project?”
They both looked up, startled and ready to run. I hopped down off the road so they could see me better. “What the fuck you sneaking up on us for? We thought you were the police.” Martin said when he saw I was alone.
“Yeah,” the other one said, “you think you’re funny or something? You could get your ass kicked sneaking up on people.”
I gripped my skate. “Come on Martin,” I said, “you know the police don’t come back here.”
“You know this fucking guy Marvin?” The big one asked.
“I never saw him before in my life.”
“That’s funny, I remember you took the Just Say No pledge in front of the entire school last year.” I said. His friend started laughing.
Martin walked toward me to get a closer look. “Oh it’s just Nicky.” He said. “Where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in forever, did you get expelled or some shit?”
“Nah, I just quit going.”
“This fool lives in the same building as Colin.” He said to his friend. “He’s alright.”
“Did you really take the Just Say No pledge Marvin? I wish I could’ve seen that shit.” His friend said, giggling and shaking up the can of spray paint. The little mixer-ball in the can rattled. He wore pressed khakis that sagged down to his hips and a white tank-top. I could see a faint moustache and his hair was slicked back. He had Adidas shell tops on with fat laces. I tossed my skate on the couch and sat beside it.
Martin was shorter than him and his curly hair was trimmed in a tight fade so that it almost made a flat-top. He was wearing new jeans and a plaid button-up shirt. He had on some kind of Nikes. He was a thin kid, a grade younger than me. He liked to swagger around school like he was hard or something, but his mom drove a BMW. Colin and I used to crack on him all the time, but lately he’d been hanging out with some people who could kick our asses, so we left him alone. Everyone called him Martian, which I guess is where the Marvin thing came from.
“What’re you writing over there?” I asked. The guy stopped for a second and looked over his shoulder at me.
As he spoke he turned back and started spraying again. His hand made graceful loops and arcs across the wall. “First and foremost I got to put up the N.T.P. that’s my hood and my crew. Then comes the classic ‘barbwire’ tag, that’s me, don’t front like you haven’t seen that shit, and, on the bottom,” he paused for effect, “Marvin says Just Say No.”
“You put that shit up and I’ll kick your ass.” Martin said.
“Oh you gonna be tough now in front of your friend? It’s too late man, it’s already up.”
Martin went over to inspect his friend’s piece.
“You have a way with words.” I said.
“Yeah.” He stepped back and looked at his work. “Words are my bitch.”
“You can be a real fuck sometimes, Ricky.” Martin said. “I just did that shit so they wouldn’t mess with me. It worked too, Mr. Banse left me alone after that.”
“Mr. Banse -that guy’s a dick.” I said. “I didn’t even have him and he’d still stop me in the hall and check my eyes. Were you there when he flipped out on that blonde freshman girl in the lunchroom because her eyes were all red and she started crying. She was swearing up and down she had allergies and begging him not to take her to the principal.”
“Yeah, I saw that shit. I wish I had some buddha right now so my eyes could get all red… I know you got some weed Nick, you’re always smoking that shit.”
“Nah, I’m tapped out.” I said. “But you had those girls back here, so you suave-ass Latinos must at least have some wine or something.”
“We’re Chicanos, fool… And what we got is better than that. Give him a little sniff man, I want to see if he can handle his shit.” Martin said. I got excited for a second, thinking they had some variety of snortable powder, but I saw that I was wrong when Martin’s friend started spraying the paint into a paper bag. He walked over with a big smile on his face.
“You’ll love this, hommie.” His eyes widened. “It’s like pac-man going through your brains and shit.”
“Yeah, well that sounds great, thanks.” I mumbled, taking the bag from him. I exhaled as I put it up to my face, covering my mouth and nose. I pressed it hard so that no air could get in around the edges and I inhaled deeply. It stung like hell and I pulled the bag away immediately to give myself air. I could taste the chemicals in the paint and I was choking. I coughed violently and doubled over for a second. There was a long trail of spit hanging from my mouth, but I couldn’t feel it. I quickly wiped it away and sat up. The two of them were laughing, but I could barley hear them. I felt blood rushing to my head and I had to grab the arm of the couch for stability. I looked over and Martin’s smiling face was right next to me. I thought I might puke.
“You put too much in that time.” I heard Martin say. It sounded like he was far away. It wasn’t dark anymore, it was the brightest daylight I’d ever seen. Then it was too bright. Everything around me was shining brilliant white light. I had a headache.
3
I woke up to the sound of a siren. It wasn’t a cop car or an ambulance, and it wasn’t a car alarm. It took me a minute to process where I was and what I was hearing. It sounded like the air raid sirens in old war movies when the enemy was about to bomb. I pictured Londoners running for cover. A long arabesque of sound from a dull moan to a high pitch squeal and back down again. I wondered if someone had finally declared war on South Pasadena.
Sitting up on the couch I felt a sharp pain in my temple. The strip-lot looked much better at night, in the daytime it took on a grim quality that felt strangely familiar. I didn’t want to be there. It occurred to me that I’d promised Gram I’d go to church with her. I looked around, trying to gage what time it was by the sunlight, but I couldn’t be sure. Gram liked to go to the 9:45 service on weekdays, and it was definitely past 9:00. I wondered why that siren was going off.
It took a while for me to find my skate, and for a moment I thought that Martin and Barbie had stolen it. But of course they were too cool to skate, they rode bikes or got fancy automobile rides. I pulled myself up onto the road and headed toward the park. I was in a hurry because Gram would be ‘disappointed’ with me if I missed church. Staying out all night was one thing, she was used to that, but if I missed church I had to hear about it in long lectures on ‘the righteous path’ and my ‘immortal soul’.
Skating home that morning I was the loudest thing on the street. I could hear birds chirping and the wail of the siren in the distance, but mainly I heard my wheels on the pavement echoing off of the houses, trees, and parked cars. Hearing that noise spreading out around me made me think about bats, and how they use echolocation instead of sight. Usually that was a hard concept to understand, but right then it made sense because I could hear how my sound changed as I went by different things.
I was coming up my street when I saw Gram turn out of the underground garage in her dark blue 1983 Cadillac Coupe de Ville. She was wearing her sunglasses and a hat. I didn’t think she saw me, but it was hard to tell because of the sunglasses. Either way, I felt relief, I wouldn’t have to see her for at least two hours. On the other hand I’d have to hear about my soul when I did see her.
Walking into the apartment, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror above the fake mantle. I was startled for a second, and then I had to laugh. I had gold paint all around my mouth and up over my nose. I wondered what Gram would’ve said if she’d been there to see this.
She’d left a note on the fridge that I was supposed to vacuum the shop and turn the air conditioner on. She wanted it nice and cool in case someone strolling by was suddenly overcome with the urge to buy Virgin Mary nightlights for their kids. The note also said ‘we need to talk’ -an ominous phrase.
I took my shoes off and sand came pouring out. In the shower I immediately began the process of scrubbing the skin around my mouth with a wash cloth. I thought it was working because I saw gold on the cloth, but
when I got out and cleared a spot on the mirror with my hand, I still had paint from the bridge of my nose all the way down to my chin. I brought the washcloth to the sink and held it under scalding water. After a few minutes of scrubbing as hard as I could using lots of soap, I looked at my reflection again. There was still gold, a bit faded in spots, but still very bright on my nostrils and nose and all around my mouth. I repeated the scrubbing process twice, hardly making any progress. I finally had to stop because my face was now bright red, as well as gold, from having been rubbed raw. I felt like crying or hitting something.
I dried myself and put on clean boxers and my Good Pants and Good Shirt. I left my Good Shoes where they were and put on my Chuck Taylor All Stars. If I was going to sit through grand lectures and watch Gram wring her hands all day, I was going to do it in comfortable shoes. I got the store keys and took one more look at myself in the mirror. My face was a disaster area, I was going to scare the shit out of everybody.
I skated slowly toward the shop, smoking two cigarettes as I went. Her store was called Trinity Gifts and she sold anything that had to do with the Catholic religion. It was in a two room storefront on Mission Street that was out of the way but got some foot traffic from an ice cream parlor around the corner and an antique store across the street. She sold five different
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