Under a stormy sky, raindrops pounded forcefully on the roofs and windows of the houses. It was a soothing symphony for those who were already far away, but an unnecessary racket for those whose sleep didn't want to be disturbed by the slightest flutter of a fly's wing. Lying in his bed, Mateo would have preferred to be embraced by the most beautiful of creatures. But her absence didn't bother him that much. After all, he liked watching the blurry shapes that danced on the ceiling.
The raindrops played a hypnotic melody. Mateo, motionless under the blanket, let his mind wander to the rhythm of the storm. Each drop seemed to tell a story, a story that could carry him far from this dull reality. Allow him to do what everyone else did at three in the morning: sleep.
The ceiling, a dark canvas illuminated by the intermittent glow of lightning, was the support for his imagination. The blurry shapes danced, transforming into fantastic creatures and ephemeral landscapes. He was finally dozing off when suddenly, footsteps echoed abruptly on the stairs, catching his attention.
He promptly decided to go take a look. Abandoning his bed, he hastily put on his glasses and left the room without making a sound. Downstairs, a diffuse glow orchestrated by the TV took shape near the sofas. In the shadows, he leaned over the railing, shivering as he watched his parents moving around. Avah turned to her husband and broke the silence, her expression marked by incomprehension.
— I don't understand, why did you bring him out of there?
— Because his sentence was over! Yaser declared, his nose buried in his phone. — Do you have any other questions like that?
— Yaser, do you seriously think it was the right time to bring him back home? Avah asked, seeking her husband's gaze.
— Yes! Where else would he have gone? Yaser ran his finger over his phone and started smiling as he read the news. — Did you see that? Alistair is such a sellout, right?
Avah, dismayed by her husband's attitude, violently snatched the phone from his hands and placed it on a corner of the coffee table. The storm raging outside brought a slight chill to the room, and Yaser, not understanding his wife's reaction, simply turned his head towards her and stared at her face. In the dark, even with the TV on, it was hard to distinguish anything clearly, but Mrs. Campbell's gray eyes were beautiful, and that's what Yaser was thinking about.
— It's crazy how, with so little light, your eyes remain so...
— I'm talking about your son, and you're talking about my eyes? Anger began to rise in Avah's gaze. — Are you serious, Yaser?
— Our son, darling, our son. Yaser smiled and turned his head towards the TV. — What do you want to talk about? Aren't you happy to know he's here? Are you scared of him, or do you fear he might hurt someone again?
Avah began to see red. Exasperated, she went to turn on the living room light, which briefly blinded Mr. Campbell, who wasn't expecting it. Mateo, surprised as well, moved away from the railing but not too far. She then returned to the couch and turned off the blasted television once and for all, which seemed to captivate her husband's attention much more. Yaser turned his head from side to side and brought his eyes back to his wife.
— What do you want in the end? Yaser asked, exhausted.
— For you to tell me why you took the initiative to bring him out of there without telling me, Avah retorted firmly.
— I already told you! His sentence was over, so I went to get him. That's all, there's nothing more to say.
— Nothing to say? Avah's tone grew increasingly angry. — Nothing to say, Yaser? Your son spends time in a mental institution, and you casually bring him back here like a bouquet of flowers. I don't know if you can differentiate a vacation camp from a specialized hospital, but you're really pushing it.
— O.u.r son, Avah. Mateo is our son, Yaser said, smiling. — Even if I had told you, what would have changed? We would still have brought him back here.
— Who gave you your diploma? Avah asked, at her wit's end. — I don't know who gave you your diploma, but you don't deserve it.
— And here we go again... Yaser sighed, sinking into the couch. — We don't have to talk about that. Just be happy to see our boy back home.
— Alright, I'm happy, Avah concluded dryly. — I'm delighted he's back. But Angie returns from her school trip in a few days. What do I tell her? Oh, sweetheart, Daddy decided to bring your brother home without letting us prepare psychologically for his return. But it's nothing, we'll manage, we just have to be happy, she said with an ironic tone and a forced smile.
— Avah, that's not what I meant... he murmured, rubbing his temples.
— Oh, but I forgot; with our jobs, we have all the time in the world to watch over him and give him time or affection. We'll just act like nothing ever happened and let him roam freely around the house or the city...
Avah continued to list incoherent things regarding the situation, still in a sarcastic tone. As she spoke, the storm intensified, as if the weather was also conspiring against this kind of family head's behavior. And Yaser just listened without saying a word or almost.
Mateo watched them, smiling occasionally… He had regained his senses, and it was quite funny to come back here and realize that his father always acted on impulse regarding his family. When he was in that "so-called place for healing," the young man often thought about his father's character at home and at work. And he always came up with two different people. Yaser was like that guy in room seven at the hospital: same body, different characters depending on the emotions, the day, the place, or the situation. In the book room on Thursdays, he was Milton: tidy, well-groomed, not very talkative. On Saturdays, in the TV room, he became Emmy: sexy shorts, flirtatious, very confident. And on Mondays, Tony: a little jerk of 1m50 who thought he was a god, but whose favorite dishes had to be mashed to be eaten. Mateo chuckled, remembering this. No matter who he really was, Yaser resembled him in many ways. Same body, same name... different personalities.
— Answer your wife, Yaser, Mateo murmured softly, smiling sardonically so as not to be heard. — Why did you bring me out of there without telling your wife?
Yaser, annoyed, just listened before cutting her off.
— Ha... Are you done? he asked, yawning. — If I didn't tell you, it's because I forgot, that's all. And I also thought you would have done the same if you knew that...
— No, Yaser, no, Avah cut in, still on edge. — We agree that as a surgeon AND a father, you can't tell me 'I forgot.' It doesn't work like that. You're not twenty anymore, Yaser. The least you could have done was tell me, and we would have discussed it. I wouldn't have stopped you from bringing him back even if you had told me yesterday before you left. I wouldn't have held a knife to your throat.
— Ok, sorry! Yaser apologized, looking slightly diminished. — But what's done is done, huh... If you want, we can talk about it calmly later. And if it's because of his behavior earlier that you're turning against me... it's because of the medication.
Mrs. Campbell just observed her husband and slumped onto the couch without trying to answer him. Since they would talk later, she might as well wait. There was no point in forcing him now. He would just continue to be annoying and offensive.
The rain didn't stop. The wind made the shutters of the house clap, and the drops smashed violently against the windows and walls. Mateo just resumed smiling. At the same time, she could have insisted a bit more, he thought, but well, it's like before. Just a feeling of déjà vu. As Yaser said, they would know more later. So he decided to go back to bed quietly to enjoy, before it went away, the most beautiful of lullabies: the rain.