A dust storm from
the south came in earlier that afternoon: The changing light, the red wall of
grit covering Albuquerque. Into any open window or door. Into eyes and mouths
if caught outside. Then gone by night, leaving a dirty layer. But the sky had
cleared. Even the smog. Stars glowing.
After brushing off
the dust from the front steps of his family’s trailer, Roberto sat drinking a
Coke, watching the littler boys play soccer out in the street under the lights.
His mother inside, clapping from a game show on Univisión coming through the
door, mixed with his sister’s new Shakira cd, in English, from her bedroom.
His friend Antonio
came running up, smiling. Hey cabrón! Qué onda?
Roberto shook his
head, almost laughing. Nada, chitolín.
Gripping wrists
and knocking fists. Antonio sat down next to him. Hey man, you want to get laid
finally?
Roberto laughed.
What?
Serious man.
Finally get it over with. Be a man. Un hombre!
En serio?
Sí en serio. I
know this guy, Nesto, one of the other bussers at La Señorita. He knows this
guy who’s got a girl over there. She putting out for anyone man. He said we
could come over.
Roberto laughed
again. How much?
Antonio shrugged.
Nothing I don’t think. I don’t know.
No way.
Cabrón. It’s time.
How you gonna have any confidence with the ladies if you don’t get it over
with? They can tell you haven’t done it yet.
Me?
Pues, yo también,
claro. The ladies like a guy who knows what he’s doing. This is our chance!
Roberto thought
about it. Hold on.
He went inside and
to his room for his wallet. His sister’s music louder, with her singing along.
He went back out to the living room, pausing at the door. Mamá, me voy.
She looked at him
quickly, then back at the television. Adónde vas?
Out.
Con quien?
Antonio.
Bueno. Not late.
No. Como no.
They crossed under
I-40, car and trucks rumbling over the cement. Antonio pointed at a fence, and
slipped through a hole. Roberto followed, into a trailer park. A gust of wind.
Plastic bags and scraps of paper blowing down the street. Antonio laughed. Woo!
He pointed to the
trailer at the end of the cul-de-sac, with an old pickup in the driveway and
two cars parked out front. The boys ran up the front step and Antonio pounded
on the door. Abré!
The door opened
and a man in a dirty white t-shirt opened. Short black hair, un-shaven, black
jeans, and boots. Old green tattoos on his arms and chest. Skulls. Knives. Qué?
Quienes son?
Antonio stopped
smiling. Amigos de Nesto.
The man nodded and
stepped back. Ah. Bueno. Come in. Pásale.
The boys stepped
into the living room. Six other young men sat on the floor and couches, smoking
cigarettes. Some norteño cranked on the stereo, and a lucha libre match on the
tv with the sound off.
Antonio smiled and
went over to one of them and banged fists. Vato!
Tonio, cabrón, you
made it.
Yeah man, I
brought Roberto.
Roberto nodded as
Ernesto introduced everyone. The older guy, Rufi, handed them both a beer. You
got money?
The boys stared at
each other. Antonio shrugged. Cuánto?
Rufi looked at
them, smiling. How old are you?
Antonio looked at
Roberto quickly. Fifteen.
Rufi stared at
him. Fifteen, huh? Ok, for you, twenty, hombrecito.
The boys both
nodded and got out their wallets. The other guys laughed, as Rufi took the
money. He motioned to the back of the trailer. She’s back there.
Antonio and
Roberto looked at each other. Antonio shrugged and pointed to himself, smiling.
I’ll go first, ok?
Roberto nodded.
Ok.
A couple of the
guys yelled anda! and órale! after Antonio as he left the room. Roberto sat on
the floor next to Ernesto, who was texting someone. Ernesto saw him looking and
grinned. La novia. Wants to know where I’m at!
Roberto nodded
smiled and someone said, ay cabrón. Someone passed him a one-hitter and a
lighter, and he took a hit. No one really watching the wrestling, talking in
groups, arguing, laughing. Lots of cabróns and a la chingadas.
After a while
Antonio came back out. A couple of the guys knocked fists with him, but when he
sat down on the other side of Roberto he wasn’t smiling, and wouldn’t look at
him.
Rufi pointed at
Roberto. Próximo caballero.
The guys laughed.
Roberto got up and walked down the hall. He opened the last door and went in.
She was naked,
face down on the bed, wrists tied to the headboard. Not moving, face turned to
the right, covered by her hair.
He shut the door
behind him and leaned back against it. At the sound of the door shutting she
groaned and moved slightly.
He took a step
towards her. Hello?
Nothing.
Hey.
She groaned again
softly.
He walked to the
right side of the bed and reached down and touched her on the shoulder. Hey.
You ok?
She lifted her
head, her hair sticking to her face. She looked up at him, eyes glazed,
whispering. Dónde...está...mi novio?
He stepped back,
staring at her. Her eyelids closed and she turned her face the other direction.
He backed up to
the door, looking at her, reaching for the knob. He opened the door and left,
closing it behind him.
The guys cheered
him when he came out. He sat back down next to Antonio and stared at the floor.
Rufi came over and handed him the one-hitter and lighter. Ahora te has hecho un
hombre! Don’t worry. She won’t remember shit. He smiled and went into the
kitchen.
Roberto took a
hit, coughed, and passed it to Antonio.
Ernesto checked
his phone. Bueno, me voy. Gotta see the old lady!
He stood up and
Antonio and Roberto stood too.
Rufi came back
holding a can of Tecate and saluted them. Órale vatos. Luego!
They said goodbye
and left. Outside the air cool and the stars still glowing. Ernest asked
Antonio if they needed a ride, but he said no.
Ernesto winked. Ok
mano, see you at work!
He got in his car
and drove off. The two boys started walking, hands deep in their pockets. They
walked without saying anything for a few minutes. Then Antonio laughed. So you
fuck her man?
Roberto looked at
him, then nodded. Yeah.
You use a condom?
No.
Ay cabrón, I did.
I’m not gonna catch anything off of that.
They walked the
rest of the way back to the trailer park in silence. At his trailer Roberto
gave a wave goodbye. Antonio grinned. Bueno, compa!
Inside, his mother
was still watching tv, a telenovela, sitting in her recliner and shaking her
head at the women onscreen. Mira. Look at those skirts. Que putas!
She smiled at him.
M’ijo, food is in the oven. Did you have fun with Antonio?
Sí Mamá.
He’s a nice boy.
Un buen chico.
Roberto nodded.
The door to his
sister’s room opened and Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie” poured out. She walked out
in her underwear and a t-shirt. She saw him and smiled, raising her arms and
dancing over to him. Hey guapo!
He scowled and
turned away. Vete!
His mother looked
over, frowning. Susana, baja la música! And put on some clothes!
Susana danced up
to him, singing and shaking her hips. Come on! Baila, Roberto!
He spun and pushed
her, hard. Leave me alone!
She slammed
against the refrigerator and fell to the floor. They stared at each other for a
moment. Her eyes watered and she sobbed.
His mother came up
out of her chair and across the room, slapping him. Roberto! Pero, qué haces?
His face darkened
and he pushed her back, though not as strong. Mamá! Leave me alone! She can’t
act like a puta! You can’t let her!
His mother stared
at him, crossing her arms, as his sister stood up, sniffling. Roberto, qué te
pasa? She frowned and pointed to the door. Fuera. Get out. You do not hit your
sister.
He glared at her,
opened his mouth to say something, but turned and walked outside, slamming the
door.
He stood on the
porch, staring up through the brown haze at the few visible stars, clenching
his fists. The hiss of traffic on the freeway. His mother’s television and the
program voices. His mother talking and sister crying. The wind. He breathed in,
deeply. And held it.
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