait for you to get back?"

"No."

"Alright. Be careful out there."

I simply nodded and turned up the volume on my music. My mom is a kind person, she always has been. Sometimes I wish I were more open with her. At least I’m grateful she has an affectionate daughter like Melissa. I turned out just as cold and distant as my father’s side of the family. A total disgrace. I just hope I never become as much of a bastard as they are.

As the cold began to let up, crowds were gathering more frequently on the streets. I ran for a couple of hours through the central park, which was teeming with people and their children. On any other day, I wouldn't have paid them any mind, but right then, one of those tiny humans decided it was a good idea to step right into my path. I didn't see him. He suddenly darted into the middle of the sidewalk and froze, as if getting plowed over by a college guy was the highlight of his seven years on earth. He got tangled in my legs, and in my attempt to keep from smashing my teeth against the pavement, I sent him tumbling five paces forward.

I didn't lose any teeth, but he, unfortunately, lost two, his two front ones.

"Look what you’ve done to my son, you young man!" Shouting erupted almost instantly. "I ought to sue you over the teeth he lost!"

"It was his fault."

"Excuse me?!" "My son is missing teeth! Do you think your teeth are worth more than my son's?!"

"Mine won't grow back."

"You!!!"

I discreetly turned up the volume on my player and simply watched as her face grew redder and redder, and her mouth gaping open like a hungry panther. My attention quickly shifted to a black bean stuck to one of her teeth. It looked just like her son.

"You little son of a bitch!" she screamed loud enough for me to hear it over the music.

So sweet and feminine.

She kept yelling at me for a while longer until she finally got fed up, and I was able to leave. Undoubtedly my favorite part of the morning. I decided to take a different route, just this once. The tourist street was quite busy, even though it was eight in the morning. There were plenty of well-dressed young people, an old woman walking her dog, and a girl who seemed to have applied too much blush that morning or maybe it was intentional, who knows.

I walked up to a vending machine, and as I was deciding which coffee to pick, the sound of a woman’s furious footsteps echoed behind me. I glanced sideways at what looked like a young woman in her twenties, wearing a cute winter outfit and fuzzy earmuffs. Facing her was a guy, not much older, though he looked quite disheveled.

He looks too young to be a bum.

The girl was speaking loudly, though not clearly enough for me to make out the words, so I discreetly moved closer and strained to listen. She was complaining in a rather annoying, shrill voice, her brow furrowing deeper with every word. She’d surely develop wrinkles soon.

"I agreed to give you another chance because you aren't that ugly, but you always show up everywhere looking like a total mess! Do you have any idea how embarrassed I feel whenever someone sees me with you?"

Ouch.

"You might be really smart and all, but your terrible taste makes you unappealing!" she continued. "I don't want anything more to do with you!"

"But—"

She didn't give him time to speak before splashing the juice she’d been drinking right in his face. She turned and walked away, leaving him alone in the middle of the street with liquid dripping from his plaid shirt. He slumped onto the sidewalk and let out a long sigh. His body was trembling. He took off his glasses and buried his face between his knees. It struck me then that he looked just like Melissa’s Saint Bernard, a huge guy with such a sad look about him. He almost made me feel sorry for him. That was when I heard a sob.

No way. Is he crying?

I approached him cautiously and crouched down to his level, though he didn't seem to notice me at all. I watched his reddened fingertips and the way he shivered every time he sniffled. He gave off a faint scent of cherries, the juice, perhaps. I ran my hands over my scarf and unwound it, feeling the cold instantly bite at my exposed neck. I touched his arm gently—just for a brief moment—and as soon as he lifted his head, I wrapped the scarf around it. I spent a few seconds gazing at his face. His mouth was set in a tight line, as if he were trying to hold back the tears. His black curls fell over blue eyes glassy with tears, and his cheeks and ears were flushed from the obvious effort of holding them back.

I couldn't help but have an unexpected thought: it was the first time I’d ever found someone adorable while they were crying.

"Excuse me..." his voice came out shaky, with a hint of nervousness. "Who are you?"

"No one." I stood up as quickly as I could, trying to regain my composure.

"Well... I... um..." He brought his hands up to the scarf, looking embarrassed.

OMG, he is so cute!

"You can keep it," I said, keeping a straight face.

"What? But..."

"It's cold."

"I..." He hesitated for a few seconds, then sighed. "I appreciate it."

I didn't say anything. I nodded, and the boy finally stood up from the curb. His body completely towered over mine, and I had to tilt my head back to look at him. He put on the thick glasses he’d been wearing earlier and started glancing around while fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

Good Lord, he’s huge!

"By any chance... well... I mean... if it’s not too much trouble..." he stammered. "Could you tell me your name?"

Of course!

"Alan."

"Nice to meet you, Alan." He smiled broadly and I felt a pang in my chest—"I'm Jason."

"Okay."

Okay?! Is that it?

"Did you see what happened earlier?"

"Yeah."

"I’m really sorry. I didn't mean to make a scene, or cry out in the street like that."

"You can keep crying."

"Excuse me?"

*What are you saying, Alan?!* I mentally slapped myself.

"It's nothing."

"Okay...?" he said, confused, just as his phone rang, interrupting the conversation. He glanced at the screen and then hit the button to hang up. "Sorry, Alan, you’ll have to forgive me, I have to go. I’ll give you back your scarf."

"No."

"No?"

"I don't want it."

"What? But it's yours..."

"I don't like it, it's yours now."

I let go and, without waiting for a reply, ran off with my heart pounding, leaving a giant teddy bear alone and confused on the street. I might not be the most sociable person in the world, but even I know I acted embarrassingly, and running away was my last resort.

I burst through the front door, panting, and the first thing I saw was my mother hanging up the phone, looking dejected. She sat down at the dining table, rubbing the bridge of her nose, and then motioned for me to sit beside her.

"Alan, son, we need to talk."

"I'm listening." I sat down across from her.

"Son, a lot has happened, and I know these changes have been hard on everyone." She interlaced her trembling fingers. "I’m so grateful to you for understanding and facing everything that’s going on with such maturity. I know things aren't exactly normal right now, and the truth is, this is too much for me to handle alone. I... I hate to tell you this, but I'm afraid we’re going to have to move."

"Move?"

"I can't keep up with this house anymore. I’ve crunched the numbers...it’s a good house. If we sell it, we can buy an apartment. Something small, just for us," she explained in a faint voice. "You don't have to worry about a thing, Alan. I... no matter what happens, I’ll make sure you keep your university scholarship. You’ll be able to fulfill your dream, son, we’ll just have to tighten our belts a little. There’s a nice apartment near your school, and we can use the leftover money to cover your tuition. I promise to get a better job soon, even if I have to work overtime, so you don't need to be scared. Okay?"

My heart ached as I listened to my mother not because we had to leave the house, but because she looked terrified that the possibility of losing my scholarship might hurt me.

If only she knew that she matters more than that.

My mom has always done everything she could to ensure I went to university, perhaps because she never got the chance herself. Even so, whenever she talks to others about my dream, her face lights up. WShe says she’s happy because Melissa and I have something we want more than anything, and I’m happy just seeing her happy. But now, getting to school, making it to practice... it’s all becoming a problem for her, and I think it would be better to just quit and get a job. My mom thinks track and field is the most important thing to me, and it was, until six months ago. Sometimes I worry she thinks I’ll get angry if I lose the scholarship because of our financial troubles.

"I spoke to your coach, he says it’s not a problem if we’re a little late with the payment..."

Seeing my mother more worried about my tuition than about what we’ll eat tomorrow makes me want to cry.

How I wish I could have told her that everything was going to be okay.

"That’s fine. When are we moving?"

"Does Saturday work for you? That way, you can start the new semester in the new apartment."

"So soon?"

“Doesn’t that sound good to you?” Doubt washed over her face.

“Whatever you prefer.”

That night, the house felt emptier than usual. Dinner was a silent affair, almost as if I were eating alone, and we barely exchanged a word before my mother shut herself in her room. I flopped onto my bed, letting my feet dangle toward the floor, and my phone screen lit up with Melissa’s name.

“Hey.”

“You little brat!” Her shout was so loud I had to pull the phone away from my ear. “Mom told me you refused to talk to me!”

“I’m sorry,” I said, hearing her let out a resigned sigh.

“So?”

“So, what?”

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or am I going to have to guess like always?”

“I guess you already know about selling the house...”

“She told me this morning. A man made her a good offer. It was a lot of money.”

So that’s why she was able to sell it so quickly.

“I see.”

“And from what I hear, you’re sad because you don’t know what to do, right?”

“How do you always know?”

“Have you thought about moving onto campus?” she asked, and I heard another woman’s voice in the background. “With your scholarship, it shouldn’t be hard to get a room assigned.”

“Now that you mention it...”

“Paying just one rent will be easier for Mom, I think.”

“Thanks, Melissa.”

I hung up without giving her a chance to reply and ran to my mother’s room. I knocked hard three times, then twice more when there was no answer. Just as I was about to knock again, the door creaked open, and Mom’s weary face looked at me, holding twenty-three years of regret.

“Alan? What’s wrong?”

“I’m moving to the university.”

To be continued...