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“Juliet! Oh, Juliet! Come down on Romeo!” He snickers and thrusts his crotch toward me, but doesn’t see the older woman who comes up from behind and slaps him upside the head. “Ah! I’m sorry, Abuela! I’m sorry!”
A chuckle escapes me, watching him try to duck away from her swatting arms.
She points a finger to him, then to me. “Si no tienes nada bueno que decir.” Gripping his chin, she looks him in the eye. “Mejor no digas nada.”
My Spanish is horrible, but I’ve picked up enough to know she’s chiding him.
His face scrunches with remorse, and he drops his gaze. “Lo siento.”
For the second time, she points to me. “La dama.”
The huff of frustration tells me he’s embarrassed, but he steps toward me, fingers curled around the stick of his broom. “I’m sorry if I disrespected you.”
Snorting a laugh, I shake my head. “It’s okay.”
His grandmother hobbles off back inside, and he goes back to sweeping the sidewalk in front of what appears to be a mom and pop kind of store.
I take another drag of my cigarette, eyeing him as I do. Not a bad looking kid, with his sun-bronzed skin, light colored eyes, and dark hair—certainly one who doesn’t need to solicit strangers to get attention, that’s for sure.
Once he’s finished, he plops down on the curb beneath my balcony and lights up a smoke of his own. “Are you here for business, or pleasure?” he asks, resting his elbows atop his knees.
“I’m not answering that.” I stare off across the street at the La Taqueria calling my name.
“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I just mean … what brings you here?”
Shrugging, I flick my ash into the styrofoam cup I left out from last time. “Just visiting. Hey,” I say, nodding toward the restaurant. “They have good food?”
“If you like the fast food shit. My abuela makes the best tortas and tamales on the block.”
Leaning forward, I scan over the fruit set out on the sidewalk in baskets and a sign in the window that readslas mejorestortas y flautas de tu ciudad.“Cool. I’ll stop in.” Flicking the butt of my smoke into the cup, I swirl it around in the small bit of water until it’s out. “So, what’s your story? You work for her?”
“For a while. Until I head off to community college.”
“College? Really?”
The look he shoots me, brimming with all kinds of disdain, makes me regret the comment.
“Sorry, I just thought—”
“I was a thug. Tunnel rat?” He takes another drag. “My older brother went that route. Didn’t work out for him. ‘S’why I’m working here. I’m getting out of this city. Gonna make something of myself.”
“That’s great. I didn’t mean to imply …. I think that’s awesome. What will you study?”
“Agriculture. Maybe business. My grandma and grandpa opened this place, one of a handful ofchangarro, back when my mom was a baby. Been here ever since.”
“You have a better plan than I do. Stick with it.” Rubbing my hands together, I smile. “My name’s … Ivy.” The small bit of hesitation is quickly doused by the understanding that this kid probably isn’t hanging around known criminals, if he’s working toward college.
“I’m Sergio.”
“Nice to meet you, Sergio. See? Isn’t that so much nicer thanwhat’s your name, Mami?”
A burst of laughter escapes him, and he shakes his head. “I try.”
“Well, try harder.Me gusta que me traten como a una dama.”I like to be treated like a lady. I don’t speak a lot of Spanish, at all, really. Think I might’ve heard that one in a song, or something.
With a smile, he nods. “No disrespect.”
30
