Miguel finds out the truth about his father. Miguel's POV, third person limited.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Karate Kid or Cobra Kai. I'm not making money from this. I'm just a fan.
Chapter Four:
Empty Hands
In Okinawa, all Miyagi know two things: fish and karate. Karate come from China, sixteenth century, called te, "hand." Hundred year later, Miyagi ancestor bring to Okinawa, call karate, "empty hand."
- Mr. Miyagi, The Karate Kid
The comforting scent of arroz con pollo and sweet plantains is thickening in the kitchen, and so is the smoke. Miguel quickly takes the pan off the stovetop before he burns the plantains and ruins dinner. It smells good, but not as good as his Yaya makes it. He's not sure he's even made it right. She never taught him exactly, but he's spent enough evenings hanging out with her in the kitchen that he picked it up naturally.
Miguel paces the floor a few times as the dish cools down. On second thought, no matter how delicious the smell, he starts regretting his decision to cook dinner. It reminds him of her, and even that reminder tightens his chest, but he won't let himself cry. He needs her, but right now, she needs him. Wherever she is, locked in that detention center, she needs him to be a man and hold it together. She needs him to take care of his mama. He's going to make her proud of how he managed things when she gets home.
He still can't believe it happened. It feels more like a nightmare than reality. Someone had called the police and tipped them off that Yaya was selling drugs. His Yaya. A drug dealer. Of all things. How can people be so ignorant? Just because they're Latino doesn't mean they're gangbangers or dealers. They're just normal people.
But apparently, the police can be so ignorant, because they showed up at the bakery, humiliating her in front of her coworkers, and found two ounces of marijuana in her purse. Just the little bit she smokes at night to help relax and fall asleep. And they didn't let her go like any reasonable person would. They came back to their house while he was at school with their dogs and warrant and found nothing, leaving everything a mess.
They've questioned his mom four times now.
Miguel's heard horror stories, but he still can't believe it's happening to him, to his family. And none of it makes sense. He's done a ton of research online, and even with Trump's insane rhetoric and border enforcement tightening up like crazy, a law-abiding, tax-paying, little old granny who's lived here for seventeen years without even a traffic violation should definitely have been given bail bond. Apparently, it can take years and years for the courts to process the case.
She should be with him right now. There's something he's not being told, and he knows it.
He sure as hell could use her support right now. She's the one who had his back when he began karate. Yaya, she believed in him. Believes. He's not going to think about her in past tense. Not ever. His mom, he loves her more than life, but she's so overprotective it's stifling. Working as an ICU nurse is a daily reminder that bodies break and life ends, and Miguel can always tell the days she's lost a patient, even if she doesn't say anything.
When she gets a look at his face she's going to flip.
He's managed to avoid her for three days now with excuses about training and schoolwork and sleepovers. She's been working extra shifts to make up for Yaya's income, so it hasn't been difficult. They haven't seen enough of each other lately. Not with his mom overstretched at work, wrapped up in talking to immigration lawyers every spare second, and spending her Sundays at church again (even though she never went with Yaya) as a last, desperate attempt to convince God to fix this. Not with Miguel getting sucked into Kreese's all-consuming bullshit, becoming so obsessed with "defeating his enemies" and "learning how to take a punch" as a way to forget about Yaya. As a way to feel less powerless.
He's had three days to think about it, and he can't believe how stupid he was, how unthinkingly he let Kreese mold him, how easily he gave up on Sensei when the man was no longer top dog. He's ashamed of himself. Yesterday, when Miguel tried to apologize again, Sensei said he wasn't going to take any of that "regret and guilt bullshit" and it was water under the bridge. And then he gave him a side-hug, which was nice, and a noogie, which wasn't. Sort of.
Miguel starts setting the table, laying out only two plates, and even that sends a lump of regret in his throat. Behind him, the lock clicks and the door rattles open. "Oh, Miggy, you've made dinner–"
And he turns around to face her. And face her reaction.
o - o - o - o - o
"Mom, Mom, come on!"
He's chasing her out the door and she's cussing in Spanish, in a low, terrifying voice. She's not even listening to him. "Mom! I'm fine! Seriously, I'm fine!" Miguel touches her shoulder, trying to calm her down, but she shrugs him off sharply and beelines for Sensei's door.
Before he can stop her, she's pounding on it, with not even just her fist, but her whole forearm. She's a small woman, but she's putting so much force into that knock that the silver hoops in her ears are swinging back and forth and the curls in her ponytail are smacking her eyes. It's a war drum.
Miguel clasps his hands together behind his head, arches his neck, and groans. "Come on, Mom," he whines. "It's not his fault."
Sensei's even braver than Miguel ever guessed because he actually opens the door. He's barefoot, wearing gray sweatpants (the retro kind that have elastic at the ankles). He hasn't shaved, and his white t-shirt looks stained with sweat and beer. Great. Just great.
"Carmen, I know, I'm sorry–"
She shoves Sensei's chest. He doesn't block, he doesn't use any of the defense he's drilled so ruthlessly into Miguel. He just holds out his hands in a helpless, wordless apology. She grits her teeth and slaps him right across the face. Miguel cringes.
"I deserved that," Sensei says.
"You're damn right." She shakes her head. "Not only did you get him beat up again, but you had my son keeping it from me, lying to me–"
"Mom, that wasn't Sensei's fault!" Miguel shouts.
They both turn to him. He takes a deep breath. "Sensei Lawrence had no idea I was avoiding you. I just, I didn't want you to be upset, okay?"
"No, Miguel," his mom says, her voice quivering with anger. "It's not okay. We don't keep secrets in our house. You know that."
Miguel crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. "Do you?"
"What are you talking about?"
He bites down on his lower lip and drops his eyes. He's not sure he has the courage to confront her. He's not sure he can handle the truth, whatever it is. He clears his throat and speaks to the gravel. "I know you're not telling the truth about what's going on with Yaya."
His mom and Sensei exchange a look. Like they know something he doesn't. He feels the betrayal like a punch to the gut.
"I'm trying to protect you, Miggy," his mom says.
"I told you you should tell him," Sensei says with a sigh.
She points at him accusingly. "You stay out of this."
Sensei pulls a hand through his hair and nods. "Do you want to come in?" He opens the door and with one last, sour look, his mom shoves back his teacher. Miguel follows them both inside.
o - o - o - o - o
They're settled on Sensei's sofa, his mom and Sensei. Sensei's pressing out a migraine in his temples. His mom's back is straight and defensive, not at all like she normally sits. Miguel's propped up against the TV stand, facing them, one knee tucked up against his chest, his palms digging into the edge of the wood.
"Miggy," his mom starts, hesitating, and then jumps right into it, "the reason why they aren't posting Yaya's bond is because they think we're associated with bad people. They're holding her because they want information."
"What?" he asks, incredulous. "We don't even know any bad people." He tightens his hand into a fist. "Why would they even think that of us? You're a nurse. Yaya's a pastry chef."
He sees his mom and sensei exchange that look again, and his rage turns into dread. "We don't, do we? We're not involved with any bad people." He's not sure if it comes out as more of a statement or a question, but his voice is breaking and he wishes he had his growth spurt earlier so he could stop sounding like a middle school loser.
"Mom, is someone threatening you?" he asks quickly in Spanish. He didn't mean to exclude Sensei, it came out automatically. He's been bilingual since he first learned to speak, but Spanish is more comfortable, more real to him somehow. English is friends and school and the outside world. Spanish is home. He rarely dreams in English.
His mom shakes her head, and her eyes are brimming with tears. "No one's threatening me, Miggy," she answers in English. "We're safe. There's no one out to hurt us, but I've…I've kept some things from you. About why we left Ecuador."
"You left because there weren't any jobs. You left because you wanted me to get a good education– "
"Yes, yes, I did. I do," his mom says, too fast. "But there's more."
Miguel tightens his grip against the edge of the stand. He feels pressure against his palms, and pushes deeper against it.
"Your father… I was very young. Eighteen. A teenager. I was in love with him, and everything happened so quickly. And when I found out the truth about his job, when I found out what kind of person he was, I knew I had to leave, for our safety…"
"What do you mean?"
"Your dad's a drug lord, kid."
His mom looks about ready to slap Sensei again, but Miguel's grateful for the blunt truth. Even if he's sick to his stomach.
"He wasn't a drug lord back then. He was a runner. He was new to the lifestyle. When I found out, he told me it was temporary. But I knew he was just telling me what I wanted to hear, and I wasn't going to let my baby grow up like that. I loved him, but I loved you more, Miggy. Even before you were born. And I wasn't going to put you at risk. Your father was dangerous.
"I didn't look back. The only thing I cared about was making a new life for you, protecting you. I've had no contact with your father since we left Ecuador. I didn't know if he was dead or alive until the police took your abuela and started questioning me."
She shakes her head, furious. "Apparently he's moved up in the world. Enough to be on the government's radar, enough that his crimes follow this family all the way to Reseda. We don't have anything to do with him, but the police don't care. I don't even know how they found out about us, but they're desperate for information. They think they can blackmail me into talking by detaining your abuela. But I have nothing to say. I've told them everything I know."
Miguel is quiet. So quiet he can hear the blood rushing in his ears, his heart thumping in his chest. It's too much to take in.
Whenever he'd asked about his dad, his mom had told him the same story: that he'd been too young and immature to be a father at the time. That her best chance of giving her baby a good life was coming to America. It was a common enough story. Plenty of kids have deadbeat dads. Even Sensei abandoned his kid for a while. Miguel's not even angry at her for lying.
He just feels hollow.
"Do I look like him?" He doesn't know why it's the first thought that comes out.
His mom covers her mouth, trying to keep back tears. "Miggy…"
"Do I, do I remind you of him? Do you think I'm like him?"
And now it all makes sense. Why she was so overprotective all these years. Why she never wanted him to do karate. Why she was so strict about non-violence. Why she babied him. She knew he'd do exactly what he did do if given the chance: turn self-defense into sadism, let his aggression take control.
She knew because it's in his blood.
"No sweetie, not at all." But he's not sure he can believe her. "Miggy…" his mom tries.
"I do, don't I?"
"Jesus, Miguel," Sensei interrupts. "What are you, a girl? Stop turning this into a soap opera. You're too much of a dork to ever end up like that. You're more of a Duckie than a drug lord. Look at yourself."
For some reason, Miguel feels a little relief. He doesn't believe them 100%, but he believes them more than he did a second ago.
"What's a Duckie?"
"Pretty in Pink? No? Not ringing a bell? Oh my God. I know the title's lame, but it's a classic. Pro tip – it's the perfect date night movie." Sensei turns to his mom. "Kids these days know nothing." And it almost brings a smile to her face.
o - o - o - o - o
They go back to the Diaz house because Sensei doesn't have Netflix or Amazon or any other streaming service. (Or even know what a streaming service is.) The three of them watch Pretty in Pink and eat Miguel's home-cooked meal in front of the TV. Sensei cracks his bananas joke again and his mom rolls her eyes, but Miguel can tells she finds it endearing.
His mom is sitting next to Sensei on the sofa, and Miguel's on his knees on the floor with a bowl of popcorn. When he gets up to go to the bathroom, Sensei's hand is resting protectively on his mom's knee and they're sitting close. Closer than friends.
He pretends he doesn't notice, but he feels his face flush. And despite his embarrassment, he's happy about it.
o - o - o - o - o
It's hard to fall asleep. He's stirring and turning and the AC's not working, so his sheets are sticking to his legs. He feels stupid for that fleeting moment of hope.
He can't get ahead of himself, wanting things that won't ever be. Real men don't date women with kids. They don't raise other men's children. It's too much baggage. Too much work. In the past, boyfriends have dropped his mom because of him. She's never said it, but he knows it. And Sensei didn't want to be Robby's dad, and Robby's his own flesh and blood. So Miguel's sure as hell not arrogant enough to imagine Sensei would want to be his dad. He's only another student, even if they are close.
Actually, he's lying to himself. He is imagining it. Which only makes it harder to accept a happy ending like that won't ever happen.
He squeezes his eyes shut, tries to force himself to fall asleep, but of course that doesn't work. He feels more alone than ever. He wishes he could sneak back into his mom's room like he used to when he was little. When she would soothe away the nightmares and rock him to sleep. He wishes he could find Yaya on the porch, take in the stale smell of her late-night joint, listen to the stories about when she was a little girl, or her snarky remarks about the bakery customers. He wishes he could find an excuse to go knock on Sensei's door so he wouldn't have to be alone.
His abuela's gone, and he has no idea when or if he'll get her back. He has no idea how she's being treated. What if they don't let her take her blood pressure medication? What if her bed is uncomfortable? What if she doesn't have privacy?
He's disappointed himself and disappointed Sensei for not standing up to Kreese all these months. And he can't get that damn old man's words out of his head. Wimp. Pussy. Weakling. Bitch. Girl.
And now he knows that every time his mom looks at him, deep down she's looking at the mirror image of the evil, drug-dealing murderer she ran away from all those years ago. He knows she's looking at the kind of person he could grow up to be. He'd lost Sam because he let his aggression take control. She saw the truth about him before he could see it himself.
He curls his knees up tight against his chest and tries to will it all away. He wonders if there's ever a middle, a place between being a pussy and a monster. A way to be normal again. He doesn't want to go back to who he was before he meant Sensei Lawrence, but he can't handle feeling like this either, like he has to be on top or he's nothing.
For a moment there last spring, it felt like he had the whole world in his hands. He had Sam. He had his mom and abuela at his back, cheering him on, rooting for him. He was so close to Sensei, who'd given him everything – his confidence, his strength, his friends. It's probably completely idiotic, and it's too late to change how he feels, but he's pretty sure he loves him. Not that he'd ever tell him. Sensei would call him a homo or something. He's only ever loved his mom and Yaya before and he really, really hates himself for being so stupid.
Everything is slipping away, and he doesn't trust the things that are left. He doesn't trust that he deserves them. He doesn't trust they won't be taken away from him, too.
o - o - o - o - o
Thank you for reading! Please leave me a comment to let me know what you think. Next week's chapter, "No Such Thing as Free Lunch," is coming Wednesday, June 13th. Sam's POV.