At that time I was already seeing Nadia—if that’s what you want to call it—we had been dating in our own way for a few months. You know, typical teenage type dates: football games, skating rinks, diner drive-ins; nothing extravagant for two broke as hell kids. It was how easy I caught her attention the first day I approached her lunch table wearing the Drakkar. She followed my every move, assessing me like a predator ready to eat me whole. That day I knew it would always be my favorite scent. After practice that day, she shoved her tongue so far down my throat I nearly needed the Heimlich—I’ve used it ever since.
With the water clear of my eyes now, I fist my bar of soap and lather it up with a washcloth until globs of suds plopped on the floor. It’s rich and creamy across my pecan-toned skin as I scrub away the dirt and grime from hours upon hours working on the car. Focused on my hands and arms, the cloth roughs up the filth staining my flesh—a few specks that mimic freckles finally smear away and rise off when I step beneath the raining shower head.
Houseof Broken Lovebegins to whine at full volume through the AM/FM radio. Honestly, it’s a wonder I heard Ma at all—yelling through the flimsy door about the limited hot water supply. Tipping my head, the torrent streams over me in rivulets as the crying guitar fades out and the disk jockey’s voices over the remaining notes.
“That, ladies and gents, istheGreat White. Did you know the band was initially called Dante Fox? Their manager suggested they change to Great White in reference to their guitarist, Mark. All due to his white-blond hair, white wardrobe, and his BC Rich guitar. Anyway, folks, it’s the top of the hour. Get ready for a full sixty minutes of non-stop classic hits.”
Fuck me, I’m going to be late!
Wrenching the hot and cold water valves off—the last few dribbles of water spluttering from the shower head and splat on dull chrome-plated faucet with a harshting.The next song loads up as I yank the curtain back, plastic rings rake across the top of the shower rod, disrupting the screaming whammy ofStranglehold. Humid air outside of the stall, several degrees cooler than what was surrounding me just seconds ago, splashes across me like ice, causing me to shiver with chills racing down my arms and legs.
Whisking a towel off one of the hooks hanging on the outside of the stall, I lug one around my hips and tie it loosely; the itchy fibers, more polyester than cotton, refuse to absorb the water droplets. Instead they begin combining, dripping down my legs and stomach, tickling the sparse hairs connecting my belly button to my pelvis.
Padding to the small vanity, I nearly slip when my wet foot misses the crumpled bathroom mat, and practically catapults out from under me.
“FUCK!”
I shit you not—my soul ejecto-seatoed and went for a quick run around the damn equator before slamming back into my body. Grappling, I catch the ceramic sink and steady myself, almost knocking the radio off the counter along with the clothes I had tossed on top. Never mind my worn-out boots which are now crushed against the door jam from my sudden home run slide.
Once I’m finally dressed in a pair of boot-cut jeans, a black t-shirt, and an open dark grey button-up, I saunter into Ma’s kitchen. The weathered rubber of my shoes thud along the worn carpet before the floor abruptly transitions to linoleum. Despite the obsessive cleaning Ma does, the plastic coating still has that slightly sticky sound and feeling under my soles.
Snagging the backrest of a kitchen table chair, I whirl it around and drop into a straddle, giving a slight wiggle to get comfortable. Crossing my arms along the top, bracing myself, I glance and salivate over the spread she’s cooked up. The aromas are spicy, earthy, and sublime. A mix of fresh veggies fried up with garlic and lemon—I’ll never get tired of her cooking. We may not have much, but Ma makes sure we eat like there’s no tomorrow.
“About time you got your ass out of that shower and showed your face.”
That’s Uncle Ren, Lorenzo, or Officer Reyes depending on the day. Other than my sisters Camilla and Ximena, he’s the only family we have left. For some fucked up reason, he decided to start acting like our father instead of our uncle. Instead of showing his smug face at our dinner table every damn day, I wish he would put more of his effort into playing with the badge-bunnies at his precinct than being here—they actually want his time whereas we wish he didn’t exist.
Hearing his pissy attitude, it’s safe to assume he’s going by Officer Reyes today rather than Uncle, but the five-o isn’t my friend, and neither is Uncle Ren. Dickead cherishes his corroded badge and oppressive brotherhood more than his own flesh and blood. He chooses to shun the very people he grew up with—those who had protected him and gave the shifts off their back on more than one occasion. Now he looks at them over the barrel of a gun and refuses to listen rather than shout. One day Karmawill come around and he will be spoon fed his just desserts with the same kind of contempt.
Unfortunately, Ma loves the hell out of him. That’s her brother, the baby of eight of them, so I suppose she has to but that doesn’t mean I do. So, like the pain in the ass I am for him specifically, I don’t.
Something tells me he’s here for a reason, and I have a sneaking suspicion it’s because I’m back in town. I’ve been chased by cops in the city on more than one occasion. I wouldn’t doubt his visit has something to do with that since I, obviously, slip out of their grubby, pig-fingers. Cities and counties talk, they also reach out to the state, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they told him they’re looking for me and my crew and got word we would be in Hazelwood tonight. Time wasted on this part, even if we’re all here they have nothing other than speculation and whispers—that won’t hold up in a court of law.
Either way, today is supposed to be a good day—not one where I’m forced to listen to his lectures because my padre is MIA.
Not your shoes to fill, motherfucker.
A fact he has yet to learn and from how things are going, he may never. We’re not his fucking kids though, hell half the time I’m not his nephew either and if it wasn’t for Ma, we wouldn’t be civil with one another. Her feelings get hurt when we start going after one another, but if he wants to poke at me then I’ll stab right back then apologize to her later.
Shifting my stare away from the plate of fresh tortillas, grilled carne asada, and elote, I offer him a scowl. If he wants to throw down then I’m game, it’s been a while since my knuckles have met something other than the unforgiving surface of my manifold.
“Is that what you come here for? Wallow in our business and stick your snout where it doesn’t belong?” I follow up with an obnoxious‘sooie’.
“Kaleb. No pelees con tu tio,” Ma clips.
Don’t fight with him; she says.
Whatever. He shouldn’t start shit when he knows I’m not one to back down. Scowling, I eventually rip my glare away from Uncle Ren and meet Ma’s tender smile. I refuse to let this goober ruin my high. Between the happiness she wears on her lovely face, and knowing I’ll get to see Nadia tonight, I’ll be damned if I let him rain on my fucking parade.
“Lo siento, madre.”
“Where are you going this late? I thought you were staying for dinner?” she asks.
“A party. I missed Nadia’s graduation earlier. Since she’s going to be out with her friends later, I want to see her.”
“That girl’s bad news,” Ren butts in, waving his fork around.
What kind of Latino eats carne asada and tortillas with a damn fork?
