“No one asked for your opinion, pig.”
“Doesn’t mean I won’t share it.”
“Hermano, don’t antagonize him.”
“Ahhh, madre. El credo no me molesta.”
“Watch your fucking mouth, Kaleb.”
This asshole.
“You’ve gone so far off the rails, you’re abandoning your heritage. Do you not understand Spanish anymore?”
“That’s beside the point,” he snaps at me.
Instead of goading him more, I shake my head and grab some food—the carne’s my favorite. I hate Ma likely made my favorite meal and thought I was going to be her little boy tonight, only to already have plans. Ones I refuse to forgo. Not this time. Maybe in the future.
Ripping some of the perfectly seasoned and grilled meat into bite size pieces, I toss it on a warmed corn tortilla and inhale it. The flavors explode across my tastebuds, making me moreravenous than I already was. As I hurriedly scarf down my food, my right leg begins to bounce with anticipation and anxiety. I get to see her, not in pictures or through word of mouth, actually lay my eyes on her. Three, no four—hell, I don’t remember how many tortillas later, I’m pushing away from my seat. Righting the chair and sliding it under the particle board-like table, I lean over and give Ma a kiss on the top of her grey-streaked, black hair. This woman is one of the best things to ever happen to me, even if I can’t stick around tonight.
“Volveré más trade. Te amo.”
“We’re in the United States. Speak English, boy.”
Ma swings her kitchen towel at him, hitting the ass in the face, knowing he’s intentionally antagonizing me to make me lash out. For someone who wanted to play ‘daddy,’ he sure is a terrible influence. Once upon a time, our family would have been proud to have a police officer among us. Showing other families coming to the states was the smartest thing we could do to escape the increasing violence in Mexico. Unfortunately, we traded one tyrant for another. Being his kin is an embarrassment.
“Ten cuidado, mijo.”
“Si mamá.”
Ten.Ten long strides and I’m out of the kitchen into the too-small living room.
By the door sits a catch-all shelf where we drop all of our stuff the moment we walk in, keys, wallets, bags, jackets, you name it. Typically our keys go on a hook on the wall but mine are sitting in a bowl that I promptly snatch them out of. I don’t waste time stepping onto the small porch just outside of the trailer door, my clinking metal keys announcing my leave.
I’m not embarrassed of what we have, more so I’m angry over it. Ma deserves better. She used to tell me stories of where our family came from—homes with dirt floors and having to fetchwater every morning just to have something to drink while others worked. But she’s a godsend of a woman, always pushing me to be the best man I can be and support me in any way she could. She would go out of her way to attend every one of my school events and stop by to have lunch with me occasionally. She bust her ass working extra shifts to pay for my football gear, only to turn around and do it again so my sisters could have the things they wanted too. A trailer house in a run-down park isn’t quite the castle she deserves, she loves it.
The day my racing career takes off, I’m putting her in a real home. The kind with solid walls and bricks on the outside, a yard where she can plant a vegetable garden and relax on one of those fancy swing sets with the canopy over it. She will want for nothing, all because she’s the mother I was blessed with.
Stomping down the rickety porch steps, the greying wood and rusted nails groaning under my weight, I clear the bottom one with a slight pep in my step. I get to see Nadia, feel her in my damn hands, smell that honey-like scent she always has—drawing me in like a siren.
At my driver-side door, the key grinds when I shove it into the keyhole and turn, the lock clunks free right as I pull the door's latch. Inside, pre-summer warmth and sun has heated the stock steering wheel, center console, and the leather back seats to the point it permeates the air and slaps me in the face. Though she’s a mean bitch, I love this damn car.
Sliding into the driver seat, the key feeds into the ignition; she purrs to life with a loud growl that reverberates off the trailer next to ours. Pink Floyd joins in, flooding the cab with music so loud it vibrates the plastic housings shielding the speakers—almost as good as the real thing.
Shifting her into reverse, I reach for the left shoulder of the passenger seat and brace myself. Diligently looking out the rear window, I clear the short driveway and avoid Officer Reyes’sugly fucking cruiser that’s parked too close for my liking. He invades everything, like some sort of Spanish conquistador.
How hard is it to give people room to back out of their parking spots?
The road out of here squeezes narrowly between other trailers making it a hazard to drive down since kids race up and down the street on their bicycles, hooting and hollering from supper happiness. They don’t have a sidewalk so they make do with what they have, I don’t blame them. It’s a simple joy. Pushing in the clutch and shifting into drive, we launch forward, erupting the park with growls that rattle windows and surely piss off my uncle.
Tonight’s the night.
I’ve missed my delinquent for far too long, now it’s time to steal her away.
Chapter two
Three days ago
“Man, come on! We have shit to do!” I shout at my boys. They’re too busy messing around with the freshmen girls instead of having their head in the damn game.
