Peter's hand was through the spokes of his bicycle as he attempted to climb just three more steps to his cousin's apartment. He stumbled again, dropping the baby blue colored Schwyyn. Though Peter didn't slam the bicycle, it did make a considerable crashing sound as it hit the steps. Since it was only four o'clock in the afternoon, he wasn't very concerned about disturbing anyone. However, he noticed that the top apartment door, #9, seemed to be ajar. It almost crept open yet it wasn't very long before Peter saw a young man, in his mid-twenties or so, peer down the steps. The man glared at Peter. His hard, worn look was intimidating. Though Peter wanted to just crawl away in some hole and hide, he nodded. The two had seen one another, passing each other in front of the apartment from time to time. Yet they never spoke. The man was part of a group of Eastern Europeans living in the large, top floor flat. Or so Peter figured that the man lived in the apartment. Peter's hand was still through the spokes and at first he expected some assistance. Yet after another second of the man's glare, he knew that wasn't gonna happen. The door closed as creepily as it had opened. "Fair enough." For the following few minutes, as Peter finally picked up the bike and carried it through his cousin's apartment, he kept tossing anything do with Eastern Europe around in his mind. From "Goodbye Lenin" to borscht, Peter continued to switch the various images, movies, ideas, foods and all other things Slavic within his mind. It took him a full minute before he realized James was speaking to him through the confines of his bedroom. "I'm sorry, James what did you say?" "I said 'Next time your having problems with the bike, just call me OK?' Peter, I want to help you, y'know?" Peter felt that this level of honesty needed to be met face to face and not through walls and doors. He gently knocked on his cousin's door before James ok'd his entering. Spread out on his bed, shirt off and khaki Dickie shorts just above his butt crack, James smiled at his cousin. He took large puffs from a Philly blunt, which stuck out of the side of his mouth. Peter thought of James as a cross between Cheech Marin and Clint Eastwood . Of all the Salvatos, James was the least best looking yet he made up for it with a positive attitude and zest for business. Though only twenty-eight years old, he already owned his own bicycle pedi-cab company with sixteen employees in San Paderno, part of Southern California. For the past few months, James had encouraged Peter to leave home for a little bit and visit him in San Paderno.
"James , you gonna work tonight?" "Yeah, I was thinking about it but we're barely gonna have enough bikes so I'm not sure." "Oh." James watched as his cousin lowered his head in frustrated disappointment. He sat up in bed as he spoke again to Peter. "Hey, I gotta bunch of shit to do in the office, so take my bike." "No, no James, I mean thanks a lot for the offer but I don't wanna take it from you." "Hey, it isn't an offer. You work for me and I need you out riding tonight!" Peter grinned at James and shook his head as he thanked him. "Since you're going to be out, you need to know what bike you got. Because we're on such high demand, I was gonna use Frank…" "Oh, damn , it is gonna be a busy night if you're using… or I'm using Frankenstein!" "Yeah, well I told you about Sergei, so it's no surprise that the Biz is getting busier." "So, the city really went through with it? They actually shut him down?" "Yeah, finally, huh? See, since it took them down in city hall so long to fine and penalize him, he was able to run out almost every pedicab business in San Paderno, beside us and Osterhouse. I mean that's what happens when someone has over a hundred employees and he absolutely floods the market! The damn bastard … " "Come on, calm down, James. Anyways, it looks like he's a goner so he won't be a problem any more." James scratched his naked belly, amusing himself with the idea that his arch-enemy Sergei Ivanovich was no longer operating the largest pedicab business in San Paderno. Sergei had access to both people and industry back in his home country. He was able to offer hope to Eastern European kids hell bent on living in America. Through brief work visas, these youths were to work in San Paderno for three months at a time and always for Sergei Ivanovich. By his first year, Sergei had fifty employees and by his second, one hundred and eighteen. Though he completely drowned the business with his workers, this wouldn't have bothered James so much had his employees been trained properly. Instantly greeted with a cheaply built pedi-cab, that they were to constantly rotate amongst fellow employees, these modern immigrants of the computer age were thrown into the down-town mix and told to charge whatever fee they wanted. With no restrictions or rules to heed, these youths became a black eye upon the pedicab business. Charging exorbitant rates from thirty to fifty dollars for two to three block long rides and known to threaten ignorant and frightened tourists with possible arrest, they usually achieved their goals. The most irritating part for James was that Sergei and his workers didn't have a legal toe to stand upon. Charging ridiculous fees was not legal but it was lucrative. And then again it wasn't really illegal, either. According to James, there was too much "grey area." For purists like James, who loved a quick buck as much as the next man yet not at the sake of a guests' humility or sense of security, they were abhorred at the new image slapped upon their business. With Sergei's elimination, James was hoping to get back to the way things used to be three years past. "Peter, why don't you head back to the warehouse and see if there is a spare bike lying around so you don't have to use Frankenstein. "Sounds good. I'll grab my stuff 'cuz I don't think I'll come back then." Without saying another word, James saluted Peter, sending his cousin off to make a few dollars. After grabbing a flannel from his closet and an extra pair of pants, Peter quickly opened the front door to leave. With his head down and his mind focused on Frankenstein, Peter nearly crashed into the young woman sprinting up the stairs. Spinning quickly around Peter yet stopping in her tracks, the young woman just stared at him. Peter instantly recognized her as one of the young women from apartment #9. At first he had to make a double glance for he had never seen her out in the afternoon but always at night or very early in the morning. She was also dressed in jeans and a blouse, a definite first for she nor any of the other girls wore anything but dresses, skirts and stilettos. Her face was flushed and from the few beads of sweat upon her forehead, just dropping below her jet black hair, Peter could tell she had been running. Her mouth fell agape as if she desperately wanted to say something yet paused for a fearful thought took hold of her wits. Just as James opened his mouth to say hello she spun back around and sprinted up the stairs. Suddenly the woman stopped right before knocking on the door.
-She doesn't have her keys.
Peter thought about this occurrence, as it struck him as being odd. Just as the observation settled in Peter's mind, the young woman turned back to him. Her face was stern, almost as if she were prepping for a disaster. As she rose her fist to knock, the young woman locked eyes with Peter. It was obvious to him that she was seeking him out but why, was beyond his comprehension. Was it just because they almost knocked into one another or was there something else? The woman's eyes met Peters and then separated as quickly as they had joined. As soon as the door opened, a burst of screams and yells exploded within the apartment. The door instantly slammed close behind her. "What the hell…" Peter mumbled to himself while standing still. He didn't make a move but strained to hear everything waning through the door. Peter was able to hear all that was said yet since he couldn't understand the foreign language, it didn't make too much of a difference. Nevertheless, it would have been impossible not to understand the tone. There were several voices screaming yet only one man's voice and his was just loud, not hysterical. The female voices were screams. James felt his whole body tense as he strained to hear a slap or any kind of violence. Although he didn't really ponder the idea until later in life, Peter wasn't sure what he would have done if he thought someone was being physically hurt. Though neither of the cousins knew the people in #9, James had his suspicions. The women were all pretty, the worst looking one could possibly be called "cute" although "hot" is a much better description.They only came out at night and they weren't dressed to run marathons. The men were tough looking, muscular and always on alert. Also, Peter thought the apartment was only inhabited by women. The men always seemed to be there momentarily. Both sexes exerted dispositions of secrecy and an unwillingness to communicate. Suddenly, Peter noticed the noise had ceased. He walked back into his apartment, making sure to lock the door behind him. "James! James!" James didn't answer because he was in his room. Being unaware of this fact, Peter searched for James until he opened his cousin's bedroom door. "James! Did you hear all that racket?" Quietly looking up from his bowl of Top Ramen that he had been nursing for fifteen minutes, James gave his cousin a look of bewilderment. "Man, you missed it! Dude, turn that fucking TV down, you gotta hear this! You know the chicks on the top floor, the Russian…" "The hookers?" "What? Wait, what are you… Whatta you mean…They're hookers?" James watched with concerned shock as Peter seemed crush by the news. Although this was the first time he ever articulated himself about the women in #9, James figured that Peter knew what the women were really doing at night. The longer the two cousins lived together, the more James was realizing how naive and young his cousin was in truth. Peter's head bowed and he still seemed to be wrestling with the idea that the girl on the step was a prostitute. "Wait, James. I mean, I'm not saying you're wrong but do you know for sure whether she is a hooker?" "No, bud, I don't. I could be wrong but ya' gotta kind of use your sense. You aint a dummy, bud, think about it, yeah! I mean they're always dressed skanky, they're all hot, they only work at night, they're Russian and…" "What does being Russian have to do with it? And how do you know they're Russian?" Peter was suddenly feeling relieved. He thought James's comment about the link between the girls and Russian prostitution a sure fire example of how his cousin didn't know anything. He breathed again and laughed. Then James spoke. "Well, bud, there's a large link between organized crime and prostitution. Mafias, whether they be Italian, Korean, Japanese or whatever have a historical and modern connection with prostitution. Especially when it comes to these poorer countries. These girls wanna come to America, to escape their current plights and they just find another one here. Man, didn't you see "Eastern Promises?" Peter stood further confused. James's sudden intellectual answer and education about organized crime surprised him yet it was how direct James was, which was slowly convincing Peter. Though he had only seen the young woman five or six times over the last few months, never talking to one another, Peter was intrigued by her. James thought Peter was experiencing an infatuation for the girl. Nothing serious. In-experienced, ignorant of the opposite sex and eager for a fantasy although he didn't even know it, Peter was perplexed. His head drooped and almost seemed asleep. Peter's eyes hit the floor like lead to a magnet. He rubbed his hair slowly then looked back up to James. A small grin appeared on his face, camouflaging his disappointment. "Well, I guess I'm gonna get back to work." "Back to work? You never went!" Without saying another word, Peter grabbed his backpack and was out the door and down the apartment steps. He refused to look back. Once he was out on the streets of San Paderno, the beginning traces of sunset just beginning to bleed onto the horizon, Peter thought of the young woman again. His thoughts drifted into "what ifs" until the likely possibility that she was a prostitute came into mind. Suddenly shaking his head, Peter had to quickly realign his grip on the bicycle's handlebars. Winter had given way to Spring and what would have been a cutting wind against his cheek last month was now a soft pat upon his skin. As quick as the wind touched upon his face, so did Peter's thoughts drift back to the young woman. Though the possibility of her being a prostitute seemed to make more and more sense, Peter's hopefulness for something to exist between the two of them didn't disappear yet morphed into some type of frantic substitute for innocent love. What he was forming was a mutated fantasy, a man's dream with all the sentimentality of a boy. Finally satisfied with this choice, Peter thought of it no more but focused on arriving at the warehouse unscathed. Pulling up to the warehouse, Peter heard the sound of two mallets rapping off simultaneously as he pulled into the short asphalt laid driveway. After biking just ten feet, he was greeted with the large open warehouse nearly fifty feet in length. Over 3,500 square feet large, the warehouse was a tremendous spot especially for the price. Although none of James's other employes knew the rent, Peter was privy to most of James' financial business dealings. With a charge of only $2,500 a month, James was able to expand his business far easier than most people in their early to mid twenties. The owner of the property had inherited fifteen pieces of property in San Paderno a decade before. He had worked in sheet metal all his life and had a soft spot for anyone trying to rise up and do something big. After the owner met James, he felt the young man fit this description and offered him the rent four times cheaper than what he could have received.
Peter entered the complex where seventeen pedicabs were parked in neat, tidy lines. Though seventeen pedicabs were no small number for a pedicab company, Peter knew that there were another twelve out on the streets at the moment. With nearly thirty pedicabs to his name, all with a unique style to their own, James was establishing himself as the premier pedi-cab owner in San Paderno. "Peter, where' ya go tonight?" Suddenly spinning around, Peter looked about only to see Francesco Scioppero, shaking his legs back and forth. Francesco was a tall, sun-burnt Italian boy from a coastal town in Liguria. "What's going on Frances?" "Getting ready to go out. Phillip has got my bike. I waiting for him to come back but I have to go soon. You ride tonight?" "Yeah. I got Frankenstein tonight." "Really? Hey, you wanna switch? I hava customer I have to pick up in ten minutes. You get Phillip's bike and he should be back soon. I cannot wait."
"Sure." For being in the USA only four years, Francesco spoke English quite well. His accent was apparent, but after dilly-dagging in Oxford, England for two years his English became a hilarious cross between James Bond and Ricky Ricardo. After he briefly pondered Francesco's accent, Peter's mind returned to their deal. Peter didn't have to think too much about the offer. Even though he didn't know when Phillip would return, he wouldn't have to ride Frankenstein and Phillip was riding the Metallica bike which always made good money. Francesco sprinted past Peter in his high Nautica shorts, bright orange tank top and a wide, happy smile on his grill. There was a sixty pound canvas heavy bag hanging up in the rear of the warehouse. As Francesco ran past it, slapping it with all his strength, Peter decided he needed a quick freshening up. Peter slid past some of the guys as they pumped tires, inspected spokes and performed one-overs on their cabs.
Since this was San Paderno, a beautiful quasi-affluent Southern California beach town, people from every walk of life seemed to converge here, including James's employees. When Peter first moved to San Paderno, he was amazed to meet so many people from the East Coast, especially the South. He had always thought that people from the Mid West and East Coast thought of Californians as quirky little weirdoes with obsessions toward the latest crazes. To an extent, Peter agreed with these observations. Californians were all about being "laid back" and "living for the moment" yet they were shackled to their gym memberships, consumed by their Atkins Diets and proselytizing to anyone who would listen about the "realness" of being present. Peter figured at least it provided some comic relief. In regards to the East Coasters and such who moved to the poppy state, maybe these people had been the Californians of their states. By the time Peter threw a few combinations and a low roundhouse, all of these ideas left his mind and were replaced by the empty state of nothingness. Peter had put in two rounds on the heavy bag and one and a half rounds of shadow boxing by the time Phillip arrived. The Metallica bike was neatly parked beside the air pump yet Peter was unable to find Phillip. After, Peter made a brief assessment of the bike and this wasn't a problem since Phillip had left the bike in great condition. Peter unlocked the small box below the seat which opened up to a compartment containing an inner tube, one tire, a blanket, a few CDs, a medium size packet of alcohol swabs & bandaids and three water bottles. After closing the box, Peter took the pedi-cab for a short ride around the block. Feeling satisfied, Peter bid the guys adieu and drove the pedi-cab into the fading light of a San Paderno sunset. Although Metallica's music wasn't popular to all sections of society, like Bruce Springsteen or Led Zeppelin, the bike that James had customized for their music was appreciated by almost everyone that caught a glance. James spent the extra bucks to acquire an oil black paint, which was illegal in the state of California. Nevertheless, this particular paint gave off the best shine and when mixed with navy blues and dark greasy, the pedi-cab looked very appealing. It was the kind of cab you really wanted to get a ride inside. And that was James' intention from the very beginning. For Peter it was simply a great way to make great tips. Anytime a rider gave a customer a ride, the rider was going to earn some money but the nicer the bike, the more likely a better than average tip. Within a few seconds of Peter riding out of the warehouse, he caught sight of the young woman from apartment #9 standing on the edge of the block. He pulled over. She kept her eyes on him, never deviating from his face as Peter rested the pedi-cab right alongside a parked car. "Hey, there! Twice in one day, huh?"
"Yes, it is most unusual." Despite that the girl's answer seemed practical, Peter felt as if she was up to something. Perhaps it wasn't anything malicious, Peter quickly mused, yet he suspected she had some type of ulterior motive. "Would you like a ride?" "Yes. Thank you." "By the way, I'm Peter." "My name is Faina." Unsure of where this was headed but happy to see Faina, Peter helped her onto the platform and then her seat. Peter eased the cab back out onto the bike lane. Every few seconds, he looked back to Faina, to see if she was still there. Faina had been looking out at the streets as Peter kept an easy, moderate pace. Though Faina was constantly driven from one destination to another, all throughout San Paderno, she never had the opportunity to just people watch. Never the opportunity to just sit and watch a storefront and all the busyness which is involved. Faina knew that the importance lay in the freedom to choose what you wanted to do, not in actually people watching itself. It wouldn't matter if she wanted to look at parakeets attempting impersonations of sea captains or even something three times crazier. The beauty lay in the choice.
Faina couldn't help but notice Peter's incessant turning of his head. Just as Peter looked back again, Faina inched closer, her long legs granting her the ability to get close to Peter with one step. Peter's face morphed into embarrassment yet Faina wouldn't have anything of the sort. She reached out and lay her thin, soft fingertips upon his shoulder. Peter's shoulders instantly rose as being touched startled him. Faina kept her hand on his shoulder until she felt his body relax. Faina withdrew her hand from his shoulder. It was a momentary shock for him and her loss of touch, left him feeling frigid again.
Whether it was Faina's withdrawal of her touch, a sudden desire to know everything or that Peter simply felt overwhelmed, he decided he had to speak plainly with her.
"Faina, why are you here? Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that you stopped by yet what's going on?"
Faina looked away yet turned back to Peter resolutely. With rapid fire like speed, Fiana explained to Peter her present plight and how it came to originate. Promised a work visa, a job and a safe place to live, Faina was fed a lie that would come to be the first of many for her life in America. Quickly after arriving in the United States, her real profession was explained to her along with her choices if she disobeyed. She made it quite clear to Peter that not only her life was threatened but also her family back home, specifically her two little sisters. Fearful, naive and believing the men's lie that it wouldn't be "too bad", Faina agreed to sell herself. Now, three months later, she found herself just wanting to go back home no matter the consequences. Had it been three months ago, Faina thought she never would have risked her life as well as that of her families but she could take no more. Peter listened in attentive silence. Once Faina began to speak, he pulled the pedi-cab into the parking lot of a small park. She wasn't quite sure why but she felt much better as she spoke under the swaying palm frowns and birch trees. After rushing out her story in a type of frenzied urgency, Faina was thankful for Peter's changing of the subject.
"It's gonna be cold tonight. There's no cloud cover."
Peter pointed to the black sky. Faina looked up as they both momentarily stared at the same stars.
"What do you mean no cloud cover? What does this mean?"
"It's just a term for explaining when the sky is blanketed by clouds. You know, covered!"
Faina laughed as Peter raised his voice. She turned away from the streets and knelt close to him, her knees on the platform in front of her and her hands upon the rail to steady herself.
"When you say "blanketed", it is like God places a blankets or sheets over the heavens?"
"Uh, well yeah, I guess that's one way to look at it. It's funny, on a clear night like this you can see practically everything."
"I like it when is moon full!"
Faina's voice rose as she dreamt of the full moons back in her hometown. On summer nights when the moon was largest, the kids would dance outdoors. From midnight to sun up. She longed for the pulsating beat from the German techno music. While she thought of the past, Faina lowered her head and shuddered with a sense of regret. She couldn't help but recall her innocent, naive hopes when she was still in Russia. All the teenagers knew of New York and Los Angeles. They were enticed by the stories of raging parties attended by famous people and a constant throng of fun times. She knew she would have to work in the United States. Faina wanted to work, go to school and perfect her English. All of these were seen as an easy life compared to some of her options back at home. Yet she never imagined that the horror stories she had heard uttered by others, supposedly mere rumors, would one day be her own. Faina kept her head lowered and bit her lip, ashamed that she had once thought that life could be so wonderful.
"A full moon. Yeah, those are very pretty. I like new moons the most, though. The new moon is the opposite of the full moon, right? Unlike the full moon which is large and seems to cover up the sky, a new moon is so much different. On a new moon, you can see all the stars. Everywhere you look are stars, splattered across the sky. You can form the constellations now too."
"Yes, my favorite is Orion. But even though the other moon is full of stars, don't you think the full moon is beautiful? It is so bright and has so much light!"
"Yeah, you're right. You're definitely right. The full moon is pretty but because it's so bright, it blocks out all the stars, comets, meteors. Anything that God wants us to see is blocked out by the full moon's massive glow. It's the new moon that allows the heavens to be seen."
As Peter spoke of heaven, his thoughts froze. He rarely ever spoke of religious matters now and he remembered that he hadn't spoken the name of God in years. He wasn't sure if it was because Faina had just said it moments before, since it would be fresh in his mind. He felt like he was opening. Then again, Peter wasn't sure what he felt. While glancing back at Faina, he wondered how much of it he could blame on her and how much of it could he deny as his responsibility. Faina had turned back to the streets, yet she thought of what Peter said. She quickly glanced at his hands. They were tightly clamped around the handlebars.
"Peter, does it not hurt your hands to hold like that?" "Yeah, a little. But it's worth it."
"What is worth it? To ride the bike for money?" "Yeah, that too. If I couldn't ride, I wouldn't be out here with you right now. So yeah, it's definitely worth it." Faina didn't turn to Peter, continuing to keep her attention on the cars, bikes and people whirling around. Peter stole another glance at Faina. A small, happy smile was perched upon her lips making Peter feel stronger in that moment than he could remember since his adolescence. Peter's mind flashed back to a wellness teacher his parents had encouraged him to visit a few years back. He had been having asthma attacks and his parents thought his problem could be addressed by a holistic approach. Throughout most of the talk, Peter day-dreamed, constantly checking his watch to see how much longer he would have to remain. A few minutes prior to the end of the speech, the teacher spoke of the importance of happiness and joy. She spoke of its healing power and the energy it gave people. Now, pedaling for Faina, Peter recognized that joy. It had been years since he had felt so invigorated and he wondered why it had been so long since he had this experience. "Peter, may we drive by the beach?" Faina's soft voice, filled with gaiety and delight, drew Peter forth and answered his question. -It's because of her! Not even when I was younger did I feel this good! Peter's mind swarmed with fascinating thoughts as he careened off the streets and neared a bike path. Once he was close to the beach, he slowed the bike down until he reached a mounting hill. Just a few hundred feet from the ocean, the resting area was situated on a grassy knoll that overlooked all of the Pacific and San Paderno. Stepping off the bike, Peter walked toward Faina. He smiled to her as he reached across from her and unlocked a small handle that swiftly came crashing down on the platform in front of the bench Faina sat. Peter reached within the compartment and retrieved a large yellow blanket. Faina watched him with interest, amazed at how gentle and kind he was toward her. At the same time , though she refused to show it, she was scared and upset. Not only was she fearful for what could happen to both her and Peter when she returned but Faina couldn't help but feel Peter as foolish. -How can he do this without thinking what will happen? Does he even care what this night will do to me? He can't really care about me if he is willing to do this! Finally, Faina's fears and thoughts ruined her countenance. She bit her lip again, thankful that it was so dark that Peter couldn't see the tears slip down her face. Hide it though she tried, Faina's voice gave way to irritation as Peter asked her if she wanted something to drink. "Are you ok? Faina, you alright?" "Don't you see what will happen? You need to take me back now!" Peter was momentarily shocked. So focused on his own happiness, Peter couldn't understand what Faina meant. He saw her smile and he heard her laugh. How was this not enough? "I don't understand. I thought you were having fun? Are you talking about the men …?" "It is bigger than that! Bigger than you, me and many more!" "Faina, listen to me, please. I can talk to them. Maybe I could buy your time or… or something, right?" "Peter, you can buy nothing. I am theirs and theirs alone. And… and there is much more that you do not know." "Well, then tell me! What don't I know? Are they hurting you? What? What is it? Are they threatening you?" Having enough of the conversation, Faina leaned in toward Peter. He was frustrated and upset yet it would be a cold day in hell when he would refuse her advances.
"Let's just stay here a little while longer."
Peter thought for a second before he spoke. He suspected that if he asked her to run with him, she would say no. Yet, he wondered what he would do if she said yes. Would he actually go through with the whole ordeal? Would she be worth a life of running or at least the few years of hiding which would be necessary to say the least? And what about James, would he be affected by any of this? Probably. In some shape or another, they would get to him. One aspect of Peter's personality was that he was wet behind the ears like many men in their late teen and early twenties yet he wasn't so naive about the world that he was dangerous to himself or others. He knew about man's nature and the lengths some men would go to maintain what they possessed. And he knew how others intentions could spark the anger in the ruthless. "Faina, why don't we get out of here? Like, right now. We could…" Faina sat in the back of the pedicab, very relaxed and with a tiny smile on her face. She continued to listen to Peter speak, allowing him to feel as if he was trying to be brave and defensive for her. Faina believed that if Peter really wanted to take her away he would have already started to do so or he would have spoken to her differently. If Peter was hellbent on getting her out of the business, his demeanor would have displayed more demand and less democracy, Faina thought. Maybe it was that Peter didn't even know he was unconvincing. Faina mused over these thoughts as she pondered that perhaps Peter imagined he was very deliberate and honest, with no tinge of uncertainty. In the end, for Faina, it didn't really matter. She cared for him no mater whether he was fully conscious or not. "Peter. Please, stop. I know you want best for me but I cannot go anywhere. There are many reasons why. What we do, though, is enjoy tonight." It was simple, direct and so beyond Peter that he almost missed her point. Yet, whether it be fate, divine connection or simply the synapses were finally firing in the proper places for Peter, he understood Faina. It was difficult for him, for in a way he wondered whether she really wanted to get away or simply mouthed the words. But in the end Peter understood. No matter what the reason behind it, Faina would remain with him tonight and then.. "… we can go wherever you want or .." "Why don't we just stay here?" Faina lifted her chin, suggesting that they simply remain on the knoll. Peter smiled and held Faina's hand as she stepped off the pedi-cab platform. He tossed the blanket, its edges reaching out and grasping for blades of grass. It was way past sunset, being that there were no traces of the sun at all. Peter looked at the stars, thousands of speckling lights against space's canvas of black tar. Both Faina and Peter crashed onto the blanket. For Peter it had been a long time since he had kissed a woman, let alone touch one. With Faina stretched out against his own outstretched body, Peter ran his fingers along her torso and listened to her breathe. While they sat there, Peter still tried to fathom a way in which they could be together. Everything Peter came up with was useless. The reality of the situation was enough to make Peter feel defeated. Faina felt his touch lighten and even under the dark sky she sensed his eyes avert her own. Knowing that there was nothing she could say to alleviate the problem, Faina brought Peter closer to her own body. In the quiet that ensued, two breaths reared violently against the backdrop of what was fate. When nothing could be done but advance toward and eventually through the unfortunate truth of certainty, Faina led Peter into a paradise of intimacy. Subsiding under the night's umbrella, Faina turned into Peter. She supposed that no-one would come looking for them until daybreak yet she wanted to return. Every moment she lay with Peter was simply delaying the terrible reality of her situation; a return to being owned. She eagerly convinced Peter to take her back to apartment #9 though he seemed confused by her demand. Nevertheless, Peter relented, pulling her along the streets of San Paderno. They rode silently through the streets. Faina was like before, catching sight of everything and everyone. Being that it was four o'clock in the morning, most people were asleep yet here and there was a drunk couple wandering the streets or a homeless person wading through a trash can. The air seemed to grow a bit warmer. Faina let the crisp air brush against her shoulders as Peter zigged zagged through the cities streets. Though Peter had one of the best nights of his life, he couldn't help but feel the melancholy pull of sadness upon his heart. Though he and Faina seemed doomed from the start, Peter had hoped for a miracle or a sudden lapse in life's script for continual disappointment. Faina, however, knew this feeling and as she watched it reside upon Peter's face she felt a sudden charge of courage. When it came to herself, she had believed that the fates were written. Yet as she watched Peter's strong body seemingly crumble under the yoke of dismal grief, she suddenly felt indignant. More so, she felt invigorated in a strange, angry way. As they neared their apartment, the blue paint shining under the night stars, Faina placed her hand upon Peter's shoulder. He suddenly stopped the bike, sensing that Faina wanted to talk to him face to face. He had parked the bike under a yellow streetlight, the artificial beams bouncing off her pretty face. As Peter looked into her shining green eyes, her resistance to what was, felt overwhelmingly contagious. Faina stepped toward Peter, cusping his face into her hands. What had once seemed like a full moon, absent of nothing but a seemingly jarring glow, was starting to reveal a whole universe full of new cosmic possibilities.
THE END
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Monday, February 13, 2012
Passing Overhead
Brian sat down and opened his lunchbox.
“Nectarine. Turkey sandwich. Mars bar.”
He adjusted his bottom upon the wall, trying not to let the rough stone jag his rear end.
“Turkey sandawitch agene, Brian?”
Brian looked up to see Gustavo towering above him just before he sat down. In the bright sunshine Brian could only make out parts of Gustavo’s face; the thick five o’clock shadow tucked around the broad, black mustache, long black hair and the searching eyes. With a low grumble he gracefully collapsed next to Brian. The laborer opened up his brown bag and displayed two cold fish tacos, an apple, some carrots and a sugar cookie. As Gustavo’s brothers, Gilberto and Gabriele, showed up, the workers began to trade with each other until Brian had one fish taco, half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and the sugar cookie. He felt it not to be a bad deal. Brian used the Mars bar as the heaviest bargaining chip because he really wanted the fish taco. Gustavo’s wife, Maribel, made the best tacos. Even when cold. Brian melodically rocked back and forth as he slowly devoured the treat, sucking up bits of halibut from the paper napkin.
“Gustavo, this is soooooo good, bro! Really man, I’ll pay your wife to make me some tacos! These are so damn good!”
All of the Hernandez brothers nodded in solemn approval, not surprised in hearing praise for Maribel’s food. Brian didn’t know that all of the Hernandez wives could cook like Maribel yet she was the only one in the United States. So unless he traveled south of the border this would be all he would know.
“Shit, I hope I can find a wife that can cook like this.”
“When you gonna get a mujer, Brian?”
“You got one in mind for me?”
The brother’s laughed but all agreed that they could easily find him a wife if he wanted one. Brian knew that they were joking but he also knew they were serious. Plenty of women from Mexico would love to be able to live in the United States. Brian listened as the Hernandez brothers continued to ramble on about things that he could barely understand even after three years of high school Spanish. He sat back against the sandstone wall that he and the brothers had laid just a week before.
For three weeks they had been working on the Henderson estate, laying a variety of stone and brick. Brian had been working for Johnson Stone Company for only five months and the Hernandez brothers invited him into their work force as if he were one of them. Although they all treated him well it was Gustavo who paid more attention to the young man, trying to assist him as best he could.
“When are you going to marry, Brian?”
“Not sure, man. I gotta find someone who’s worth it.”
Gustavo started to laugh as he shook his head.
“Dere are plenty of good women out dere. You know dat!”
“You think so? I don’t know about that one?’
A slight tone of anger and resentment slipped through his speech, though he tried to keep it under wrap. Gustavo raised an eye brow at Brian’s response. Then he smirked.
“Que paso, Brian? A girl do you bad?”
Brian’s face grew slightly white. He had finished his lunch and now turned away to lightly pound a piece of sand stone onto the patio.
“Brian, I tell you something. Pinocha! Pinocha iz life.”
With his back still turned to his friend, Brian began to laugh. Gustavo smiled. But he wasn’t joking.
“Listen to me; It’s life. You get strength from a woman. How many girls you been with?”
Brian was on his knees, facing Gustavo. He shed a childish and nervous smile. The mallet shifted in his hand as he looked toward a row of red roses in a distant garden.
“Uh… I’ve slept with two girls… but you know I’ve done other stuff with a lot more.”
Gustavo grinned and nodded his head. Brian wasn’t sure if Gustavo was just putting him on. He wanted the older man to believe him but most of all he wanted his trust.
“I’m being honest by the way. Altogether, two girls.”
“You feel pretty good afterwards, huh?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“No, I don’t mean when you cum, I mean you feel stronger because she iz witch you. Her body, sua alma, it gives strength, no?”
Brian stopped thinking for a second. When Gustavo said “because she is with you” images of Katherine appeared. It had been nearly two years since he had seen her but her memory still came back to him at random moments. With the noise of Gilberto’s skill saw sounding off and the smell of stone dust and heat, Brian was able to remember her asking him to stay on their last night together. He did feel strong.
-Why?
He never had given it much thought until now. She had gone off to college after that and they didn’t keep in contact. Since Katherine, Brian hadn’t been too active with women. He always figured that there were plenty of other men to fill his place.
“See, Brian. It’s the same for her too. She needs your strength, tambien. Don’t forget dat! Dere is a… come se llama… dere is an ex-change. Ex-change, no? She needs you like you need her.”
“Ha, ha, ha! Half the time I hear you guys bitching about your women! Now you speak of them as if they are your great equals!”
Brian wasn’t sure if Gustavo would understand “great equals” but he used it anyways. He liked the sound. Gustavo had since picked up a piece of flag stone and set it down. Silence took over. Brian suddenly worried that he had upset the older man. Just as he thought to check and see if Gustavo was mad, the seasoned mason began to speak, keeping Brian from having to say a word.
“You’re right Brian. Ha, ha, ha! We say things about our women but I love my wife. She gives me three children and she keeps me warm.”
“She keeps you warm?”
Returning to his work the older man pounded the stone into place and then looked up. He was grinning again.
“Did your woman keep you warm, Brian?’
Feeling frustrated and at the same time humored by Gustavo, Brian threw his hands into the air.
“I don’t know what the hell that means, Gustavo! Keep me warm!?! Did I get stronger!?! I’m so damn confused; I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about! Are you talking about pinocha again?”
Gustavo laughed aloud. Gilberto had since quit using the skill saw and looked over to his brother. The Hernandez’s exchanged words until all three were laughing. Brian watched them and then dismissed them with his hand.
“Mierda. Todos estan pien di mierda!”
The brothers continued to laugh at Brian’s retort until Gustavo spoke.
“No, here, Brian. Place da stone up a little. It’s too low on dat angle. Push dis way.”
The two men worked side by side for a few moments until Gustavo patted Brian on the shoulder.
“Your woman keeps you warm and you keep your woman warm with more than touching. I don’t know what to say than that.”
Time delay was something unique to Gustavo. Brian was trying to gather his friend’s words while adjusting some of the sandstone. After Gustavo and his conversation, Brian was unable to get Katherine out of his mind. He had always been impressed with Katherine’s wearing of a silk nightgown with fancy frills. Brian didn’t imagine that most eighteen year old girls wore things of that quality. She seemed very grown up standing in front of him with her jet black hair draped over the purple silk. As Brian slowly reached out to bring Katherine toward him, he humored himself.
-This is something out of the “Red Shoe Diaries”.
As the recollection worked its way through Brian's mind, he sat upon the sandstone. The slicing sound of Gilberto’s skill saw brought Brian out of his memory and back to the Henderson estate. He looked around for a while at the long expanses of grass and listened to the crickets that chirped strongly in ceaseless anthem.
“Hey, where are you Brian?”
The young man looked over to Gabriele who was playfully motioning him to get back to work. Brian rose and went over to where the sandstone lay. With his hammer and chisels he began to break and form the slabs according to the layout that was in front of him. But he still didn’t release Katherine from his mind. He couldn't release Katherine from his mind. Even the rough edges of the sandstone felt softer against his palms as the stone took on her ghost. But in reality they were nothing but pale images of bygone years; a lost memory that came back to haunt.
“Nectarine. Turkey sandwich. Mars bar.”
He adjusted his bottom upon the wall, trying not to let the rough stone jag his rear end.
“Turkey sandawitch agene, Brian?”
Brian looked up to see Gustavo towering above him just before he sat down. In the bright sunshine Brian could only make out parts of Gustavo’s face; the thick five o’clock shadow tucked around the broad, black mustache, long black hair and the searching eyes. With a low grumble he gracefully collapsed next to Brian. The laborer opened up his brown bag and displayed two cold fish tacos, an apple, some carrots and a sugar cookie. As Gustavo’s brothers, Gilberto and Gabriele, showed up, the workers began to trade with each other until Brian had one fish taco, half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and the sugar cookie. He felt it not to be a bad deal. Brian used the Mars bar as the heaviest bargaining chip because he really wanted the fish taco. Gustavo’s wife, Maribel, made the best tacos. Even when cold. Brian melodically rocked back and forth as he slowly devoured the treat, sucking up bits of halibut from the paper napkin.
“Gustavo, this is soooooo good, bro! Really man, I’ll pay your wife to make me some tacos! These are so damn good!”
All of the Hernandez brothers nodded in solemn approval, not surprised in hearing praise for Maribel’s food. Brian didn’t know that all of the Hernandez wives could cook like Maribel yet she was the only one in the United States. So unless he traveled south of the border this would be all he would know.
“Shit, I hope I can find a wife that can cook like this.”
“When you gonna get a mujer, Brian?”
“You got one in mind for me?”
The brother’s laughed but all agreed that they could easily find him a wife if he wanted one. Brian knew that they were joking but he also knew they were serious. Plenty of women from Mexico would love to be able to live in the United States. Brian listened as the Hernandez brothers continued to ramble on about things that he could barely understand even after three years of high school Spanish. He sat back against the sandstone wall that he and the brothers had laid just a week before.
For three weeks they had been working on the Henderson estate, laying a variety of stone and brick. Brian had been working for Johnson Stone Company for only five months and the Hernandez brothers invited him into their work force as if he were one of them. Although they all treated him well it was Gustavo who paid more attention to the young man, trying to assist him as best he could.
“When are you going to marry, Brian?”
“Not sure, man. I gotta find someone who’s worth it.”
Gustavo started to laugh as he shook his head.
“Dere are plenty of good women out dere. You know dat!”
“You think so? I don’t know about that one?’
A slight tone of anger and resentment slipped through his speech, though he tried to keep it under wrap. Gustavo raised an eye brow at Brian’s response. Then he smirked.
“Que paso, Brian? A girl do you bad?”
Brian’s face grew slightly white. He had finished his lunch and now turned away to lightly pound a piece of sand stone onto the patio.
“Brian, I tell you something. Pinocha! Pinocha iz life.”
With his back still turned to his friend, Brian began to laugh. Gustavo smiled. But he wasn’t joking.
“Listen to me; It’s life. You get strength from a woman. How many girls you been with?”
Brian was on his knees, facing Gustavo. He shed a childish and nervous smile. The mallet shifted in his hand as he looked toward a row of red roses in a distant garden.
“Uh… I’ve slept with two girls… but you know I’ve done other stuff with a lot more.”
Gustavo grinned and nodded his head. Brian wasn’t sure if Gustavo was just putting him on. He wanted the older man to believe him but most of all he wanted his trust.
“I’m being honest by the way. Altogether, two girls.”
“You feel pretty good afterwards, huh?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“No, I don’t mean when you cum, I mean you feel stronger because she iz witch you. Her body, sua alma, it gives strength, no?”
Brian stopped thinking for a second. When Gustavo said “because she is with you” images of Katherine appeared. It had been nearly two years since he had seen her but her memory still came back to him at random moments. With the noise of Gilberto’s skill saw sounding off and the smell of stone dust and heat, Brian was able to remember her asking him to stay on their last night together. He did feel strong.
-Why?
He never had given it much thought until now. She had gone off to college after that and they didn’t keep in contact. Since Katherine, Brian hadn’t been too active with women. He always figured that there were plenty of other men to fill his place.
“See, Brian. It’s the same for her too. She needs your strength, tambien. Don’t forget dat! Dere is a… come se llama… dere is an ex-change. Ex-change, no? She needs you like you need her.”
“Ha, ha, ha! Half the time I hear you guys bitching about your women! Now you speak of them as if they are your great equals!”
Brian wasn’t sure if Gustavo would understand “great equals” but he used it anyways. He liked the sound. Gustavo had since picked up a piece of flag stone and set it down. Silence took over. Brian suddenly worried that he had upset the older man. Just as he thought to check and see if Gustavo was mad, the seasoned mason began to speak, keeping Brian from having to say a word.
“You’re right Brian. Ha, ha, ha! We say things about our women but I love my wife. She gives me three children and she keeps me warm.”
“She keeps you warm?”
Returning to his work the older man pounded the stone into place and then looked up. He was grinning again.
“Did your woman keep you warm, Brian?’
Feeling frustrated and at the same time humored by Gustavo, Brian threw his hands into the air.
“I don’t know what the hell that means, Gustavo! Keep me warm!?! Did I get stronger!?! I’m so damn confused; I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about! Are you talking about pinocha again?”
Gustavo laughed aloud. Gilberto had since quit using the skill saw and looked over to his brother. The Hernandez’s exchanged words until all three were laughing. Brian watched them and then dismissed them with his hand.
“Mierda. Todos estan pien di mierda!”
The brothers continued to laugh at Brian’s retort until Gustavo spoke.
“No, here, Brian. Place da stone up a little. It’s too low on dat angle. Push dis way.”
The two men worked side by side for a few moments until Gustavo patted Brian on the shoulder.
“Your woman keeps you warm and you keep your woman warm with more than touching. I don’t know what to say than that.”
Time delay was something unique to Gustavo. Brian was trying to gather his friend’s words while adjusting some of the sandstone. After Gustavo and his conversation, Brian was unable to get Katherine out of his mind. He had always been impressed with Katherine’s wearing of a silk nightgown with fancy frills. Brian didn’t imagine that most eighteen year old girls wore things of that quality. She seemed very grown up standing in front of him with her jet black hair draped over the purple silk. As Brian slowly reached out to bring Katherine toward him, he humored himself.
-This is something out of the “Red Shoe Diaries”.
As the recollection worked its way through Brian's mind, he sat upon the sandstone. The slicing sound of Gilberto’s skill saw brought Brian out of his memory and back to the Henderson estate. He looked around for a while at the long expanses of grass and listened to the crickets that chirped strongly in ceaseless anthem.
“Hey, where are you Brian?”
The young man looked over to Gabriele who was playfully motioning him to get back to work. Brian rose and went over to where the sandstone lay. With his hammer and chisels he began to break and form the slabs according to the layout that was in front of him. But he still didn’t release Katherine from his mind. He couldn't release Katherine from his mind. Even the rough edges of the sandstone felt softer against his palms as the stone took on her ghost. But in reality they were nothing but pale images of bygone years; a lost memory that came back to haunt.
The End
Monday, February 6, 2012
Against A Wall
Summer 2009
Against A Wall
In the threaded mist of the estates miniature forest, Piero Brexiano continued to rid weeds from the base of giant palm trees. He had begun work at seven that morning. It was now close to eleven AM yet he still felt strong and fresh. He didn’t need a big breakfast, he told himself. Coffee and a slice of bread were fine. Looking at his fingers, with moist dirt under his nails and digits, Piero smiled. For five years he had been away from Italy and although he missed his homeland and his father, he didn’t think he had the right to be too melancholy. Six months back his wife and three children finally arrived in San Lorenzo, California. He no longer needed to send money back to the Veneto, back to the farm, back to the family.
Mr. Fredericks, the estate’s owner, allowed the Brexianos to live on the grounds while Piero worked as groundskeeper and his wife, Floria, provided household services. Their two younger children, Chiara and Dante, went to school but their oldest at sixteen, Penna, helped Floria in whatever way she could.
Piero tossed the green weeds into the cement pasted wheelbarrow as he rose to fetch lunch. It had been over a week since he had spoken to Fredericks about the food rationing. Believing that the Brexiano’s were eating too much, Fredericks was cutting back their weekly amount. This became a sore spot between Floria and Fredericks, with Piero trying to see both sides of the situation. As the head of his family, Piero realized how comfortable they had it on the estate. His family was allowed to live in the cottage and three of them worked on the property. Besides being paid they were also provided with food. Piero didn’t want to lose the job over one argument.
But despite Piero’s hope that matters would settle down, by the next week Floria came home with less food than the previous. Without saying anything to her husband she laid the evening dinner on the table in front of her family. Piero stared at the food; an eighth of a loaf of bread, one bowl of pasta and another bowl of salad. In silence Floria served her children first while Piero watched them eagerly slurp up their meals. By the time she got to Piero he held back her hand after she served him two scoops. With a look of inquisitiveness Floria studied her husband’s face in the dim light of the sparse and tiny kitchen. His eyes were focused on his children as he asked about their day. Following suit with her husband, Floria gave herself two scoops. As his wife chewed the pasta, Piero looked away unable to watch her because he was aware. He knew that she was right. There wasn’t enough food. Piero also couldn’t watch Floria because he knew she was hungry. He didn’t ask her to take two scoops but she would always do just the same as Piero. Not because she felt like everything had to be evenly dispersed between the two. It was because she believed that everything between her and her husband was even. They were two in one. Piero let his children finish the rest of the food that night but admitted to himself that something would have to be done.
Last night’s meal was on Piero’s mind as he made his way up to the estate’s patio. Ahead of him, lying on the lawn, were Floria and Penna waiting for Piero to join them for lunch. As Piero sat down to eat he could see that bread was missing from the meal. Unraveling a white piece of cloth, Floria spread a few cold cuts and breadsticks out on a tablecloth beside some grapes.
“No pan?”
“No. Lu ga dito che questo xe pan.”
Floria grabbed a few breadsticks indicating that they were to be their new bread. Piero stared at his wife. Suddenly he began to laugh. She just looked at Piero and shook her head. Then she laughed. Penna’s green eyes shone and she was grateful to see her parents giggling. Although Piero kept chuckling, within he felt backed up against a wall; a wall that was fixed with tiny sharp notes constantly reminding him of his responsibility. He didn’t have too many options but he was aware that his family couldn’t live in the same fashion. Piero watched his daughter and wife talk as he thought about his plans.
In the afternoon Piero was planting a fresh tree on a sparse area of vegetation. Mr. Fredericks came from behind a corner of the house and watched Piero as he packed dirt around the tree. Piero caught Fredericks watching him out of the corner of his eye. Getting up from the ground and wiping the dirt from his khaki pants, Piero turned to Fredericks.
“Wadda you think, Mr. Ferderick?”
The older man didn’t respond at first but walked about the tree, scrutinizing it closely.
“It looks very nice Pietro. I think this is a good spot because it will get plenty of sun.”
While Piero listened he couldn’t help but think about his family’s need for food. When Mr. Fredericks halted in his speech Piero spoke.
“Mr. Ferderick I’d lika talka to you when I’m done wurkin today about da food.”
Frederick’s countenance quickly changed from an even look of study to a deep frown.
“Pietro, as I told you last week, your family is eating too much food. The amount I have been giving you is adequate for a family of your size.”
Pietro didn’t know what “adequate” meant but he had a pretty good idea. He looked at Frederick’s with concern, asking the rich man with his eyes if he really needed the food as much as his family. It wasn’t Piero’s style to say more than was necessary.
“Okay. We’ra gonna have to leave den, Mr. Federicks.”
“Excuse me. You cannot leave. You are under a contract.”
Piero briefly stared at the older man and then walked away. Feeling slighted, Fredericks took more offense to Piero’s silence than his asking for food. Yet the rich man said nothing as he watched the immigrant place the shovel back inside the tool shed. Fredericks thought Piero was making empty threats. He believed that the Brexiano’s had nowhere to go and to an extent he was right; Piero had no work lined up yet they did have some family they could live with momentarily.
While making his usual evening walk around the garden that dusk, Mr. Fredericks saw Floria placing a suitcase into her husbands beat up old Chevrolet. Fredericks hid behind a giant limestone fountain while he spied on the family. It didn’t take long for Fredericks to realize that the Brexiano’s were leaving. Rage and feelings of betrayal swelled within him as he thought about the family’s departure.
“He signed a contract, dammit! These Wops can’t just do whatever they want!”
Coming out from his hiding place Frederick’s approached Floria as she was putting some cooking pans in the back of the truck.
“Put those down! Those are not yours! What do you people think you’re doing?”
Dante watched as Fredericks approached his mother in a threatening manner, making long strides and shaking his arms. Feeling scared the little boy ran back inside the small cottage towards his father who already heard Fredericks. Moving past his children, who watched their father as a farmer watches a rainstorm pound a drought ridden land, Piero stepped outside the cottage and walked towards Fredericks.
“Iz dere a problem Mr. Ferdericks?”
“Yes, there most certainly is a problem, Pietro. First off you’re wife is stealing my cooking property. And why are you putting suitcases…”
“Dose pans are ourz Mr. Ferdericks. We broughta dem with us. We lefta youra dings inside da house.”
Piero had hoped to have everything packed and ready to go before confronting Fredericks with the house key. He nervously adjusted the fedora on top of his head while he watched Fredericks walk towards the truck. Fredericks saw that the pans were not his own, causing him further frustration. He turned back towards Piero.
“Pietro, you signed a contract stating that your family would work here for at least one year. You have only fulfilled six months of the contract.”
“Yeah, dis iz true ma you don’ta give us enough food. Dat was also in da contrac, dat we wuld be fed. Mya familee iz ungry. I tolda you ma you said we had enough…”
“Exactly. You’re family just eats too much. You have two small children and you feed them as if they are adults. It is ridiculous. The contract stated three children and two adults, not five adults.”
Fredericks was speaking so fast and irritably that it was difficult for Pietro to understand everything he was saying. But through Fredericks’ facial expressions and tone of voice as well as Piero’s limited but decent command of English, the immigrant was able to understand the core of the rich man’s argument. When it came to the contract, Fredericks had said Penna, at sixteen years old, would be fed as an adult. This was another one of his adjustments. Floria hustled her children back inside the cottage as all three huddled together around the door frame watching their father.
“Pietro you have to stay another six months! After that you can leave if you want although you’re not going to find anyone who will treat you better! This I can guarantee!”
Piero felt ashamed. He saw himself as the head of the family and although Frederick’s choice to withhold food from the Brexianos was the older mans, Piero was the one who made the initial decision to trust Fredericks. Piero’s chest was getting warm and Fredericks’ quick and hustling usage of English was confusing him. As the rich man yelled again that the Brexianos had to stay, Piero went back inside to grab more items. Floria glanced at her husband with a worried look. Although the Brexiano’s were legal immigrants, Floria was intimidated by any type of confrontation when it came to Americans. Fear of the police coming and taking her children entered her thoughts.
“Piero, maybe we should stay! He can call the police! Then we could really be in trouble!”
“Too late now, Floria. He is not keeping his side of the deal. We are leaving.”
Floria thought about Piero’s words in silence, realizing that he was right. Fredericks came to the doorway and listened attentively as Floria spoke to her husband in their dialect. Piero’s calm manner alerted Fredericks to the idea that the immigrant was beginning to handle his emotions. As the family came walking past Fredericks, with more of their personal possessions, the older man blocked their way with his body.
“Pietro, you are not listening! You cannot leave!”
With this Piero slipped past his wife and put a suitcase down beside Fredericks. Piero shot his arm out and grabbed Fredericks by the neck, pinning him against the opened front door.
“No food, Mr. Fredericks! We go!”
The two men stared into each other’s eyes. Fredericks struggled to maintain eye contact with Piero but he glanced down after a few seconds. Piero was trembling with anger. His arm kept twitching until he suddenly let Fredericks go and grabbed the suitcase. He looked to his family who huddled around Floria.
“Andiamo adesso!”
Fredericks slunk to the ground. He clutched his neck as small little choking sounds erupted from his throat. Dante stared at the man as he walked by, holding Chiara’s hand. The old man glanced at the boy in humiliation. Not possessing much, the Brexiano’s were all packed and ready to go in less than five minutes. Piero pulled out of the driveway, staring back at Frederick’s who was still kneeling on the ground disillusioned and mortified. As Piero drove out of the affluent area of San Lorenzo he stole a glimpse over at Floria. She watched Piero with a grin on her face. Piero slid his hand over to his wife’s, meeting Floria’s directly in the middle of the front seat.
The End
Against A Wall
In the threaded mist of the estates miniature forest, Piero Brexiano continued to rid weeds from the base of giant palm trees. He had begun work at seven that morning. It was now close to eleven AM yet he still felt strong and fresh. He didn’t need a big breakfast, he told himself. Coffee and a slice of bread were fine. Looking at his fingers, with moist dirt under his nails and digits, Piero smiled. For five years he had been away from Italy and although he missed his homeland and his father, he didn’t think he had the right to be too melancholy. Six months back his wife and three children finally arrived in San Lorenzo, California. He no longer needed to send money back to the Veneto, back to the farm, back to the family.
Mr. Fredericks, the estate’s owner, allowed the Brexianos to live on the grounds while Piero worked as groundskeeper and his wife, Floria, provided household services. Their two younger children, Chiara and Dante, went to school but their oldest at sixteen, Penna, helped Floria in whatever way she could.
Piero tossed the green weeds into the cement pasted wheelbarrow as he rose to fetch lunch. It had been over a week since he had spoken to Fredericks about the food rationing. Believing that the Brexiano’s were eating too much, Fredericks was cutting back their weekly amount. This became a sore spot between Floria and Fredericks, with Piero trying to see both sides of the situation. As the head of his family, Piero realized how comfortable they had it on the estate. His family was allowed to live in the cottage and three of them worked on the property. Besides being paid they were also provided with food. Piero didn’t want to lose the job over one argument.
But despite Piero’s hope that matters would settle down, by the next week Floria came home with less food than the previous. Without saying anything to her husband she laid the evening dinner on the table in front of her family. Piero stared at the food; an eighth of a loaf of bread, one bowl of pasta and another bowl of salad. In silence Floria served her children first while Piero watched them eagerly slurp up their meals. By the time she got to Piero he held back her hand after she served him two scoops. With a look of inquisitiveness Floria studied her husband’s face in the dim light of the sparse and tiny kitchen. His eyes were focused on his children as he asked about their day. Following suit with her husband, Floria gave herself two scoops. As his wife chewed the pasta, Piero looked away unable to watch her because he was aware. He knew that she was right. There wasn’t enough food. Piero also couldn’t watch Floria because he knew she was hungry. He didn’t ask her to take two scoops but she would always do just the same as Piero. Not because she felt like everything had to be evenly dispersed between the two. It was because she believed that everything between her and her husband was even. They were two in one. Piero let his children finish the rest of the food that night but admitted to himself that something would have to be done.
Last night’s meal was on Piero’s mind as he made his way up to the estate’s patio. Ahead of him, lying on the lawn, were Floria and Penna waiting for Piero to join them for lunch. As Piero sat down to eat he could see that bread was missing from the meal. Unraveling a white piece of cloth, Floria spread a few cold cuts and breadsticks out on a tablecloth beside some grapes.
“No pan?”
“No. Lu ga dito che questo xe pan.”
Floria grabbed a few breadsticks indicating that they were to be their new bread. Piero stared at his wife. Suddenly he began to laugh. She just looked at Piero and shook her head. Then she laughed. Penna’s green eyes shone and she was grateful to see her parents giggling. Although Piero kept chuckling, within he felt backed up against a wall; a wall that was fixed with tiny sharp notes constantly reminding him of his responsibility. He didn’t have too many options but he was aware that his family couldn’t live in the same fashion. Piero watched his daughter and wife talk as he thought about his plans.
In the afternoon Piero was planting a fresh tree on a sparse area of vegetation. Mr. Fredericks came from behind a corner of the house and watched Piero as he packed dirt around the tree. Piero caught Fredericks watching him out of the corner of his eye. Getting up from the ground and wiping the dirt from his khaki pants, Piero turned to Fredericks.
“Wadda you think, Mr. Ferderick?”
The older man didn’t respond at first but walked about the tree, scrutinizing it closely.
“It looks very nice Pietro. I think this is a good spot because it will get plenty of sun.”
While Piero listened he couldn’t help but think about his family’s need for food. When Mr. Fredericks halted in his speech Piero spoke.
“Mr. Ferderick I’d lika talka to you when I’m done wurkin today about da food.”
Frederick’s countenance quickly changed from an even look of study to a deep frown.
“Pietro, as I told you last week, your family is eating too much food. The amount I have been giving you is adequate for a family of your size.”
Pietro didn’t know what “adequate” meant but he had a pretty good idea. He looked at Frederick’s with concern, asking the rich man with his eyes if he really needed the food as much as his family. It wasn’t Piero’s style to say more than was necessary.
“Okay. We’ra gonna have to leave den, Mr. Federicks.”
“Excuse me. You cannot leave. You are under a contract.”
Piero briefly stared at the older man and then walked away. Feeling slighted, Fredericks took more offense to Piero’s silence than his asking for food. Yet the rich man said nothing as he watched the immigrant place the shovel back inside the tool shed. Fredericks thought Piero was making empty threats. He believed that the Brexiano’s had nowhere to go and to an extent he was right; Piero had no work lined up yet they did have some family they could live with momentarily.
While making his usual evening walk around the garden that dusk, Mr. Fredericks saw Floria placing a suitcase into her husbands beat up old Chevrolet. Fredericks hid behind a giant limestone fountain while he spied on the family. It didn’t take long for Fredericks to realize that the Brexiano’s were leaving. Rage and feelings of betrayal swelled within him as he thought about the family’s departure.
“He signed a contract, dammit! These Wops can’t just do whatever they want!”
Coming out from his hiding place Frederick’s approached Floria as she was putting some cooking pans in the back of the truck.
“Put those down! Those are not yours! What do you people think you’re doing?”
Dante watched as Fredericks approached his mother in a threatening manner, making long strides and shaking his arms. Feeling scared the little boy ran back inside the small cottage towards his father who already heard Fredericks. Moving past his children, who watched their father as a farmer watches a rainstorm pound a drought ridden land, Piero stepped outside the cottage and walked towards Fredericks.
“Iz dere a problem Mr. Ferdericks?”
“Yes, there most certainly is a problem, Pietro. First off you’re wife is stealing my cooking property. And why are you putting suitcases…”
“Dose pans are ourz Mr. Ferdericks. We broughta dem with us. We lefta youra dings inside da house.”
Piero had hoped to have everything packed and ready to go before confronting Fredericks with the house key. He nervously adjusted the fedora on top of his head while he watched Fredericks walk towards the truck. Fredericks saw that the pans were not his own, causing him further frustration. He turned back towards Piero.
“Pietro, you signed a contract stating that your family would work here for at least one year. You have only fulfilled six months of the contract.”
“Yeah, dis iz true ma you don’ta give us enough food. Dat was also in da contrac, dat we wuld be fed. Mya familee iz ungry. I tolda you ma you said we had enough…”
“Exactly. You’re family just eats too much. You have two small children and you feed them as if they are adults. It is ridiculous. The contract stated three children and two adults, not five adults.”
Fredericks was speaking so fast and irritably that it was difficult for Pietro to understand everything he was saying. But through Fredericks’ facial expressions and tone of voice as well as Piero’s limited but decent command of English, the immigrant was able to understand the core of the rich man’s argument. When it came to the contract, Fredericks had said Penna, at sixteen years old, would be fed as an adult. This was another one of his adjustments. Floria hustled her children back inside the cottage as all three huddled together around the door frame watching their father.
“Pietro you have to stay another six months! After that you can leave if you want although you’re not going to find anyone who will treat you better! This I can guarantee!”
Piero felt ashamed. He saw himself as the head of the family and although Frederick’s choice to withhold food from the Brexianos was the older mans, Piero was the one who made the initial decision to trust Fredericks. Piero’s chest was getting warm and Fredericks’ quick and hustling usage of English was confusing him. As the rich man yelled again that the Brexianos had to stay, Piero went back inside to grab more items. Floria glanced at her husband with a worried look. Although the Brexiano’s were legal immigrants, Floria was intimidated by any type of confrontation when it came to Americans. Fear of the police coming and taking her children entered her thoughts.
“Piero, maybe we should stay! He can call the police! Then we could really be in trouble!”
“Too late now, Floria. He is not keeping his side of the deal. We are leaving.”
Floria thought about Piero’s words in silence, realizing that he was right. Fredericks came to the doorway and listened attentively as Floria spoke to her husband in their dialect. Piero’s calm manner alerted Fredericks to the idea that the immigrant was beginning to handle his emotions. As the family came walking past Fredericks, with more of their personal possessions, the older man blocked their way with his body.
“Pietro, you are not listening! You cannot leave!”
With this Piero slipped past his wife and put a suitcase down beside Fredericks. Piero shot his arm out and grabbed Fredericks by the neck, pinning him against the opened front door.
“No food, Mr. Fredericks! We go!”
The two men stared into each other’s eyes. Fredericks struggled to maintain eye contact with Piero but he glanced down after a few seconds. Piero was trembling with anger. His arm kept twitching until he suddenly let Fredericks go and grabbed the suitcase. He looked to his family who huddled around Floria.
“Andiamo adesso!”
Fredericks slunk to the ground. He clutched his neck as small little choking sounds erupted from his throat. Dante stared at the man as he walked by, holding Chiara’s hand. The old man glanced at the boy in humiliation. Not possessing much, the Brexiano’s were all packed and ready to go in less than five minutes. Piero pulled out of the driveway, staring back at Frederick’s who was still kneeling on the ground disillusioned and mortified. As Piero drove out of the affluent area of San Lorenzo he stole a glimpse over at Floria. She watched Piero with a grin on her face. Piero slid his hand over to his wife’s, meeting Floria’s directly in the middle of the front seat.
The End
Monday, January 30, 2012
Mr. Barren & Me
Spring/Summer 2009
From one of my living room windows I could see Mr. Barren as he wept on Thursday afternoons in his kitchen. Like clockwork. By the third Thursday I began to bring a glass of Sherry and a plate of crackers with me to the table as I would sit and watch. Yeah, I know. It was a bit intrusive but I simply found it intriguing. See, I’ve known Barren for almost ten years. We've had all the neighborly battles that neighbors could have such as fence issues, dog complaints and I had neighbor sex with his daughter when she was still living with her parents back in the nineties. The Good Years. And those bad times between him and me passed. We had, especially in the last half of a decade, gotten along pretty well. When he broke his leg last August I mowed his lawns for two months straight and trimmed the hedges-twice. He didn’t show a lot of appreciation but I wasn’t looking for it so I don’t mind. Much. I guess I’m saying all this because I want to portray myself as a good courteous neighbor which I feel I am. A little bit of spying won’t destroy my rep, at least I hope not. And it was good, clean Columbo work too. Nothing sexual or malicious.
To be honest I was a little worried about the guy. By week three, the tears weren’t letting up and alcohol was now involved; Barren sullenly trudging a six pack of Coors to the coffee table and walking only one beer back to the fridge an hour later. Yeah, exactly; Boozehound! He always drank but now the crying? Jeez! But I ain’t one to judge. I just watch. Of course my one Sherry lasted the full hour yet I can be a slow drinker. I’ll admit. I like to take my time. Kind of like when I entertain female companions; gingerly and with interest. But I digress. After week five of looking after Barren, by now I considered myself a type of protector of the man, I decided that I had to talk to Elizabeth about her father’s crying fits. I didn’t anticipate it being an easy thing to do since she could respond in a variety of ways such as
“This is none of your business! Fuck off!”
Or
“Why have you been watching my father for five weeks in a row? Fuck off!”
Or
“Is this just another one of your lame attempts at getting us back together? Bruno, it was seven years ago! Get over it! And Fuck off!”
Despite all of the adversity I possibly faced, I decided that for the sake of Barren’s mental state it would have to be done. On a Wednesday afternoon I rode my bicycle down to Elizabeth’s work since my car had been in the shop for the last couple of months. After being without an automobile for so long I had decided that I would probably be fine without one. I mean it’s not the most alluring thing to ask a woman out on a date on one’s bicycle but I haven’t tried it yet and I think it may work as long as I provide her with a helmet.
Blowing past traffic as usual, I made it down to Elizabeth’s work in less than eight minutes. From my house to her work it was mostly down hill yet there were a few climbs that made it more difficult. So I was tad bit sweaty as I skidded up to the Jankins building in the business district downtown yet I felt confident. Skirting by security, I made it into the elevator without questions this time. Up on the fourteenth floor, Elizabeth had one of the best offices in her law firm. It was a pretty amazing feat considering she was just thirty one years old and had been with Goldman & Schaeffer for only four years. Yet she was a real trooper, always down for a fight and according to Mrs. Barren, before she passed away from the breast cancer two years ago, Elizabeth had become a hero in the Hispanic community. One of her first cases was leveled against an employer who had been hiring illegal immigrants specifically with families and then black mailing them with low wages lest he notify immigration. Needless to say the firm appreciated her tremendous work ethic and granted her an awesome office to show their appreciation. And what about an offer to be partner? Well, that would have to wait.
I now watched Elizabeth gaze out her window at the other giant structures which surrounded the Jankins building. She looked so pretty dressed up in her power suit that I had a hard time keeping myself from just waltzing in there and laying one on her. But I didn’t. I can resist. Sometimes. She eventually turned and eyed me eying her, which I think spooked her but it’s nothing she couldn’t handle.
“Bruno, how are you doing?”
I was momentarily stunned by her warm manner since I’m so used to snide remarks, fast doors slammed in my face or a blatant ignorance of my presence. I like to think that she was simply becoming gentler but then again she could have just been concerned with how she appeared at work. Then again, I don’t care too much because an Elizabeth Barren smile was worth a million bucks: fake or for real.
“I’m doing alright. You?”
She just nodded her head and I decided not to ask too much. I wanted her to know I was there for a reason.
“Listen, I’m sorry for barging in on you like this but I was wondering if I can talk to you about something? Either now or whenever is good for you. I’m pretty open today.”
She gave me a slow smile and a look of mischief which brought me back to our old days. I was surprised but I tried not to show it because I wanted her to think I was serious. I mean, I was serious. I was concerned about old man Barren. Every Thursday at six o’clock? Weirdo! Something was up.
“I’m actually gonna take a quick lunch break. You want to join me?”
It was 3:30 in the afternoon but I always heard lawyers had strange hours. We headed down the elevator and passed the security guard who possessed a limp and paunch. He squinted at me maliciously then quickly smiled at Elizabeth. I laughed. Loud enough for him to hear me. Elizabeth turned to look at me so I started talking.
“Where do you go to eat?”
“Across the street at that sandwich shop.”
In between bites of our pesto chicken sandwiches, her recommendation, we chit chatted about the past until she asked why I had come to see her.
“OK, I know this may sound strange but bear with me.”
Before I could continue, her eyes widened a bit and I got a little scared. She can be intimidating. I’m telling you! 5’1 packed in a petite frame with golden curls, Elizabeth was an M-80 wrapped in a BlackCat. And I love everything about her, too! Well, maybe not the mean things. Such as her ability to just drop somebody off on a desolate road in the middle of the night because of an argument. But it did display her ferocity. I worried about that very ferocity before I continued yet Mama didn’t raise no Pansy.
“It’s about your dad. As you probably know I gotta clear view of your kitchen through my living room window…”
This was most likely not the best way to start the conversation but I didn’t know how else to do it so I just dived head first. Into a dry pool. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows and that cute face instantly morphed into Medusas. Yet I forged ahead. Carefully.
“Look I didn’t create the house! My living room provides a perfect view in to your folk’s house, specifically their kitchen…”
I could tell that I was becoming defensive and I didn’t like acting that way. Neither did Elizabeth. So I just came out with it, stumbling and nervous yet nevertheless forward.
“So while I was there, the first time…”
-Ah, shit there I go!
“… I noticed that you’re father was upset. He was sitting down in a chair; crying. And… um… he’s been doing this for the past five weeks and I just don’t think it’s normal. Sorry, Elizabeth, but I think something’s wrong with your dad.”
She just stared at me. The conversation could go in a variety of ways and I wasn’t surprised if it was heading in a bad direction. I braced myself for it by digging my shoes into the hardwood floor.
“I think it’s kind of weird that you’ve been spying on my dad, Bruno. What are you doing? Sitting there watching him?”
Lying. Lying is a very complicated thing. Lies, fibs, white lies and everything else that falls under the banner of not being truthful is a very tricky and sticky thing to navigate through. So I just lie head on, right into the beast.
“No, no, I noticed it the first time and then I accidentally noticed it the second time. But after I noticed it the second time I got a little worried for your pops so I decided to check again, which was the third time and he’s been doing it ever since. Liz, it’s not like I’ve been sitting there and watching him for hours on end with a glass of whiskey!”
-Yes Liz, give me more credit. It’s been a glass of Sherry and only for one hour, not several.
Again she just stared at me for what seemed like forever. She knew I was lying. To be honest I’m a horrible liar. No, really, I’m being honest this time. I’m terrible but I try. I give it my best.
“Well, whatever. I think it’s strange that you’ve noticed this but I’m glad that you told me. Every time I go to see him, he says he’s fine. Maybe it’s my mom. I mean it’s only been two years.”
To this day I’m not sure why I felt this way but I just had a good feeling that it had nothing to do with Cheryl. And I had to share my thought.
“I don’t mean to be rude because I know your dad loved your mom but I don’t think that’s it. He just seems saddened by something else. These tears, Liz, they are for real!”
Once again my big mouth and emotion got in the way. I kept my gaze on Elizabeth while her emerald eyes beamed me with one thousand questions; all of them bad! I decided to keep my mouth closed as often as possible from here on out regarding Mr. Barren.
“Um, OK. What do you think it is then? You’ve been watching him after all.”
Her eyes challenged me sharply. I felt so weak underneath that stare that I just lowered my head. But then I realized that she was asking for my opinion. She was asking for my help! Now, this changed everything.
-Don’t screw it up, Mr. Bruno Cordova!
“I don’t know Liz. I didn’t mean to cut down your idea about your mom but she doesn’t fit. What about you guys? How are you doing with him?”
She shrugged with so little emotion that I knew something was wrong.
“I can’t let that pass Liz. Something’s up, huh?” ”That’s the problem, Bruno. Nothing’s up! My dad and I don’t talk too much anymore. Ever since my mom passed its been hard on us both. I was ... I hoped it would bring us together but it doesn’t seem that way. Do you ever talk to him?” ”Here and there but not often.”
I tried to avoid him actually. I had nothing against Mr. Barren but he was boring. We had nothing in common except for a love for Elizabeth. Yes. I loved her. Still do. And it’s true that she is mean. Mean like a rattler but that bite is deep, man. Just like rattlers. Once you’ve been bit, you’re done. I knew this as I continued to look at Elizabeth. My attention was averted while I fought and beat her to the bill.
“I got it, Liz. Thanks for inviting me. I miss… this.”
“Yeah it’s been awhile.”
“Um… I’ll let you know if I notice anything else with your dad.”
“OK, I appreciate that Bruno.”
Now out on the street, a small breeze came up and blew one of her locks across her face. I couldn’t resist. I’m weak. I drew the hair from her face and much to my surprise she just grinned. I thought that I was going to take a slap or at least receive a creeped out look for sure but No. I was shocked! Happy but shocked!
“How am I gonna let you know about your dad if something comes up? I’m gonna need you number.”
It was straight forward and to the point. Sure a little lame but once again, to my surprise, it worked. Maybe she was just getting older and was getting desperate. I know that it happens. Once thirty hits, women become awfully aware of that biological clock. TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK!!! That bastard beats faster than a RiverDance performer on Meth! But I’ll take it. For Mother Nature can be a man’s best friend.
As I made my way home, I decided to stop off at Rubies for a drink. I locked my bike on one of the many poles the city provided upon the sidewalk. No sooner had I clasped the lock shut that did I see Mr. Barren stumble out of the bar. Surprise, surprise! Someone’s been hitting the sauce- Again!
“Hey, Barren!”
Seeing that he was hammered, I thought I would address him casually. It’s true that I was taking advantage of the situation. Sue me! I did go out of my way to tell his daughter about his breakdowns, right? I got some heart. Anyways. He spun around and turned to me faster than I thought he could. He was crouched low like a tiger and for a second I thought he might try and attack me. I’d be lying if I said a medium size part of me didn’t want him to either. For years I’ve held a little bit of a grudge on Barren. Eight years back he beat me at a basketball game in front of Elizabeth and Mrs. Barren. I still can’t rid the bitterness from my breath!
-Beat me at a kid’s game, Barren? Let’s see how you do in a man’s world!
Just as I started to get into my Muay Thai fighting stance and Barren got in an old Greco Roman wrestling position, the door to Rubies swung open. Rock n Roll music blared from inside the bar. As if the tunes were pronouncing his arrival, this small little man in his mid to late thirties came striding out of the bar like a peacock. He was sporting one of those pointy little goatees, he was dressed like a metro sexual and his hair was made into one of those poor excuses for a mo-hawk. You know the kind; where it’s only about two inches high, not shaven on the sides and the actual hawk is more like a wave than a lethal weapon. Everyone knows real Mohawks were intended for battle! Look who wore them; the Iroquois and Travis Bickle! I need say no more.
“Oh Bernard, Bernard! You forgot your script, honey! Remember practice makes perfect. And don’t be afraid to bear it all. Bye!”
The man handed Bernard Barren a script of “A Streetcar Named Desire” and then turned to me, doing a quick look me over. I was dressed in my usual attire of Dickies shorts, T-shirt and old school Adidas. I’m not a fashion king to say the least and I could tell that the queen wasn’t impressed. But I am ripped and I did notice him checking out my body which made me feel a bit like a hunted animal that is killed for its fur; scared yet tragically flattered all at the same time. Before I could cower away from his creepy stare, the goat turned around and headed back from the hole he descended. Barren and I just gawked at each other; both of us unsure what the hell to do. Maybe Barren had more guts than I give him credit for because he stepped up first. He extended one of his old thick fingers directly at my chest and started off in a slow easy drawl.
“Pay attention here, Cordova. If you tell anyone on the block about this, it’s curtains for you!”
“Big talk for a man who was just hanging out with an anorexic Rock Hudson!”
That did it! Back into the Greco-Roman position he went and me into my relaxed and prepared Muay Thai stance. We eyed each other for a few seconds before I suddenly got this tremendous feeling of embarrassment within my being. I mean, Barren is like one hundred! No, no, I’m just joking he is only in his mid sixties but it wouldn’t be fair and I love Elizabeth. I really do. If I hurt him I would only be hurting her which is the last thing on my agenda. So I backed off.
“Alright, Mr. Barren. I won’t say a peep. Scouts Honor.”
“Scouts ain’t got no honor. That’s why their boy scouts! Pussies!”
I told you he was difficult.
“Fair enough. I give you my word which is worth something.”
He looked at me cockeyed. Barren knew that I was serious so he didn’t try any more wisecracks but just stuck his hand out. To be honest, at that moment I hadn’t put it all together yet, though I was on my way. The crying, A Streetcar Named Desire and the scrawny guy who must have been a theatre coach or something. I’m not the brightest bulb but I can connect the dots.
“Are you… are you acting? Doing plays or something?”
Barren stole a glance at a woman passing by and smiled to her kindly. I instantly recognized Elizabeth within that look; the ability to morph from kind to sinister or vice versa in a millisecond was alive and well in the Barrens.
“I’m telling you, Cordova!”
“Calm down! My word is my word. I’m just curious. Is that what that guy was talking to you about?”
Barren’s attention was completely on me now. His countenance softened a little, just a little, and he looked into my eyes.
“Yeah, I’m doing it through the Retirement Center. It’s been a hobby I’ve picked up on the side. No one knows about it. No one. And I want to keep it that way.”
I like challenges.
“You know, Elizabeth might want to check you out when you’re ready to perform.”
This was dangerous ground. I know it. First off this is Barren. He’s not some ultimate Bad-Ass or anything but he did serve in the military during 'Nam and he doesn’t take people’s shit. He is his own man. I’ll give him that one for sure. Second, I was talking about his family now. And though I’m pretty sure he knows that I care for Elizabeth, she is still his daughter. His only daughter. I treaded carefully. His eyes grew large and before he could snap I tried again.
“Or not, or not!!! I just think that she would really love to know you’re doing something productive like this. Plus, you would really knock the socks off her! I assume you’re playing Stanley, right?”
He nodded his head. I couldn’t help but laugh. And I didn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop and I didn’t give a shit if he socked me right there. But there’s something about energy, man. Energy and your intentions. We can feel them. Sometimes. And old man Barren knew that my intentions were good. I wasn’t laughing at him. I was laughing with him. And within a few seconds he was chuckling too.
I called Elizabeth later on that night and told her about her dad. Yeah, I know I made a promise but Elizabeth needed to know. She was worried sick by now about her dad and she was the only one who had to be aware. Her nerves and stress level were more important than the old man’s ego, anyways. Barren had not agreed to tell Elizabeth about the play but since it was two weeks off I knew that there was a good chance he would eventually invite her. Me too. I told him that I wanted to go. As I talked to Elizabeth, I let her know how I put all the clues together.
“I gotta say I’m really relieved your dad was only crying for practice. See, if he had just yelled Stella once I would have understood.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think he wants the neighborhood to know, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. Trust me, I know. So, I got a good feeling your dad is going to invite you to the show. You’re gonna need a date. And it just so happens that I know someone perfect for you.”
“Oh yeah. You’re not thinking about yourself are you?”
“Who? Me? Nah, nah. I was actually thinking about your father’s drama teacher. I’m sure he could use a date and he’s not that bad of a catch. You want me to put in a good word for you?”
Elizabeth laughed. It was a good, strong yet delicate laugh that made me happy I could hear. I knew she would go to the play with me and she did. But I didn’t ask right then. In between that space of time when all to be heard is the breath, I decided to savor that moment for they don’t come every day.
The End
From one of my living room windows I could see Mr. Barren as he wept on Thursday afternoons in his kitchen. Like clockwork. By the third Thursday I began to bring a glass of Sherry and a plate of crackers with me to the table as I would sit and watch. Yeah, I know. It was a bit intrusive but I simply found it intriguing. See, I’ve known Barren for almost ten years. We've had all the neighborly battles that neighbors could have such as fence issues, dog complaints and I had neighbor sex with his daughter when she was still living with her parents back in the nineties. The Good Years. And those bad times between him and me passed. We had, especially in the last half of a decade, gotten along pretty well. When he broke his leg last August I mowed his lawns for two months straight and trimmed the hedges-twice. He didn’t show a lot of appreciation but I wasn’t looking for it so I don’t mind. Much. I guess I’m saying all this because I want to portray myself as a good courteous neighbor which I feel I am. A little bit of spying won’t destroy my rep, at least I hope not. And it was good, clean Columbo work too. Nothing sexual or malicious.
To be honest I was a little worried about the guy. By week three, the tears weren’t letting up and alcohol was now involved; Barren sullenly trudging a six pack of Coors to the coffee table and walking only one beer back to the fridge an hour later. Yeah, exactly; Boozehound! He always drank but now the crying? Jeez! But I ain’t one to judge. I just watch. Of course my one Sherry lasted the full hour yet I can be a slow drinker. I’ll admit. I like to take my time. Kind of like when I entertain female companions; gingerly and with interest. But I digress. After week five of looking after Barren, by now I considered myself a type of protector of the man, I decided that I had to talk to Elizabeth about her father’s crying fits. I didn’t anticipate it being an easy thing to do since she could respond in a variety of ways such as
“This is none of your business! Fuck off!”
Or
“Why have you been watching my father for five weeks in a row? Fuck off!”
Or
“Is this just another one of your lame attempts at getting us back together? Bruno, it was seven years ago! Get over it! And Fuck off!”
Despite all of the adversity I possibly faced, I decided that for the sake of Barren’s mental state it would have to be done. On a Wednesday afternoon I rode my bicycle down to Elizabeth’s work since my car had been in the shop for the last couple of months. After being without an automobile for so long I had decided that I would probably be fine without one. I mean it’s not the most alluring thing to ask a woman out on a date on one’s bicycle but I haven’t tried it yet and I think it may work as long as I provide her with a helmet.
Blowing past traffic as usual, I made it down to Elizabeth’s work in less than eight minutes. From my house to her work it was mostly down hill yet there were a few climbs that made it more difficult. So I was tad bit sweaty as I skidded up to the Jankins building in the business district downtown yet I felt confident. Skirting by security, I made it into the elevator without questions this time. Up on the fourteenth floor, Elizabeth had one of the best offices in her law firm. It was a pretty amazing feat considering she was just thirty one years old and had been with Goldman & Schaeffer for only four years. Yet she was a real trooper, always down for a fight and according to Mrs. Barren, before she passed away from the breast cancer two years ago, Elizabeth had become a hero in the Hispanic community. One of her first cases was leveled against an employer who had been hiring illegal immigrants specifically with families and then black mailing them with low wages lest he notify immigration. Needless to say the firm appreciated her tremendous work ethic and granted her an awesome office to show their appreciation. And what about an offer to be partner? Well, that would have to wait.
I now watched Elizabeth gaze out her window at the other giant structures which surrounded the Jankins building. She looked so pretty dressed up in her power suit that I had a hard time keeping myself from just waltzing in there and laying one on her. But I didn’t. I can resist. Sometimes. She eventually turned and eyed me eying her, which I think spooked her but it’s nothing she couldn’t handle.
“Bruno, how are you doing?”
I was momentarily stunned by her warm manner since I’m so used to snide remarks, fast doors slammed in my face or a blatant ignorance of my presence. I like to think that she was simply becoming gentler but then again she could have just been concerned with how she appeared at work. Then again, I don’t care too much because an Elizabeth Barren smile was worth a million bucks: fake or for real.
“I’m doing alright. You?”
She just nodded her head and I decided not to ask too much. I wanted her to know I was there for a reason.
“Listen, I’m sorry for barging in on you like this but I was wondering if I can talk to you about something? Either now or whenever is good for you. I’m pretty open today.”
She gave me a slow smile and a look of mischief which brought me back to our old days. I was surprised but I tried not to show it because I wanted her to think I was serious. I mean, I was serious. I was concerned about old man Barren. Every Thursday at six o’clock? Weirdo! Something was up.
“I’m actually gonna take a quick lunch break. You want to join me?”
It was 3:30 in the afternoon but I always heard lawyers had strange hours. We headed down the elevator and passed the security guard who possessed a limp and paunch. He squinted at me maliciously then quickly smiled at Elizabeth. I laughed. Loud enough for him to hear me. Elizabeth turned to look at me so I started talking.
“Where do you go to eat?”
“Across the street at that sandwich shop.”
In between bites of our pesto chicken sandwiches, her recommendation, we chit chatted about the past until she asked why I had come to see her.
“OK, I know this may sound strange but bear with me.”
Before I could continue, her eyes widened a bit and I got a little scared. She can be intimidating. I’m telling you! 5’1 packed in a petite frame with golden curls, Elizabeth was an M-80 wrapped in a BlackCat. And I love everything about her, too! Well, maybe not the mean things. Such as her ability to just drop somebody off on a desolate road in the middle of the night because of an argument. But it did display her ferocity. I worried about that very ferocity before I continued yet Mama didn’t raise no Pansy.
“It’s about your dad. As you probably know I gotta clear view of your kitchen through my living room window…”
This was most likely not the best way to start the conversation but I didn’t know how else to do it so I just dived head first. Into a dry pool. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows and that cute face instantly morphed into Medusas. Yet I forged ahead. Carefully.
“Look I didn’t create the house! My living room provides a perfect view in to your folk’s house, specifically their kitchen…”
I could tell that I was becoming defensive and I didn’t like acting that way. Neither did Elizabeth. So I just came out with it, stumbling and nervous yet nevertheless forward.
“So while I was there, the first time…”
-Ah, shit there I go!
“… I noticed that you’re father was upset. He was sitting down in a chair; crying. And… um… he’s been doing this for the past five weeks and I just don’t think it’s normal. Sorry, Elizabeth, but I think something’s wrong with your dad.”
She just stared at me. The conversation could go in a variety of ways and I wasn’t surprised if it was heading in a bad direction. I braced myself for it by digging my shoes into the hardwood floor.
“I think it’s kind of weird that you’ve been spying on my dad, Bruno. What are you doing? Sitting there watching him?”
Lying. Lying is a very complicated thing. Lies, fibs, white lies and everything else that falls under the banner of not being truthful is a very tricky and sticky thing to navigate through. So I just lie head on, right into the beast.
“No, no, I noticed it the first time and then I accidentally noticed it the second time. But after I noticed it the second time I got a little worried for your pops so I decided to check again, which was the third time and he’s been doing it ever since. Liz, it’s not like I’ve been sitting there and watching him for hours on end with a glass of whiskey!”
-Yes Liz, give me more credit. It’s been a glass of Sherry and only for one hour, not several.
Again she just stared at me for what seemed like forever. She knew I was lying. To be honest I’m a horrible liar. No, really, I’m being honest this time. I’m terrible but I try. I give it my best.
“Well, whatever. I think it’s strange that you’ve noticed this but I’m glad that you told me. Every time I go to see him, he says he’s fine. Maybe it’s my mom. I mean it’s only been two years.”
To this day I’m not sure why I felt this way but I just had a good feeling that it had nothing to do with Cheryl. And I had to share my thought.
“I don’t mean to be rude because I know your dad loved your mom but I don’t think that’s it. He just seems saddened by something else. These tears, Liz, they are for real!”
Once again my big mouth and emotion got in the way. I kept my gaze on Elizabeth while her emerald eyes beamed me with one thousand questions; all of them bad! I decided to keep my mouth closed as often as possible from here on out regarding Mr. Barren.
“Um, OK. What do you think it is then? You’ve been watching him after all.”
Her eyes challenged me sharply. I felt so weak underneath that stare that I just lowered my head. But then I realized that she was asking for my opinion. She was asking for my help! Now, this changed everything.
-Don’t screw it up, Mr. Bruno Cordova!
“I don’t know Liz. I didn’t mean to cut down your idea about your mom but she doesn’t fit. What about you guys? How are you doing with him?”
She shrugged with so little emotion that I knew something was wrong.
“I can’t let that pass Liz. Something’s up, huh?” ”That’s the problem, Bruno. Nothing’s up! My dad and I don’t talk too much anymore. Ever since my mom passed its been hard on us both. I was ... I hoped it would bring us together but it doesn’t seem that way. Do you ever talk to him?” ”Here and there but not often.”
I tried to avoid him actually. I had nothing against Mr. Barren but he was boring. We had nothing in common except for a love for Elizabeth. Yes. I loved her. Still do. And it’s true that she is mean. Mean like a rattler but that bite is deep, man. Just like rattlers. Once you’ve been bit, you’re done. I knew this as I continued to look at Elizabeth. My attention was averted while I fought and beat her to the bill.
“I got it, Liz. Thanks for inviting me. I miss… this.”
“Yeah it’s been awhile.”
“Um… I’ll let you know if I notice anything else with your dad.”
“OK, I appreciate that Bruno.”
Now out on the street, a small breeze came up and blew one of her locks across her face. I couldn’t resist. I’m weak. I drew the hair from her face and much to my surprise she just grinned. I thought that I was going to take a slap or at least receive a creeped out look for sure but No. I was shocked! Happy but shocked!
“How am I gonna let you know about your dad if something comes up? I’m gonna need you number.”
It was straight forward and to the point. Sure a little lame but once again, to my surprise, it worked. Maybe she was just getting older and was getting desperate. I know that it happens. Once thirty hits, women become awfully aware of that biological clock. TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK!!! That bastard beats faster than a RiverDance performer on Meth! But I’ll take it. For Mother Nature can be a man’s best friend.
As I made my way home, I decided to stop off at Rubies for a drink. I locked my bike on one of the many poles the city provided upon the sidewalk. No sooner had I clasped the lock shut that did I see Mr. Barren stumble out of the bar. Surprise, surprise! Someone’s been hitting the sauce- Again!
“Hey, Barren!”
Seeing that he was hammered, I thought I would address him casually. It’s true that I was taking advantage of the situation. Sue me! I did go out of my way to tell his daughter about his breakdowns, right? I got some heart. Anyways. He spun around and turned to me faster than I thought he could. He was crouched low like a tiger and for a second I thought he might try and attack me. I’d be lying if I said a medium size part of me didn’t want him to either. For years I’ve held a little bit of a grudge on Barren. Eight years back he beat me at a basketball game in front of Elizabeth and Mrs. Barren. I still can’t rid the bitterness from my breath!
-Beat me at a kid’s game, Barren? Let’s see how you do in a man’s world!
Just as I started to get into my Muay Thai fighting stance and Barren got in an old Greco Roman wrestling position, the door to Rubies swung open. Rock n Roll music blared from inside the bar. As if the tunes were pronouncing his arrival, this small little man in his mid to late thirties came striding out of the bar like a peacock. He was sporting one of those pointy little goatees, he was dressed like a metro sexual and his hair was made into one of those poor excuses for a mo-hawk. You know the kind; where it’s only about two inches high, not shaven on the sides and the actual hawk is more like a wave than a lethal weapon. Everyone knows real Mohawks were intended for battle! Look who wore them; the Iroquois and Travis Bickle! I need say no more.
“Oh Bernard, Bernard! You forgot your script, honey! Remember practice makes perfect. And don’t be afraid to bear it all. Bye!”
The man handed Bernard Barren a script of “A Streetcar Named Desire” and then turned to me, doing a quick look me over. I was dressed in my usual attire of Dickies shorts, T-shirt and old school Adidas. I’m not a fashion king to say the least and I could tell that the queen wasn’t impressed. But I am ripped and I did notice him checking out my body which made me feel a bit like a hunted animal that is killed for its fur; scared yet tragically flattered all at the same time. Before I could cower away from his creepy stare, the goat turned around and headed back from the hole he descended. Barren and I just gawked at each other; both of us unsure what the hell to do. Maybe Barren had more guts than I give him credit for because he stepped up first. He extended one of his old thick fingers directly at my chest and started off in a slow easy drawl.
“Pay attention here, Cordova. If you tell anyone on the block about this, it’s curtains for you!”
“Big talk for a man who was just hanging out with an anorexic Rock Hudson!”
That did it! Back into the Greco-Roman position he went and me into my relaxed and prepared Muay Thai stance. We eyed each other for a few seconds before I suddenly got this tremendous feeling of embarrassment within my being. I mean, Barren is like one hundred! No, no, I’m just joking he is only in his mid sixties but it wouldn’t be fair and I love Elizabeth. I really do. If I hurt him I would only be hurting her which is the last thing on my agenda. So I backed off.
“Alright, Mr. Barren. I won’t say a peep. Scouts Honor.”
“Scouts ain’t got no honor. That’s why their boy scouts! Pussies!”
I told you he was difficult.
“Fair enough. I give you my word which is worth something.”
He looked at me cockeyed. Barren knew that I was serious so he didn’t try any more wisecracks but just stuck his hand out. To be honest, at that moment I hadn’t put it all together yet, though I was on my way. The crying, A Streetcar Named Desire and the scrawny guy who must have been a theatre coach or something. I’m not the brightest bulb but I can connect the dots.
“Are you… are you acting? Doing plays or something?”
Barren stole a glance at a woman passing by and smiled to her kindly. I instantly recognized Elizabeth within that look; the ability to morph from kind to sinister or vice versa in a millisecond was alive and well in the Barrens.
“I’m telling you, Cordova!”
“Calm down! My word is my word. I’m just curious. Is that what that guy was talking to you about?”
Barren’s attention was completely on me now. His countenance softened a little, just a little, and he looked into my eyes.
“Yeah, I’m doing it through the Retirement Center. It’s been a hobby I’ve picked up on the side. No one knows about it. No one. And I want to keep it that way.”
I like challenges.
“You know, Elizabeth might want to check you out when you’re ready to perform.”
This was dangerous ground. I know it. First off this is Barren. He’s not some ultimate Bad-Ass or anything but he did serve in the military during 'Nam and he doesn’t take people’s shit. He is his own man. I’ll give him that one for sure. Second, I was talking about his family now. And though I’m pretty sure he knows that I care for Elizabeth, she is still his daughter. His only daughter. I treaded carefully. His eyes grew large and before he could snap I tried again.
“Or not, or not!!! I just think that she would really love to know you’re doing something productive like this. Plus, you would really knock the socks off her! I assume you’re playing Stanley, right?”
He nodded his head. I couldn’t help but laugh. And I didn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop and I didn’t give a shit if he socked me right there. But there’s something about energy, man. Energy and your intentions. We can feel them. Sometimes. And old man Barren knew that my intentions were good. I wasn’t laughing at him. I was laughing with him. And within a few seconds he was chuckling too.
I called Elizabeth later on that night and told her about her dad. Yeah, I know I made a promise but Elizabeth needed to know. She was worried sick by now about her dad and she was the only one who had to be aware. Her nerves and stress level were more important than the old man’s ego, anyways. Barren had not agreed to tell Elizabeth about the play but since it was two weeks off I knew that there was a good chance he would eventually invite her. Me too. I told him that I wanted to go. As I talked to Elizabeth, I let her know how I put all the clues together.
“I gotta say I’m really relieved your dad was only crying for practice. See, if he had just yelled Stella once I would have understood.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think he wants the neighborhood to know, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. Trust me, I know. So, I got a good feeling your dad is going to invite you to the show. You’re gonna need a date. And it just so happens that I know someone perfect for you.”
“Oh yeah. You’re not thinking about yourself are you?”
“Who? Me? Nah, nah. I was actually thinking about your father’s drama teacher. I’m sure he could use a date and he’s not that bad of a catch. You want me to put in a good word for you?”
Elizabeth laughed. It was a good, strong yet delicate laugh that made me happy I could hear. I knew she would go to the play with me and she did. But I didn’t ask right then. In between that space of time when all to be heard is the breath, I decided to savor that moment for they don’t come every day.
The End
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Marriage Is A Beauty
For my friend, Dave
Samuel could not take his eyes from the yellow roses' petals. For the moment, he desired distraction. Placing a large wad of Levi Garrett into his jaw, he began to hum an old melancholy tune he learned from his father. As the lyrics came to mind he sang out in a low halting voice, black with sorrow and red with anger;She saw me sitting out there alone
“Told you that life is on loan!”
Now with a Mason’s tool
I try to sew a heart of shattered stone
From his balcony window, Samuel watched the workers move like 3 foot tall ants as they ran here and there. Although the wedding didn’t to take place until the following evening, an occasion of this magnitude needed extra help and time. From the way it was appearing, Samuel put the count at 350. A soft but firm knock at the door broke him from his gaze.
“Just a minute!”
Samuel snatched a bottle of Banaca from the bathroom and sprayed his mouth numerous times before swinging the door open. Leaning on one hip, a green dress tightly clinging to all her assets, and giving Samuel a look that said he better have stretched, Cindy seductively touched his chest and said
“Are you Warren?”
“Yes I am. And you must be Cindy. Come in.”
Wanting to go out strong in every way he could, Samuel opted for a wild night.
-And why not start at 4:45 in the afternoon, he thought to himself.
With a desire to see her rear end, Samuel allowed Cindy to walk in front of him. She glided over to the mini bar and wrapped her hand around a bottle of vodka and stroked it...
“What would you like to drink darling?”
“I don’t drink while I work, Warren.”
“That’s cool but I do. Would you mind pouring me a tall one?”
Slipping the cap off, Cindy allowed the bottle’s contents to gallop into the glass. She walked over to him, placed the drink in his hand and began to strip. By the time she was bare, Samuel had downed his vodka and appeared shirtless. He stared at her for a few seconds while she relaxingly smiled.
Cindy hated her work. Yet she was often able to separate the Jon from the work itself. Especially if he was kind yet this wasn’t always the case. There were aspects of the job that pleased her and guys like Samuel could make it a little easier to perform. So when she smiled at Samuel, it was genuine. As they came together Samuel slid his hands up and down the small of her back, kissing her body tenderly until he carried her to the bed.
Fifteen minutes later Cindy drew a lingering drag from her cigarette. She looked to Samuel and offered with her eyes. Taking the cig from her with his lips, Samuel drew a short smoke but held onto the cigarette.
“That was really good, I have to say.”
With a steady caress placed on her thigh Samuel was truly pleased to hear her pay him a compliment. And he believed her.
“You’re not too bad yourself.”
“Well, I better be good, honey. It's my job.”
They both laughed. Seeing all the wedding fuss around the hotel, Cindy looked to get the skinny.
“So do you know the bride and groom personally?”
Samuel thought about the question and smirked. He felt that he might be giving off a snide air so he backed off with a grin. Images of Clarissa’s naked ivory skin, with all the curves and dips that a woman’s body needs to make it perfect, hurried into his mind.
“Yeah. Yeah, I know them pretty well. Why do you keep doing this work?”
Caught off guard more by the speed in which he changed the subject of the conversation than the question itself, Cindy affectionately took back the cigarette. She thought about his question while she scratched her thigh, which Samuel couldn’t keep his mitts off. Of the two answers she had, since this was a question she received constantly, Cindy decided to give him the easy one.
“Money.”
“Hell, there are plenty of other ways to make money. You’re not stupid either so what gives?”
“How do you know I’m not stupid? We just met within the hour and half of it was spent fucking.”
Cindy followed this with a laugh and giggle that seemed appropriate for a solid retort. Samuel gazed at her and thought that he should be careful. Sassy, sexy and smart was a lethal combo and as it lay embodied next to him, Samuel reminded himself that he had a duty to perform the next day.
“By that answer alone, babe. By that alone.”
Now it was Cindy’s turn to become scared and she quietly looked straight ahead, pulling out another cigarette. She didn’t like to converse with her clients and if he hadn’t paid for the whole night she would have tried to just screw him until the time was up. But 22 hours of straight sex was reserved for porn stars and The Energizer Bunny and since she wasn’t a huge fan of adult film and her ears were less than two inches long, she had to find something to do in between that time. Perceptive as a FBI Profiler, Samuel decided it was time to use the bathroom. Coming back to bed with a glass of Diet Coke, he simply handed it to Cindy. When the fear of something spectacular is seconds away from happening and all you have to do is pull the trigger, many put the gun down or drop it. Then there are those who like to put the safety switch on and pull the trigger anyways just to try and fool themselves and everyone else around them. But guys like Samuel wise up, thank the Creator for the gift and pull the trigger, perfectly content. Looking at her in ease, Samuel took back her cigarette.
“Hey, it’s not such a bad thing to share something with someone.”
Reacting instantly, Cindy kissed him and then took back her cigarette. Samuel couldn’t help but stare at her and think that her bleached hair blended splendidly with the cigarettes cherry.
“In my line of work. sharing destroys you, from STD’s to emotions.”
Samuel needed some air. Crawling out of bed he put his pants on. Then he remembered that the rehearsal dinner was to take place soon.
“Listen I’m gonna be gone for a few hours. Feel free to anything you want or order anything you want.”
Unsure what protocol called for yet feeling like he had to say goodbye somehow, Samuel stood there and proceeded to wave to her in a schoolboy manner that made Cindy laugh in appreciation of his awkward effort. As he closed the door behind him, Cindy buried her head in the pillow and calmly said
“Oh, shit.”
Getting back around eight-thirty, Samuel wasn’t surprised to return to an empty room. He undressed, prepared for bed and began to read before being interrupted by a knock at the door. Recognizing the knock but unwilling to admit it for fear of only becoming disappointed if he was wrong, Samuel waited a few moments before opening. Cindy stood there with a sly smile on her face that said
“You’re not the only brave one.”
Taking her in his arms he didn’t let her go until midnight.
By the time the morning’s rays woke Samuel; Cindy had already dressed and ordered room service.
“Ten-thirty! Damn, I slept in!”
With a stop, mid-bite into her breakfast burrito, Cindy thought about his exclamation. Samuel clamored out of bed and it took a full two minutes before he realized that Cindy had been watching him the whole time. As he looked at her face which was pale and drawn, he thought that maybe she saw something incriminating.
“What… What’s up?”
By now the burrito was back in its wrapper and a coffee mug was placed in her small delicate fingers. He couldn’t help but look at them and think she should have a ring on her index finger.
“You’re the FUCKING groom!”
Not surprised by her zest but shocked by the accusation, Samuel couldn’t help but smile. Bad idea. Flinging her mug at him, Samuel ducked easily as it whizzed two feet past him.
“Whoh, whoh, whoh! Calm down, babe. I’m not the groom. I swear it!”
“Bullshit!!!”
“No, no bullshit! I’m really not the groom.”
At this point Samuel began to grow nervous. The stakes had just become terribly raised and he clenched his jaw tightly as the thought of being truthful came to mind. By now Cindy had gotten up and was getting dressed, wanting to get out of their so bad she was leaving her panties and bra behind. Suddenly stopping in her tracks, she turned back to him with such a look of sadness that Samuel felt more tied up than Houdini.
“What the hell am I doing? I can’t go anywhere. You own me for another six hours! OK, ok! You know what? I don’t even know why I care? This is what I was paid for anyways and believe me you are not the first guy to do this! So, sorry, sorry, sorry. I’ll make it up to you. Here, here I’ll suck your cock… come on… hold still! Come on baby; let me taste your cock!”
Grabbing her firmly by the shoulders, Samuel held her straight as she tried to unbutton his pants. Having enough of her outburst yet at the same time sympathizing with her, Samuel decided to come clean.
“Cindy, knock it off. I’m not the groom. I’m gonna let you go and then I want you to go open up that suitcase over there in the corner. OK?”
Surprised by his calm demeanor, Cindy stopped reaching for his crotch. Her breathing began to slow down but she never took her eyes off of Samuel. For a solid minute they stared at each other until she walked over to the suitcase and opened it.
“Holy shit!!!”
Cindy jumped back, letting the suitcase snap shut. Her eyes flew to Samuel who had already gone to the door to block her entrance.
“Like I said before, I’m not the groom. And I got no problem if you wanna get out of here after I tell you what’s going on. But let me explain first, please. May I?”
Cindy simply mouthed “OK” and took a seat at the head of the bed as Samuel offered it to her with his hand. The suitcase was light in his hands and as he plopped it back onto the bed Cindy watched him with deep apprehension. Opening it again, Cindy caught the sun’s reflection off of one of the contents as she stared at it wearily. While she continued to gawk at the rifle which was snugly sitting in its compartment, Samuel sat a few feet from her.
“I want to be totally honest with you. A part of me is saying I’m absolutely crazy for telling you this but another ageless side of me is saying I can, should and will trust you with my life. I’m not the fucking groom. I’m the guy who should have been the groom. The bride’s name is Clarissa and we were engaged to be married a year ago next month. The groom and my fiancée were screwing each other right up until two weeks before the wedding. I found out about it through a close friend and I broke it off. Man, this is crazy!”
Samuel was by now on his feet, pacing up and down the room’s floor as Cindy followed him with her eyes.
“So I ended up breaking off the engagement but I haven’t been able to get over the whole thing. They began dating right away and ever since I found out that they planned on getting married I figured on ending it.”
With these last words Samuel pointed to the suitcase. Inside was the rifle, a scope, a 9mm pistol and a hatchet. Cindy continued to stare at him.
“You mean… you actually plan on killing them? Both of them?”
Cindy had drawn her knees up to her chest and as Samuel looked at her he could not help being disappointed in himself for scaring her. He looked away without responding. Taking a chaw of Levi Garrett, Samuel walked out on the balcony and watched as all the workers swarmed around like bees. There was such madness and confusion in his heart that for a brief second he thought about leaping over.
“Sam? Samuel?”
Samuel turned back around to see Cindy holding his wallet. He didn’t even care about that now and as he explained he turned back around to watch down below.
“That’s all correct. My name is Sam. Or Samuel. Call me either one. I used the name Warren Collins instead in case someone from the wedding saw my real name in the hotel’s registry.”
Overwhelmed by everything she was being told and finding out for herself, Cindy sat on the edge of the bed. It wasn’t until then that she really took a look at Samuel physically. With his back still to her she observed that it was formed almost in a V-shape. Broad shouldered and with his shaved head pointed towards the bottom floors, Cindy felt extremely attracted to Samuel. Ambivalent emotions were brimming inside her at such a startling pace she became so befuddled that the only thing she wanted was to be filled by something not of her own creation. Off of the bed in a flash, she grabbed Samuel from the back and slammed him against the wall in the most delicate way she could.
“That’s one way of getting my attention.”
Unwilling to talk any more Cindy responded with silence and a passionate stare. Swallowing all the breath that poured from her including burrito, coffee, angst and purpose, Samuel held her at bay until he felt there was nowhere else to go but full speed into her. As they tumbled and crashed into furniture, walls and finally onto the bed they were somehow aware that they were perfectly synchronized for each other and the chaos of living. Literally tearing and pulling at each other’s clothes they collided into one another for what seemed like eternity but was no more than a few minutes. Breathless yet relaxed they lay in each others bodies.
“Sam? Are you really going to kill them?”
Samuel was enamored with the way she asked the question. It was as if there was no possibility that he could fail the mission, giving him the sense that he had total control and power over the situation. He felt that perhaps this woman had more faith in his strength than he did.
“I don’t know. Should I?”
Honored that he would ask for her opinion but unsure if she wanted to have that kind of power and pressure placed upon her, Cindy took a moment before answering.
“No. You shouldn’t Sam. Not only will you be killing yourself if you end their lives, but you’ll also be giving them more power wasting your life away in a prison cell. Or who knows, maybe you’ll die somehow in the process.”
“I’m not worried about dying.”
Although brash, there was certain finality in his voice that made her believe him.
“But I am.”
So soft and innocent was her response. Yet at that moment his anger, rage, self-hate began to dissipate and he felt his body ease. Though he never responded, Cindy saw the ghost leave his eyes and knew that for him it was done.
Samuel had planned on killing just Clarissa and her fiancé, Greg Yates, just as they said “I do.” He was to sniper them both and then try to make as clean a getaway as he could but if he whacked out some family members in the process he wasn’t too worried. And though he did like Clarissa’s parents he couldn’t worry about their feelings over their daughter. At least then he couldn’t. Now, half an hour later in the check out line of the hotel, with Cindy by his side in her skin tight dress, Samuel eyed Clarissa’s parents coming toward him.
“Well, all be damned. Diane, it looks like Harold was right. Samuel is here. Everyone thought Harold had been boozing too much when he said he saw you in the bushes last night at the rehearsal dinner. But I guess he was right, huh?”
Samuel blushed at the comment and looked at Cindy whose eyes grew in excitement and humor.
“Bushes? I was pretty drunk last night myself Mr. Towers so maybe. I don’t remember. Maybe I fell into them.”
They all laughed. After the cordialities and introductions and after chopping through the mass amount of awkwardness, Samuel and Cindy were invited to the wedding by Mr. Towers. Mrs. Towers gave her husband a scowling look but quickly tried to conceal her contempt with an awkward smile.
“No, thank you very much but we have to get going. We have a lot of traveling to do.”
“Oh, where are you going?”
“Well, I had a two week plan to run off to another country. First, a flight to Mexico and from there anywhere. I wanted to see how long it would take for people to find me. Just for shits and giggles.”
Mr. Towers thought it was a real hoot, while Mrs. Towers felt that something was amiss and tugged at her husband's elbow to leave. After they parted Cindy and Samuel began to make it to his car with luggage in tow. Samuel talked to Cindy in a casual manner about his future.
“So, although I’ve canceled one part of my plan, I still was going to keep my commitment to the traveling part. But I could really use a partner? You know of anyone who might be interested?”
Cindy slid her hands onto Samuel’s chest and pulled him close with her temple resting against his heart.
“Sammy!?! Sammy, what are you doing here!?!”
Samuel had his eyes closed and as he heard his name exclaimed in the way he hated most, he knew who was calling him. And for some reason so did Cindy. Letting go of each other Cindy stepped to Samuel’s side. Clarissa approached Sam, by all means intending to hug him until she saw that Samuel was still holding onto Cindy’s hand. Cindy allowed a ton of warmth to engulf her, so pleased to be wanted.
“Hey Clarissa.”
“Sammy, how are you? What are you doing here?”
Knowing that she didn’t really care how he was but was really interested in what he was doing, Samuel grinned.
“I came to break up the wedding.”
Clarissa laughed pleasantly, touching Samuel upon the arm. Most people would feel uncomfortable at this comment but since Clarissa believed that other people’s worlds revolved around hers she wouldn’t be too surprised if Samuel was up to one of his silly antics. But how silly of antics he had in mind would never have entered her thoughts.
Looking Cindy up and down as if she were a dirty child to be scrubbed, Clarissa waited to be introduced. Cordially shaking hands the two women exchanged dagger stares until Samuel began to pull Cindy away.
“Clarissa, best of luck. Take care.”
“You too Sammy. Wait, Sammy! Why don’t you two stay for the wedding?”
Clarissa smiled and waited in hopeful anticipation for Samuel’s answer. She never imagined that Samuel would take their breakup as hard as he did, like when he locked himself inside his room for eight days straight. And she didn’t want to destroy him either but to make him presently want her was another story. Clarissa didn’t like people to forget her.
“Thanks Clarissa but we got to get going.”
Despite her persistent and whining requests Samuel refused. After parting, Cindy and Samuel gingerly walked to the car until Cindy couldn’t squirm in her skin any more.
“I have to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
Sitting on the toilet Cindy was surprised that she wasn’t scared. To leave with a guy she barely knew wasn’t unusual but with the intentions the both of them had, not even Nostradamus could have predicted. When Samuel had first spoken of his plan, Cindy was scared. Not only was she scared about Samuel's intent to kill someone but also because she questioned him as a person. What kind of man would kill his lover? And another person, as well? Now, as Cindy sat on the toilet, she re-questioned herself and came up with the same answer as before; she trusted Samuel. All her life she had been judged and she refused to damn someone she felt so linked to because he let his anger and sadness cloud his judgment.
Just as Cindy made up her mind, the bathroom door opened. She could hear two women enter.
“Lauren, you should have seen her dress. Hah, hah, hah!!! She has to be a HOOKER I swear it!”
“Really. Oh God, Clarissa you were so right for going after Greg! A hooker? Ewww!!!”
“Well, I don’t know if she is a hooker for sure but she looks like one. I just can’t believe he fell so far down. I really must have hurt him.”
“Hah, hah, hah. You always break hearts, C!”
Cindy finished up and then came out. Clarissa’s face betrayed her intentions of trying to hide her shock. In the middle of applying her lipstick she accidentally missed her upper lip and then dropped the lipstick. Picking it up, Cindy kindly handed it back.
“Yeah, you’re right Clarissa. I am a hooker. And a good one at that.”
Holding her tongue, Clarissa looked at Lauren as Cindy walked out of the bathroom. These kinds of comments were not new to Cindy so she had no problem holding her head high. But as she heard Lauren and Clarissa’s mocking cackles from the bathroom, her blood began to boil. Not wanting to alarm Samuel, she took deep breaths before getting in the car.
“Ready babe?”
Cindy looked at Samuel with all the care she had ever felt for a man. He could tell that something happened but none of her hurt was transferred to him. All he saw in her eyes was compassion.
“Samuel. What’s the difference between us spending the rest of our lives together or a few weeks?”
Samuel knew exactly what she meant. Although forever with her would be great, Samuel was just forever grateful that they even met.
“Not a bit if we live it right. What about giving the other’s power?”
Cindy smiled, drew him close and kissed him with passion. She then let him go, nodded her head and asked
“And how sharp is that hatchet?”
The End
Monday, January 23, 2012
Endurance
Initiated on Hollow’s Eve of 2010
Sitting on a rock in the evening Arizona sun, Thomas looked out on the flat and empty desert landscape. He imagined that if God did exist, every morning upon waking he would sweep the deserts of the world with one giant pass of the hand. Now Thomas watched his partner, Ignacio, usher a family of four out of Thomas’ ’57 Plymouth Belvedere. First, the mama came from the trunk. Her sweaty black hair shined in the falling sun. Her pasted bangs stuck to the left side of her face. She quickly tried to make herself look decent, dragging black strands into a long thick ponytail. Thomas looked away, back out to the empty desert.
“Ninos, vien aqui.”
Thomas softly called out to invisible children, before a sudden screech wailed from an opening door. Two small girls, probably no more than three and five, sheepishly pushed the door behind the driver’s side open. Its irritating creak attracted more attention than its sweeping length as the mother rushed to help her children jump down from the sweating leather seats. Looking like miniature replicas of their mama, both of the girls rubbed their faces, trying to adjust their vision to the brightness of the desert. As Thomas watched the mama cajole and sooth her children, he was reminded of the other reason he did this type of work. It wasn’t a full time job but he was relying more and more on trafficking money than that of his job waiting tables. Thomas didn’t need the mama to tell him that many of her hopes and dreams for her children started in Mexico but will come to life in The United States. He could see it in her eyes as she squeezed both of her children.
Since Thomas never spoke Spanish, Nacho took charge of all of the negotiations and price setting. There was no need for him to ever suspect Thomas knew any other language than English. Nacho always thought of his partner as a loyal yet ignorant white boy from San Paderno, California. Wet behind the ears was how Thomas liked to play it, a lesson he learned growing up. Thomas thought of his supposed ignorance now as he rubbed the stub where his pinky finger used to be on his left hand. Gazing out at a tall, deeply blood stained looking plateau only a few miles away, Thomas listened as Nacho rattled off in Spanish to the emerging family of four.
“Walk that way and in a little over a mile you will be at Nogales…of the USA! You will see it.”
Thomas kept his eyes on the plateau but listened as the ever grateful family thanked Nacho, the father clasping hands with the coyote as if Nacho were the Pope himself.
“Thank you so much, sir. Thank you. We will never forget you…”
Before the man could go any further Nacho snapped at him with an irritated growl.
“No, asshole! You better forget me! You don’t know us! I don’t exist!!! Understand!!!”
Nacho held tight to the man’s hand while drawing him forward, both men eyeball to eyeball. While tightly squeezing the father’s hand, Nacho felt the rough calluses of his client’s palm. The man was a farmer, this much the coyote knew, but he wasn’t going to fight unless Nacho pushed it further. Confident that he had struck fear into the father’s heart, Nacho began to release. The father smelt the acrid taste of tequila on Nacho’s breath. He suppressed his fear as best he could but gulped three times in a row, continually nodding to Nacho.
“I understand, sir. There is no one. Just us.”
The father spread his hand toward his nervous wife and two little ones. The girls were too young and naive to know what was happening but they recognized fear in their father’s voice. It was a tone that scared the oldest daughter to tears. Thomas had since turned to watch the family. He rose off the rock and calmly walked toward the girl. Mama huddled her little ones closer as he got nearer yet his smile instantly loosened her grip. This was one of Thomas’ greatest gifts and he was aware of its power. It wasn't the smile that contained power but the feeling within.
As Thomas looked upon the oldest daughter’s countenance, he caught sight of an innocence he hadn’t seen in years. It was rare that Nacho and he worked this closely with children. Usually they were ferrying men across the border. Families were uncommon. Thomas had recognized fear in men’s faces before but they were usually only concerned about their own skin. At this moment, as the young girl’s eyes scattered from her father to her mother and sister then back to Thomas, never at Nacho, Thomas saw a selflessness and empathy that drew him back to his childhood. The young girl’s worried eyes reminded him of his mother and the way she looked when trouble came for her children. Memory flooded Thomas' mind as he internally swore no bad would come to this child or her family.
Thomas wiped tears from the little girl’s mahogany cheeks. With a grin toward the mother, Thomas said goodbye and pointed the family on their way. The father was wise enough to see the opportunity at hand and quickly scampered off to his daughters, pushing them toward Nogales. As the family continued to walk he heard the father chastise his wife as she asked him to get their water from Nacho. Thomas smirked as he heard the father scream in a whisper
“Inez, we’re lucky to get away! I don’t give a damn about the water!”
The father held his youngest daughter’s hand and with the other snatched his wife's, marching them forward onto the cooling pavement. Thomas watched them a little longer as he knew what awaited him from Nacho. Just as Thomas turned toward his partner, Nacho took another swig from his flask all the while glaring at Thomas.
“Thomas. Come here.”
As Thomas walked toward a kneeling Nacho, keeping shade under the Belvedere’s roof, he replayed one thought constantly in his mind.
Keep it cool. Keep it cool, bro.
Although he was speaking to himself, Thomas was most worried about getting Nacho upset. It wasn’t hard to accomplish. At times Nacho seemed fragile. Thomas was ever mindful of the bulge sticking up out of Nacho’s backside, 9mm Beretta. His pistol never bothered Thomas because he knew it came with the territory. They weren’t the only coyotes ferrying across the border. And even fellow coyotes weren’t as dangerous as the other criminals and drug runners who made the border their playpen. Yet, Thomas was always weary when Nacho had possession of both his gun and alcohol simultaneously.
Not wanting to make his partner feel threatened, Thomas kneeled next to him in the dirt. In response Nacho immediately rose, only electing a smile of humor from Thomas.
“Hey, Thomas. What was that?”
“Nacho. It was over. We took them across. We got our money. That’s it. I don’t want to carry anything over…”
“When I’m talking you don’t interrupt me, pendejo! Who do you think runs things, man? You? Fuck, cabron, you don’t even speak Spanish!!!”
Along with a sneer of arrogance, Nacho laughed fiercely. He spat an inch from Thomas’s foot. It was at that moment, Thomas thought that another matter must be irritating Nacho. They had arguments before but this utter disrespect was something new.
“What’s wrong, Nacho?”
The middle aged man tilted his head to the side, as if Thomas really didn’t just ask that question. A brief silence reigned in the desert as both men stared at one another. Just as Thomas was thinking he may have to get physically violent, Nacho began to whisper in Spanish.
“You don’t know what I know. You don’t know what I know, white boy.”
Although Thomas wanted to respond triumphantly in Spanish, he quickly eliminated the idea from his mind.
“I don’t understand you, Nacho. You know man, unless you’re gonna tell me what’s up, I’m done. I’ll just take you home.”
Nacho walked to the passenger side of the car and sat down, all the while still whispering the same words. Thomas briefly looked back at the family, who were nearly out of sight by now. He thought back about what Nacho had told them about the distance. He knew Nacho lied. This wasn’t the first time. Nogales was about four miles away, a good hour and a half or two hours distant. Nacho didn’t care about any of the passengers. Unless they had connections, to make him more money, he could care less. He actually hoped most of them would become lost in the desert. Yet this was bad for business. If a coyote wasn't bringing people to their families, friends and destinations, a terrible reputation would be established. Thomas knew that Nacho told the family they would reach Nogales in a mile or so purposely. It was only natural that the family would become nervous after two miles. They may begin to argue, wondering if they went the wrong way. Eventually the family turns around and with no water or very little, they become perfect victims in the empty desert. They definitely would not be the first ones to perish in the loneliness of the red landscape.
Thomas turned the ignition. The Belvedere growled loudly as Thomas gunned it off the dirt and onto the highway. Nacho kept silent. With his leather wrapped flask in his lap, Nacho kept his eyes straight ahead. Before nearing the family, Thomas grinned. As the Belvedire slowed down, pulling right beside the family, the father pushed his whole family behind him. The drawn creases on his face made him appear as if he were mentally preparing for the worst. Thomas saw it in the man’s eyes and he received a feeling of pride in his chest as he rolled the window down to speak to the father.
“Nogales, es quarto miles, non es uno. Quarto miles e questo es tua aqua tambien. E que tu vaia bien!”
Reaching below his legs, Thomas handed the father a gallon of water. Moments ago, Thomas had grabbed the gallon from the rear seat as Nacho was grumbling and whispering around the car. The father looked confused but Thomas was confident they would be fine. He caught sight of Inez’s smile and knew she would take charge if necessary. Most mothers do. Thomas didn’t even bother to look at Nacho. He knew this latest action would probably be the end of their relationship. Thomas enjoyed the silence as long as he could. He knew the war was coming. After thirty seconds of quiet, Nacho suddenly exploded punching the dashboard as hard as he could. Thomas didn’t take his eyes off the road.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, Thomas? You speak Spanish, now? That was no gringo talking back there! You made me look like an idiot! You contradicted my words!! And that was my fucking water, not theirs!”
Thomas glanced at Nacho, checking to see if he were finished screaming. Feeling a bit indignant yet also partially amused by Nacho’s ranting, Thomas reminded himself that the argument was partially about a family’s life.
“Nacho, you purposely told those people the wrong directions. You wanna fuck with people, do it on your own time. I’m no fucking saint but I ain’t gonna purposely assist in a family’s death! You know man, what the fuck happened to you?”
A debilitating silence seized the car. Thomas glanced over at Nacho who was now lifting the flask to his lips. His long dark hair almost seemed to slip into the flasks opening. He took a long sip. Thomas figured his old friend was trying to irritate him with silence. Instead of being annoyed, though, Thomas tried to take advantage of the quiet and listened to the desert as it came alive again at night. He was bothered by Nacho's actions and he felt them bite into his being. The possibility that Nacho would do something silly with the pistol became a thought for Thomas. He twitched several times when Nacho rose in his seat. Although they had their fights, Thomas consoled himself with the belief that Nacho would never shoot him. Just as this escaped him, Thomas suddenly jolted forward and yelled triumphantly
“And I bought that water, not you! It was theirs, part of the deal.”
These last words trailed off from Thomas’s speech as he ran his fingers over his shaved head and reminded himself he was yelling at a friend. A friend, at least for the past six years. Even with the Belvedere’s noisy engine, Thomas thought he heard an owl calling out in the distance. Almost beyond his line of sight were a small pack of coyotes. He counted four. They jogged in scattered formation; constantly stopping to cry out in the desert night, speckled with emerging stars.
If it wasn’t for a light popping sound emitted from Nacho’s flask as air was released from its mouth, Thomas may have forgotten his friend was still in the car. He looked over to Nacho whose chin appeared to be jutting forward. Nacho parted his bangs so that his face was more visible to the world. Thomas took his eyes off the road every few seconds so he could take a look at Nacho. Nacho’s silence disturbed Thomas. He also knew that was what Nacho wanted, to pester him, so he tried to just keep quiet and drive.
By dusk they entered the city of Nogales. The sun seemed to have fallen very fast. It was near pitch black outside. Thomas stuck his head out the window for fun and caught a mouthful of crisp air. Night air is different than day air. Thomas remembered this as Flagstaff. He needed to get to a someone in that city. An image of a woman with dark brown hair came to Thomas' mind.
-Four more hours. Just four more.
Thomas thought about the hours and the drive. Then he thought of Starbucks coffee drinks. He decided on buying one just as he pulled into the motel lot where Nacho was to stay the night. A gas station’s neon sign attracted Thomas’ attention just as he stepped out of the Belvedere.
“Thomas, where you going?”
Thomas spun around to find Nacho sheepishly leaning against the Belvedere. He avoided Thomas' eyes while he traced his finger along the car's hood. Suddenly Nacho looked up to Thomas, his eyes dark, black eyes watery and needing. Thomas waited for Nacho to say something. Utter something. Yet the older man kept silent. Thomas, exhausted and partially confused, spoke plainly.
“Going to the gas station. You want anything?”
Nacho looked to Thomas with his mouth agape. Thomas watched as Nacho strained to speak. There was something his friend wanted to say yet nothing came. Nacho simply swung his head from side to side like a lonely town sign blowing in the wind. An ambulance suddenly went screaming past. Thomas watched it go down the street until it turned up an avenue. Nacho was too apathetic to watch.
Thomas turned to walk away yet held, glaring at Nacho. He knew something was wrong yet it was as if Nacho couldn't speak, even if he had wanted. Thomas cleared his throat, attempting to speak yet just when he was about to do so, Nacho walked the hotel clerk's office. He would rent a room for one.
As Thomas walked toward the gas station across the street, he chastised himself for being too hard on Nacho. He placed his long, strong fingers into his other hand, pushing against one another. In times of stress he liked to punch and kick his heavy bag yet he was a long way from home. This would have to do.
After buying his coffee, Thomas took a second before crossing the street. He looked out over what was Nogales to him and realized he was happy. He was glad to be alive. There was a pride within him for defending the family yet he wished to talk to Nacho somehow. Thomas jerked his head away from looking down the road. He heard a popping sound, similar to a gunshot, come from near the motel. Still staring from across the street, Thomas watched as a maid timidly walked towards a room. She suddenly began screaming.
A good hundred yards distant, Thomas could see her hysterically running, hands and hair flailing, past his car and into the lobby. Thomas immediately dashed past traffic and sprinted toward the motel. As he skidded to a halt, Thomas numbingly gazed at the room door which was swung wide open. Thomas dropped his glass of coffee. While he stood looking over Nacho’s crumpled body and the pistol in his friend's hand, all that came to mind was the sound of that bottle breaking, the continual echo of shattering glass.
The End
Sitting on a rock in the evening Arizona sun, Thomas looked out on the flat and empty desert landscape. He imagined that if God did exist, every morning upon waking he would sweep the deserts of the world with one giant pass of the hand. Now Thomas watched his partner, Ignacio, usher a family of four out of Thomas’ ’57 Plymouth Belvedere. First, the mama came from the trunk. Her sweaty black hair shined in the falling sun. Her pasted bangs stuck to the left side of her face. She quickly tried to make herself look decent, dragging black strands into a long thick ponytail. Thomas looked away, back out to the empty desert.
“Ninos, vien aqui.”
Thomas softly called out to invisible children, before a sudden screech wailed from an opening door. Two small girls, probably no more than three and five, sheepishly pushed the door behind the driver’s side open. Its irritating creak attracted more attention than its sweeping length as the mother rushed to help her children jump down from the sweating leather seats. Looking like miniature replicas of their mama, both of the girls rubbed their faces, trying to adjust their vision to the brightness of the desert. As Thomas watched the mama cajole and sooth her children, he was reminded of the other reason he did this type of work. It wasn’t a full time job but he was relying more and more on trafficking money than that of his job waiting tables. Thomas didn’t need the mama to tell him that many of her hopes and dreams for her children started in Mexico but will come to life in The United States. He could see it in her eyes as she squeezed both of her children.
Since Thomas never spoke Spanish, Nacho took charge of all of the negotiations and price setting. There was no need for him to ever suspect Thomas knew any other language than English. Nacho always thought of his partner as a loyal yet ignorant white boy from San Paderno, California. Wet behind the ears was how Thomas liked to play it, a lesson he learned growing up. Thomas thought of his supposed ignorance now as he rubbed the stub where his pinky finger used to be on his left hand. Gazing out at a tall, deeply blood stained looking plateau only a few miles away, Thomas listened as Nacho rattled off in Spanish to the emerging family of four.
“Walk that way and in a little over a mile you will be at Nogales…of the USA! You will see it.”
Thomas kept his eyes on the plateau but listened as the ever grateful family thanked Nacho, the father clasping hands with the coyote as if Nacho were the Pope himself.
“Thank you so much, sir. Thank you. We will never forget you…”
Before the man could go any further Nacho snapped at him with an irritated growl.
“No, asshole! You better forget me! You don’t know us! I don’t exist!!! Understand!!!”
Nacho held tight to the man’s hand while drawing him forward, both men eyeball to eyeball. While tightly squeezing the father’s hand, Nacho felt the rough calluses of his client’s palm. The man was a farmer, this much the coyote knew, but he wasn’t going to fight unless Nacho pushed it further. Confident that he had struck fear into the father’s heart, Nacho began to release. The father smelt the acrid taste of tequila on Nacho’s breath. He suppressed his fear as best he could but gulped three times in a row, continually nodding to Nacho.
“I understand, sir. There is no one. Just us.”
The father spread his hand toward his nervous wife and two little ones. The girls were too young and naive to know what was happening but they recognized fear in their father’s voice. It was a tone that scared the oldest daughter to tears. Thomas had since turned to watch the family. He rose off the rock and calmly walked toward the girl. Mama huddled her little ones closer as he got nearer yet his smile instantly loosened her grip. This was one of Thomas’ greatest gifts and he was aware of its power. It wasn't the smile that contained power but the feeling within.
As Thomas looked upon the oldest daughter’s countenance, he caught sight of an innocence he hadn’t seen in years. It was rare that Nacho and he worked this closely with children. Usually they were ferrying men across the border. Families were uncommon. Thomas had recognized fear in men’s faces before but they were usually only concerned about their own skin. At this moment, as the young girl’s eyes scattered from her father to her mother and sister then back to Thomas, never at Nacho, Thomas saw a selflessness and empathy that drew him back to his childhood. The young girl’s worried eyes reminded him of his mother and the way she looked when trouble came for her children. Memory flooded Thomas' mind as he internally swore no bad would come to this child or her family.
Thomas wiped tears from the little girl’s mahogany cheeks. With a grin toward the mother, Thomas said goodbye and pointed the family on their way. The father was wise enough to see the opportunity at hand and quickly scampered off to his daughters, pushing them toward Nogales. As the family continued to walk he heard the father chastise his wife as she asked him to get their water from Nacho. Thomas smirked as he heard the father scream in a whisper
“Inez, we’re lucky to get away! I don’t give a damn about the water!”
The father held his youngest daughter’s hand and with the other snatched his wife's, marching them forward onto the cooling pavement. Thomas watched them a little longer as he knew what awaited him from Nacho. Just as Thomas turned toward his partner, Nacho took another swig from his flask all the while glaring at Thomas.
“Thomas. Come here.”
As Thomas walked toward a kneeling Nacho, keeping shade under the Belvedere’s roof, he replayed one thought constantly in his mind.
Keep it cool. Keep it cool, bro.
Although he was speaking to himself, Thomas was most worried about getting Nacho upset. It wasn’t hard to accomplish. At times Nacho seemed fragile. Thomas was ever mindful of the bulge sticking up out of Nacho’s backside, 9mm Beretta. His pistol never bothered Thomas because he knew it came with the territory. They weren’t the only coyotes ferrying across the border. And even fellow coyotes weren’t as dangerous as the other criminals and drug runners who made the border their playpen. Yet, Thomas was always weary when Nacho had possession of both his gun and alcohol simultaneously.
Not wanting to make his partner feel threatened, Thomas kneeled next to him in the dirt. In response Nacho immediately rose, only electing a smile of humor from Thomas.
“Hey, Thomas. What was that?”
“Nacho. It was over. We took them across. We got our money. That’s it. I don’t want to carry anything over…”
“When I’m talking you don’t interrupt me, pendejo! Who do you think runs things, man? You? Fuck, cabron, you don’t even speak Spanish!!!”
Along with a sneer of arrogance, Nacho laughed fiercely. He spat an inch from Thomas’s foot. It was at that moment, Thomas thought that another matter must be irritating Nacho. They had arguments before but this utter disrespect was something new.
“What’s wrong, Nacho?”
The middle aged man tilted his head to the side, as if Thomas really didn’t just ask that question. A brief silence reigned in the desert as both men stared at one another. Just as Thomas was thinking he may have to get physically violent, Nacho began to whisper in Spanish.
“You don’t know what I know. You don’t know what I know, white boy.”
Although Thomas wanted to respond triumphantly in Spanish, he quickly eliminated the idea from his mind.
“I don’t understand you, Nacho. You know man, unless you’re gonna tell me what’s up, I’m done. I’ll just take you home.”
Nacho walked to the passenger side of the car and sat down, all the while still whispering the same words. Thomas briefly looked back at the family, who were nearly out of sight by now. He thought back about what Nacho had told them about the distance. He knew Nacho lied. This wasn’t the first time. Nogales was about four miles away, a good hour and a half or two hours distant. Nacho didn’t care about any of the passengers. Unless they had connections, to make him more money, he could care less. He actually hoped most of them would become lost in the desert. Yet this was bad for business. If a coyote wasn't bringing people to their families, friends and destinations, a terrible reputation would be established. Thomas knew that Nacho told the family they would reach Nogales in a mile or so purposely. It was only natural that the family would become nervous after two miles. They may begin to argue, wondering if they went the wrong way. Eventually the family turns around and with no water or very little, they become perfect victims in the empty desert. They definitely would not be the first ones to perish in the loneliness of the red landscape.
Thomas turned the ignition. The Belvedere growled loudly as Thomas gunned it off the dirt and onto the highway. Nacho kept silent. With his leather wrapped flask in his lap, Nacho kept his eyes straight ahead. Before nearing the family, Thomas grinned. As the Belvedire slowed down, pulling right beside the family, the father pushed his whole family behind him. The drawn creases on his face made him appear as if he were mentally preparing for the worst. Thomas saw it in the man’s eyes and he received a feeling of pride in his chest as he rolled the window down to speak to the father.
“Nogales, es quarto miles, non es uno. Quarto miles e questo es tua aqua tambien. E que tu vaia bien!”
Reaching below his legs, Thomas handed the father a gallon of water. Moments ago, Thomas had grabbed the gallon from the rear seat as Nacho was grumbling and whispering around the car. The father looked confused but Thomas was confident they would be fine. He caught sight of Inez’s smile and knew she would take charge if necessary. Most mothers do. Thomas didn’t even bother to look at Nacho. He knew this latest action would probably be the end of their relationship. Thomas enjoyed the silence as long as he could. He knew the war was coming. After thirty seconds of quiet, Nacho suddenly exploded punching the dashboard as hard as he could. Thomas didn’t take his eyes off the road.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, Thomas? You speak Spanish, now? That was no gringo talking back there! You made me look like an idiot! You contradicted my words!! And that was my fucking water, not theirs!”
Thomas glanced at Nacho, checking to see if he were finished screaming. Feeling a bit indignant yet also partially amused by Nacho’s ranting, Thomas reminded himself that the argument was partially about a family’s life.
“Nacho, you purposely told those people the wrong directions. You wanna fuck with people, do it on your own time. I’m no fucking saint but I ain’t gonna purposely assist in a family’s death! You know man, what the fuck happened to you?”
A debilitating silence seized the car. Thomas glanced over at Nacho who was now lifting the flask to his lips. His long dark hair almost seemed to slip into the flasks opening. He took a long sip. Thomas figured his old friend was trying to irritate him with silence. Instead of being annoyed, though, Thomas tried to take advantage of the quiet and listened to the desert as it came alive again at night. He was bothered by Nacho's actions and he felt them bite into his being. The possibility that Nacho would do something silly with the pistol became a thought for Thomas. He twitched several times when Nacho rose in his seat. Although they had their fights, Thomas consoled himself with the belief that Nacho would never shoot him. Just as this escaped him, Thomas suddenly jolted forward and yelled triumphantly
“And I bought that water, not you! It was theirs, part of the deal.”
These last words trailed off from Thomas’s speech as he ran his fingers over his shaved head and reminded himself he was yelling at a friend. A friend, at least for the past six years. Even with the Belvedere’s noisy engine, Thomas thought he heard an owl calling out in the distance. Almost beyond his line of sight were a small pack of coyotes. He counted four. They jogged in scattered formation; constantly stopping to cry out in the desert night, speckled with emerging stars.
If it wasn’t for a light popping sound emitted from Nacho’s flask as air was released from its mouth, Thomas may have forgotten his friend was still in the car. He looked over to Nacho whose chin appeared to be jutting forward. Nacho parted his bangs so that his face was more visible to the world. Thomas took his eyes off the road every few seconds so he could take a look at Nacho. Nacho’s silence disturbed Thomas. He also knew that was what Nacho wanted, to pester him, so he tried to just keep quiet and drive.
By dusk they entered the city of Nogales. The sun seemed to have fallen very fast. It was near pitch black outside. Thomas stuck his head out the window for fun and caught a mouthful of crisp air. Night air is different than day air. Thomas remembered this as Flagstaff. He needed to get to a someone in that city. An image of a woman with dark brown hair came to Thomas' mind.
-Four more hours. Just four more.
Thomas thought about the hours and the drive. Then he thought of Starbucks coffee drinks. He decided on buying one just as he pulled into the motel lot where Nacho was to stay the night. A gas station’s neon sign attracted Thomas’ attention just as he stepped out of the Belvedere.
“Thomas, where you going?”
Thomas spun around to find Nacho sheepishly leaning against the Belvedere. He avoided Thomas' eyes while he traced his finger along the car's hood. Suddenly Nacho looked up to Thomas, his eyes dark, black eyes watery and needing. Thomas waited for Nacho to say something. Utter something. Yet the older man kept silent. Thomas, exhausted and partially confused, spoke plainly.
“Going to the gas station. You want anything?”
Nacho looked to Thomas with his mouth agape. Thomas watched as Nacho strained to speak. There was something his friend wanted to say yet nothing came. Nacho simply swung his head from side to side like a lonely town sign blowing in the wind. An ambulance suddenly went screaming past. Thomas watched it go down the street until it turned up an avenue. Nacho was too apathetic to watch.
Thomas turned to walk away yet held, glaring at Nacho. He knew something was wrong yet it was as if Nacho couldn't speak, even if he had wanted. Thomas cleared his throat, attempting to speak yet just when he was about to do so, Nacho walked the hotel clerk's office. He would rent a room for one.
As Thomas walked toward the gas station across the street, he chastised himself for being too hard on Nacho. He placed his long, strong fingers into his other hand, pushing against one another. In times of stress he liked to punch and kick his heavy bag yet he was a long way from home. This would have to do.
After buying his coffee, Thomas took a second before crossing the street. He looked out over what was Nogales to him and realized he was happy. He was glad to be alive. There was a pride within him for defending the family yet he wished to talk to Nacho somehow. Thomas jerked his head away from looking down the road. He heard a popping sound, similar to a gunshot, come from near the motel. Still staring from across the street, Thomas watched as a maid timidly walked towards a room. She suddenly began screaming.
A good hundred yards distant, Thomas could see her hysterically running, hands and hair flailing, past his car and into the lobby. Thomas immediately dashed past traffic and sprinted toward the motel. As he skidded to a halt, Thomas numbingly gazed at the room door which was swung wide open. Thomas dropped his glass of coffee. While he stood looking over Nacho’s crumpled body and the pistol in his friend's hand, all that came to mind was the sound of that bottle breaking, the continual echo of shattering glass.
The End
The Mockingbirds Of Spring
Mockingbirds of Spring
I like to think I'm tough. I want to think that when the shit goes down, I mean really goes down; I will step it up and take my rightful place amongst the heroes of my past. The line which carries through us all yet only a few adhere. I have my own thoughts on why human beings are not always brave, why we choose self preservation over honor or to protect another. It's easier. So you have to understand how shocked I was to watch the mockingbirds of spring. I was smoking some herb on an early afternoon just out on my porch. I liked to watch the mockingbirds flutter here and there. Husband and wife would be scooting around all day, grabbing food and delivering it to their young. They kept me present with their constant chirping. It was a real treat. I'd been in an office pushing papers for nearly two years and on the second day of Spring March 24th I kicked over the waste bucket, elbow struck my computer and chastised my assistant on the importance of deep breathing. Needless to say I was canned. And that's OK. I picked up a side job at a local restaurant bussing tables and occasionally waiting. Fine by me. So it was going well. I guess. I had time to sit out and smoke, enjoy the sun. And for some reason those birds just made it so much better.
The one thing that I did not enjoy was that my neighbor, Elise, had an orange and red cat named Buster who spent his days wandering around the grand birch which took residence upon my front lawn. Since it was my lawn I had every right to spray that fur ball right in the face with my garden hose. And I was tempted. Believe me. I have one of those spray gun handles which would be perfect to blast him with right in the eyes. Yet I was trying to bang Elise's sister, Debbie, and if I blinded Buster then it would be back to the Spice Channel for sure. So I just decided to keep my eye on him. There were always a few carefully placed dirt clods next to my porch swing in case of an emergency. Cats are fast but I have a good arm. I wasn't too worried. So when I saw Buster strut his way onto my lawn, his bushy red tail waving around in the air I figured on regulating on him if he got aggressive. And he knew it. He knew I was different. People always let animals get away with things. They figure "Oh, it's just a cat, it can't be diabolical. It only possesses the qualities of purring and shitting in my clothe basket when I don't feed him his can of Fancy Feast on time."
Don't get me wrong. I'm not a hard ass. I like animals. I wasn't the kid growing up who lit “Whiskers” on fire, burned ants or ripped the tails off of blue belly lizards for shits and giggles. My father taught me that everything deserved respect, from your neighbor to his dog. But just like your neighbor, if he starts pissing on your lawn, you have every right to shoe him in the ass. And I kept this in mind as my mockingbirds’ wails began to reach high pitch level. They hovered above their nest, their young ones’ chirp chirping all the while as their folks seemed to be breaking the panic button on the remote control. I watched Buster like a hawk. He looked over at me and I can swear to you he smiled. He was mocking me. OK it was three o'clock in the afternoon and I had been blazing it since noon, but I saw the edges of that little mouth curl upwards. With the shining glint of his fangs piercing my vision in the afternoon sun he was daring me to do something. "Come on stoner. Do it! Throw that dirt at me! And as you're yanking on your chain till the wee hours of the morning I'm going to be tap dancing on our fence, laughing at you as you cry yourself to sleep. Alone!" I hate Buster.
But what was I gonna do? I felt bad for the Mockingbirds but they didn't know how hot Debbie was and they certainly didn't know that good looking redheads were a rarity in these parts. Despite the fact that I was lonely and desperate I wasn't going to allow Buster to climb the tree and snatch them up, though. I was on watch. He would be kept to land only. There was no way I was going to let him get airborne. At least this was the plan.
At about 4:00 I got pretty hungry. I just bought a box of Rice Krispies and I could hear the elves calling my name from the kitchen. As I was pouring the last droplets of milk into the bowl I heard the intense screeching of my friends. Like a bird version of Jane Goodall I sprinted out of my kitchen, clutching onto my Rice Krispies snack, crackle, popping out into my front yard. I knew it was Buster. But I wasn't ready for what I witnessed. Just 13 feet from me Buster was climbing the mighty birch only a few feet from the nest. Out of the corner of my eye I saw this thunder bolt of brown shoot from the heavens like a rocket. Mr. Mockingbird jet proportioned himself straight towards Buster and his open jaws. With the love that I imagine only a parent can have Mr. Mockingbird flew straight into the open gape of Buster's mouth never to be seen again. Buster snapped the gate close. His body jolted a little bit and I hoped he was going to lose his grip and come crashing down, snapping each of his vertebrae upon the sand-stones encircling the birch tree. But he didn't. He's a cat. He's got more balance than Lao Tzu. And with that Buster looked back at me, then soared into the air and landed with ballerina like agility onto the ground.
He skipped away so quickly that I didn't have time to react. What should I have done? Drop my Rice Krispies? Throw the bowl at him? Double back for a dirt clod? No, no, no. It was too late. I know when to react and when not to. Sometimes Nature has to take its course no matter how nasty it is. But I have to tell you my heart ached. Debbie has got ass and Debbie's smile could buckle the knees of almost any man but even a night with her at that moment could not drain the sorrow which was backing up in my throat and swelling in my eyes. I'm not sentimental, but shit! That's love if I ever saw it. Not knowing exactly what to do I just stood there, eating my bowl of cereal in the middle of the lawn. Yeah, I probably looked awkward standing there but I was paralyzed. At least until I heard the cry of the birds again. I watched Mrs. Mockingbird flap her wings nervously around the nest preoccupied with feeding her young. She seemed oblivious to the death of her husband; no chasing after Buster or sad bird lament over his murder. None of that. She just went back to her routine and so I decided to do the same. Although I felt bad for her Mr. Mockingbird I was content to see how quickly the birds were able to adjust and keep going. Mrs. Mockingbird seemed to work two times faster, playing the role of provider and protector. Somehow this made me feel better. It was as if life would go on for them and eventually all of us. Life was all about adjustment I suppose.
The next morning I went for a run and passed the nest. All was well with Mrs. Mockingbird on watch. I saw Buster a few houses up the street. He was clawing away at a tall sycamore. With a glare of dare he seemed to be trying to tell me something. As he struck his claws against the shredded bark, sharpening the swords for slaughter, I seemed to sense a forewarning in that cunning smile. Yes, cats can smile. At least Buster does.
I decided to run a short one. Perhaps that wasn't a good idea and then again maybe it was. The order must continue despite the pain and our unwillingness to accept it. And so as I was coming up on my lawn and Buster was pole vaulting his way up towards breakfast, I wasn't too surprised to see Mrs. Mockingbird torpedo her way towards her demise. I yelled out as loud as I could thinking that perhaps I could scare him off but it was useless. Some things are just written. As she entered his mouth a sole chirp sounded off in the distance. With that Buster sealed his jaws. He peeped his head around the mighty birch and saw me instantly. His yellow and black eyes narrowed in on me. Unfortunately he was between me and my dirt clods.
Now I like to think of myself as a man with a healthy sexual appetite. As a teenager my time was divided between taking three showers a day and bird dogging whenever I could (activities that have since not lagged). Yet as I stood, ready in the oncoming warmth of that fresh crisp morning, Debbie and her tight ass was the farthest thing from my mind. Actually, Debbie was replaced. In her stead was an image of Buster skinned and roasting on a fire with a Fiji apple stuffed deep into his throat. I knew he was quick and extremely versatile in his movements, but I had rage. It was an emotion that drove man. When on a north bound trip rationality got off in Sacramento, rage took you to Vancouver. In a flash, which spoke volumes of his ninja like qualities, Buster took advantage of my emotions. Through his superb ability he was able to perceive my state of mind. It was filled with torrid feelings of anger and regret, instead of being as placid and calm as a lake. Taking advantage of this cognitive insight, Buster made a dash for the fence. With nothing in my hands I was unable to knock him down or skirt his speed. With a measure of about 23 feet to the fence I made off for that killer as fast as I could. His head down, Buster charged forward, trying to get to the redwood planks faster than I. But I had passion. And I had revenge on my side. These were justifications to push my out of shape body to its limit, and then beyond, as I quickly closed in on Buster. With five feet to spare we both made a leap for the fence. Coming in from his left side I was able to bat down his face with a heavy hand. I felt his whiskers fold into my palm and his evil meow sent shock waves through my system.
Crashing to the green grass of the lawn, I immediately rose to grab Buster who was sprawled out with a limp paw twisted towards the sky. In that moment I pitied him. Slowly rising Buster seemed like he was badly hurt. With a sense of compassion, that I never thought I would have for him, I knelt to scoop him up and take his tiny body next door. But I forgot about the ruthlessness of cats. As my helping hands were about to encircle his furry little frame Buster pounced on me. His claws went straight for my face and before I knew it I was on my back fighting for my looks. With loud screeches and huffs of energy we tore at each other. I was able to roll over and I proceeded to suffocate him, pressing all my weight as I felt his skeleton slowly crumble underneath mine.
"Ryan! Stop it, please! Stop"
I could hear the yelling and screaming of female voices behind me, but I never looked up. I knew who it was yet I didn't care. And while Debbie and Elise grabbed at my limbs, trying to rip me from that homicidal freak's limp body, I still tried to extinguish his life. Realizing that this was now the closest I would ever get to touch Debbie, I brilliantly pulled her into the mix by tripping her and then rolling over with Buster as sneakily as I could. Debbie and I began wrestling, locked in a strange dance of aggression and regret. Unable to hold Buster down any longer, I let him go, both physically and emotionally. He ran off and I remember being quite impressed with his speed despite the beating he took. My attention was now focused on my fantasy and I had simply replaced one sense of guilt with another. On the soft bed of grass Debbie and I tumbled around for another few seconds, me giggling like a small child and her hysterically yelling
"What are you doing!? Ryan, Stop!"
I rummaged my hands over her body as slyly as I could; trying to make it seem as if I was assisting her in rising yet I think the gig was up. Elise simply stood back in shock and amazement as her sister easily pried herself from my now weakened and effortless grip. I had given up. Saddened and overwhelmed by the loss of my mockingbirds, infuriated by Buster's warpath and now disappointed in myself for losing any chance with Debbie I curled up in a ball and began to weep. It must have been a sorrowful sight. Between sobs of
"I'm sorry Mr. Mockingbird. I was hungry."
And
"I love Rice Krispies."
a small group of neighbors gathered around me. The words "Pathetic" and "Weirdo" were continually uttered but I kept my eyes closed unwilling to face anyone. I figured on calling animal control to pick up the fledglings once everyone had left. I wasn't too sure about their survival yet in the quiet of my mind I envisioned them safely flying around a wildlife sanctuary. The whole thing wore me out.
When I could hear no one else around I opened my eyes. The light of day blinded me for a few short seconds but I thought I made out a silhouette on my porch. It looked to be a woman. I kept blinking my eyes, trying to focus my attention on the figure. Upon rising I realized it was Debbie and all my courage seemed to flow out of me in that second.
"What in the hell was that about?"
"I can explain but I don't know if it will help."
"Probably not but give it a try."
I always liked her sense of humor. And she was going to need it.
The End
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