W/ JOSEPH ESTRADA | WASHINGTON HEIGHTS, NYC | JUNE 30th, 2017 | THREAD #001
her eyes were fixated on the floor of the apartment, legs curled under her, making the petite girl seem even smaller. she felt small, if the truth were to be told. sheâd gone from feeling as if she would burst out of sheffield, out of her life there; every moment she spent cooped up inside bloating and inflating her until she felt like she would pop. thatâs why she left. she would swell & swell & swell, heart beating faster and faster until panic rose in her, a wannabe heart attack pounding in her chest. but her symptoms increased whenever she saw him. she knew it was wrong of her â â joseph had lost a child too. heâd been there for her, from the moment sheâd held pregnancy test in shaking hands to the moments sheâd not been there for him. since the news that her son would never be brought into the world ( at least, not with a HEARTBEAT ), pippaâs mind had been absent. days were spent curled under covers, eyes staring at walls like she was waiting for the already settled paint to dry. there were no tears, no words. she was just a carcass, dead eyes and still body waiting to rot.Â
and she couldnât look at him. that had been the selfish part. every inch of him reminded her of every moment theyâd spent waiting for michael. every carefully folded onesie and hand rested on her stomach to feel him kick. everyone had been hush hush about miscarriage, but it was only unspoken. no one thought of seeing the eyes of your child, but glassy instead of bright with life. no one thought of their hands lying limp instead of curling into fists around your pinky finger. no one spoke of skin that was supposed to be pink being painted a dull blue. she fucking HATED the color blue. it used to be her favorite.Â
she had been gone for months, and her absence hadnât changed her behavior. sheâd go days without eating until she was too dizzy to stand up. sheâd go days without bathing, only washing her hair in the motel room sink when she was too afraid to leave for the food she wouldnât eat looking like she did. mindless tv and half read tabloids were always present, waiting for her to finish them instead of falling asleep, eyes still dry and the lump still in the dry streak of her dehydrated throat.Â
and when sheâd finally returned, things had been different between them. tentative, both walking on eggshells. though she hadnât HAD to. she barely spoke, barely moved, barely took her eyes off whatever she was currently focused on. life was slow, life was dull â- live was PAINFUL.
and then, things had gotten better. it wasnât overnight, it was  G R A D U A L. she spoke in short, quiet sentences, âgood morningâs and âhow are youâs, and once she mustered up the strength to eat again, muffled requests to pass the salt. then she had begun regular conversation, sometimes reading or watching the television or organizing something mundane. it was minimal, but it was PROGRESS. and now, she was back to normal â- at least, compared to others. compared to her old self, it was as if a light had snuffed itself out and only figured out how to partially rekindle. but things were better. things felt like maybe, just maybe, they could somehow be okay again.Â
she heard the door of their apartment open and saw a familiar face entering â new york hadnât been impulsive, but the agreement on her part had been an immediate agreement. she needed out of sheffield, out of the house that suffocated her, out of the view of people that looked at her as if she would magically become better under the gaze of their pity. she stood up, fumbling her words a little bit as she stuck her arm out, clearing her throat. she still needed to work on talking to him NORMALLY again, rather than constantly reaching for him physically ââ- to reassure herself he wasnât gone as well.Â
â you ⊠want some help with the groceries? â
joseph hadnât been gone for very long, maybe half an hour tops. out grabbing groceries at a market a few blocks down from their apartment, necessities that would hold them over till the next trip to the store. wandering the aisles with a loaf of bread tucked under his arm and lips pursed in concentration, he made certain to grab a little something extra on his way out. the carton of coffee ice cream was strategically placed toward the bottom of the brown paper bag as a quaint surprise; something small that would hopefully brighten pippaâs day in the slightest of ways. regardless of the grandeur, he was extra careful to do these things.Â
there wasnât a whole lot of room to be selfish anymore. after losing michael, joseph had done a near 180 and focused all of his attention on philippa. it was far worse for her, he figured, because she was the one who carried him. she was the one gave birth to the perfect boy that could never live. he felt as though he were a bystander, someone who witnessed this horrible tragedy but didnât experience it ââ his grieve paled in comparison to hers, and hence, it wasnât tangible. perhaps it was the masculinity he assumed everyone expected that kept him from acknowledging the hole in his chest, the presumed coat of armor that stopped the male from caring that he too was bleeding out.Â
emotions were bottled and left to simmer on the back burner, any & all of her needs met with the highest of priority. even when she hadnât been fully there, her mind in a far away place, joseph took care of the parts of her that remained. three meals a day ( sometimes going untouched ), washing of gaunt skin and long locks, and his undivided attention. he took as much time as he could off of work to remain present, though he missed a routine. working took his mind off the sting and put it onto something productive so for the first week or so, whenever pippa was asleep or occupied with something else, heâd work around the house. youâd never see a cleaner house than the estrada residence; everything was in its place, drawers organized, closet color coordinated, books on a shelf in alphabetical order. joseph couldnât be without work, even if he wanted to.Â
work was something he blamed when she left. was he doing too much of it? were there signs heâd missed when he was too busy filing papers or making phone calls? should he have run the risk of facing consequence and taken more time off? coming home after a long day to an empty house might be ideal to some, but it introduced a new fear to joseph. he had already lost his son, he couldnât lose her, too. there was a time where he thought he had, but not now ... scars had healed, and reopened. there was urgency in his step as he combed through the residence, hastily visiting the site of her suicide attempt only to find it vacant, as was the bedroom and the rest of the place. it wasnât until after his initial panic did he find the note, and it wasnât until nights later did he finally manage something other than five minutes of shut eye.Â
the new silent routine had been interrupted by her return, which he welcomed with open arms. there were a few ideas dancing around in his mind as to what she couldâve done or been through in their time apart, but he didnât ask any questions. instead, he repeated actions done previously when the wounds were the freshest; attempting to get her to eat, keeping her clean, offering support in all forms. even then, his anguish was hardly touched upon. it was far easier to push it down or to drown it out with a drink than it was to face it, to give the pain a name and allow it to penetrate the darkest parts of his mind.Â
dealing with the pain was something he was still working with as the couple moved from sheffield to washington heights. it was stuffed in a cardboard box with picture frames and lampshades, unpacked and put into a new slot to be dealt with later. but when was later? did it come with the new sense of normalcy? or would it stay tucked away alongside his fear of vulnerability?Â
the answer wasnât apparent at first, but gradually, joseph dealt with his grief in small ways. late at night when she lay asleep, he was out on the fire escape looking up at the sky. there werenât many stars visible from their new york abode, but heâd look up at them anyway, wondering which twinkling light was michael. there was an indescribable heaviness that sat on his chest during these moments, a weight that garnered a choked sob that would only be muffled by the fabric of his shirt.Â
hiding emotion had been something he became particularly good at. joseph would kiss the middle of pippaâs forehead as he walked toward the door, saying something about going out to grab something from the store or getting a drink, though he never actually did these things. instead he would sit on a bench in the middle of a busy intersection, arm draped over the top, just watching. watching young couples grin and laugh at inside jokes, old couples holding hands while the lines around their mouths and eyes told stories long forgotten, children tottering behind busy parents and pestering them about a toy in a shop window.
the disconnect between joseph and these strangers was palpable. the relationship he held with pippa hadnât been conventional by any means, nor did he have any bubbly children tugging at his shirtsleeve. he had heartache and dark circles to show for his lack of regularity, though given the progress SHE was making, he wouldnât have traded it for the world.Â
he considered making a trip to one of those benches on his way back home today, though the new york heat and melting-by-the-second ice cream kept him from doing so. instead there was a hurry in his step as he moved over the hot pavement, brushing shoulders with a stranger every now and then until he reached the main entrance of the apartment building. a few pushed buttons, a few flights climbed because the stupid elevator was under repair, and a few key turns later, he was home.Â
a smile pulled at his lips as he saw her rising to her feet, nose crinkling and head shaking in dismissal before he closed the door with his hip. the brown paper bag was set on the countertop and before joseph could properly unload its contents, he cheekily fished the carton of ice cream from the bottom and held it up where she could see.Â
â i gotcha something, â he wiggled the container slightly before sitting it down on the counter with the rest of the groceries, â maybe youâll wanna dig into that after dinner. ââ or before, who knows, lifeâs too short. â
