Seeing Off the Johns

by Rene S Perez II

  “Bad news, Chon,” Araceli said. “An eighteen-wheeler went off the road outside of Zapata. Everyone’s okay, the guy just fell asleep. Thing is, they called Dos Reyes to mend the fence—after hours, emergency pay—so that they don’t lose any more stock. So my dad, my uncle, and Henry all went to do their thing. There’s a herd of cattle walking all over Highway 16. Crazy shit, huh?”

  Chon nodded his head. He forced the words, “Yeah, crazy,” out of his mouth. Disappointment was overtaking him so suddenly, he was afraid that he would shudder visibly in front of Araceli. And Pito was staring at him, ready to watch a happy Chon crack and crumble and turn to dust at the prospect of a night without the only girl in town, anywhere, he’d ever wanted to be with.

  He was being rejected by Araceli. She couldn’t bear the idea of being with him without Henry as a buffer. That’s what he figured.

  “So I guess it’s just the two of us,” she said. “I’ll try not to bore you too much.” She turned around and took the porch steps of the Gonzales house two at a time. She was halfway down the walkway when she noticed Chon wasn’t on her heels.

  Her hair did the funny thing, like she was some kind of model doing pleasantly surprised for the cameras, where it hopped perfectly over her shoulder to reveal her smiling face. She turned and called to Chon, “You coming?” He still didn’t believe that he was.

  In the front seat of her father’s Suburban, after some forced and stunted small talk about his day at school and that evening’s upcoming game, Chon finally relaxed. He laid his head back and closed his eyes for a second. He grinned, helpless to do anything else. When he sat up and looked over at Araceli, he could see she’d been watching him.

  “I bet you’re happy you’re not working right now,” she said.

  “You know what?” he replied. “I really am.”

  Araceli smiled and looked out at the road in front of them. On the radio, what had otherwise been ignorable acoustic singer-songwriter crooning caught Chon’s ear. There was a line about lying to someone, saying they would be friends ‘till the day that we die.’ It was music Chon had never heard, too light to be played on the harder-leaning rock stations that came in from Corpus and Laredo, too weird to be played on the country stations, too indie sounding for MTV.

  “What’s this?” Chon said, pointing to the radio.

  “Oh, it’s this guy from Austin. His name is Bob Schneider.” Chon wrinkled his chin and bobbed his head up and down in approval. “The people I stayed with last summer went to a bunch of shows at this restaurant/bar place that had fake surfboards as tables and was like a block away from the water. They always invited me to come. I didn’t know them. You know? I didn’t want to be there. But one night I decided to go. So I was there, all sad and mopey, and the band came on, and I just had a good time. There wasn’t even really anything about the songs that spoke to me or anything like that. I think I was just ready to let myself have fun. So I bought the album and it totally surprised me. The show was energetic and funky and kind of crazy, and the album is like this. When I listened to it all the way through, I wasn’t expecting it to be soft and sweet and meaningful. I cried. I listened to it over and over again. It kind of became the soundtrack of my summer.”

  They sat riding, everything quiet but the sound of the treads humming on the highway and Bob Schneider singing and playing his guitar. Lulled into a state of comfort so profound as to make him forget the magnitude of the situation—him, Araceli, alone together on the road, the opportunity he’d waited so long for—Chon spoke without thinking.

  “So I bet you did all kinds of cool stuff this summer.” He was looking out into nothing, as if trying to watch the sound waves in front of him as the music bent and bounced them. When Araceli didn’t respond, Chon looked over at her.

  “Well, it certainly wasn’t another Greenton summer,” she said, seeming hard-pressed even to have come up with that.

  Chon wanted to speak, but about what? His summer? How all he did was think of ways to capitalize on the death of the Johns?

  “I had a lot to deal with,” she said after a while. “More than anyone knows.”

  “Yeah, I can only imagine what you went through.”

  “That’s not it, though.” Araceli blew her breath out like she was trying to rid her lungs of a poison. “You assume it’s because of what happened with John. You assume I shut myself in a room I couldn’t even lock the door to because I had to share it with some twelve-year-old girl I barely knew because John died, because him and Robison crashed their car. You think I spent every day this summer, every single day, crying because my boyfriend died. Which is sad. It tore me apart. But there were things you don’t know, things no one knows.”

  Chon could have done two things just then. He could have looked away from Araceli and stared at the fence posts they were passing and the thickets of brush and cactus and bare mesquite trees that were cutting chaos on the horizon as the setting sun glowed weakly behind them. He could have let her cry her silent tears so he could compartmentalize what she was going through, classify it as something to swallow and hide. It would have been the easy thing to do, but it wasn’t what he actually did.

  He sat up in his warmed captain’s chair, ran his hands through his hair, reached over into the void that separated him from all he’d ever wanted, his hand stopping roughly halfway between the two of them to turn off the radio.

  “Like what, Araceli? What don’t I know?”

  She shook her head. Sobs pulled her chest in. Her shoulders seemed to be trying to touch one another. Chon adjusted his seat belt and turned in his seat to face her full-on. “You can tell me,” he said.

  Araceli looked over at Chon. When their eyes met, she cried harder, almost crazy-like. A whine began to accompany her sniffles, a long, deep whine—all chest and pain. She looked back to the road. Chon figured that maybe, from the way she looked at him, Araceli would share her burden as soon as she stopped crying. He waited.

  The game’s byline was as bad as it could have been expected to be. The Greyhounds lost to the Bears 57-13. It was a brutal ending to a brutal season. What was unexpected was the way the game started. The Greyhounds won the coin toss. But Coach Gallegos deferred possession of the ball—like he did every time the team won a toss, insisting it showed strength and instilled confidence in his team when, really, all is did was allow a team to ram right through the porous Greyhound defense on the way to a blowout. The Bears returner juked and hurdled his way down to the Greenton thirty-five-yard line when one of his blockers threw a hit so hard on the scrawny fútbolero-come-kicker that the poor kid flew back a good five feet, directly into the would-be scoring path of the runner. His helmet hit and dislodged the ball from the runner’s hand. Greenton possession.

  “He broke up with me,” she told him. “Right there, in front of almost everybody in town. I knew it was coming. But I was more upset about him breaking up in front of everyone than I was about the actual break-up.”

  The Greyhounds scored a touchdown on what was not so much a trick play as a botched one—a Statue of Liberty-type thing that no one at the game could fully describe in terms any more technical than crazy, miraculous, and badass. Then there was the legitimate defensive stand on the next series that had the Bears going three and out. This resulted in good field position that made possible a forty-four yard field goal, compliments of the battered but back-patted and ass-slapped kicker given credit for, and made confident by, his ‘play’ on the ball that resulted in Greenton’s touchdown drive.

  “Oh my god,” Chon responded. “He broke up with you. You had to deal with getting dumped and then with the fact that the guy who did it died? I’m sorry, Celi.” Chon had never used the diminutive of her name—something reserved for her family members and probably John Mejia. It had just come off his tongue then, but she didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow at his familiarity. “I’m so sorry.”

  With the 10-0 lead, Greenton’s fans were heartened, excited even. They hadn’t learned t
he lessons of weeks and years gone by. Of course the Bears, physically superior and already playoff-bound, came back. Their running back—who was voted All-State and had won a scholarship to Baylor that he never cashed in on account of a simple breaking-and-entering that turned to accessory to homicide when the homeowner died from blows to the head that resulted from the struggle he had with the athlete’s accomplice—ran for five touchdowns and almost five hundred yards. With every Bear score and Greyhound turnover or dropped pass, Greenton’s fans lost a little bit of hope. By the end of the game, they were more dejected than they would have been had the boys lost by 100 touchdowns. They filed out of the stands, walked out to their cars and probably drove all the way home in silence.

  “That’s not it,” she told him. “That was bad enough, but no one knew we had broken up when he died. So his mom thought we were still together. She feels this connection with me—like he was ours. She called me every day this summer. Every day. She came over to the house the day after I got back and just went crazy. She was bawling and screaming. Then it was like I lost him all over again, like I left town to hide from something and as soon as I got back I was forced to deal with it.”

  Chon had bitten on the bait of the last game of his high school career ending with a win like everyone else around him. He believed they could do it, that they were going to. He didn’t take the loss as hard as everyone around him, as hard as Araceli did. When the Bears took the lead, 14-10 before the end of the first quarter, he knew it was all over. But he cheered and yelled just like everyone else. He grimaced and groaned with his neighbors at the down-by-down developments of the massacre. He was hoarse and tired by the end of the game.

  “I couldn’t tell her that he had broken up with me. The truth wasn’t worth adding another layer of bullshit for her to deal with. But she kept on calling to talk to me about what she was going through and what she thought I was going through. It has gotten to the point where I go over to see her every other day or so. She just stays home, not leaving the house even for work. My visits are the only reason she gets dressed and does herself up.”

  Araceli pulled into the stadium parking lot when she finished her confession. She looked at Chon, her face pinched up, waiting for what he would say.

  “And you still haven’t told her?” Chon had asked.

  Araceli shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Stupid question, huh?

  Araceli took off her seatbelt and opened her door, hesitating. Would she add more? Chon looked at her, but she got out of the Suburban and slammed the door behind her.

  After the game, Chon and Araceli grabbed a couple of burgers to go. Araceli insisted since Chon had to open the Pachanga in the morning. Chon sorted the food, propping Araceli’s French fry box in the cup holder nearest her and re-wrapping her burger so she could eat it one-handed without getting dirty. He handed her the burger and asked if she wanted ketchup. When he did, Araceli looking at him sideways and smiled. He blushed, thankful she couldn’t see him in the dark.

  “Can you believe that game?” Araceli asked.

  “Yeah,” Chon said. “They killed us.”

  “But that first quarter. I thought we were could actually win. I thought our last game would be a win.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Chon took a bite of his burger and turned the radio back on to cover the sounds of his chewing.

  “I could tell. I think that’s the only time I’ve heard you cheer all season.” Araceli pointed a fry at Chon. “You’re almost as much of an asshole as my cousin.”

  Mouth full, Chon couldn’t retort. Araceli laughed.

  “You know, I think I’m actually going to miss this. Games, road trips, yelling for a horrible team, all of it. Not even because I like it, but because it’s all I know. For the first time all season, I wished I could be down on the sidelines cheering with the girls. I wanted to have it back for five minutes—just one cheer or dance routine—and then go back up to the stands with you. But you can’t have it that way, can you? I think that’s what it’s going to be like after graduation. We’re going to leave home and wish for just a little we could be back here.”

  “I never thought I would ever wish for any of my time in high school,” Chon said. He drank from his soda to clear his mouth. “To tell the truth, I’ve hated most of it. It wasn’t so horrible, but I’ve felt like a no one, like Henry was the only person who knew I existed.”

  “So you need people to know you exist? You need to be seen?”

  “No,” Chon paused here, unsure of what to say, then unsure if he should say it. “But I wanted to feel like someone cared about me.”

  Araceli looked over at Chon. The very fact of their sharing space in the car at that moment made him look away. Her looking at him right then made him want to jump out. She took a last bite of her burger, put what was left neatly on the center console and, with a wipe of her hand on her jeans, grabbed the steering wheel at ten and two and stared out at the road.

  They approached the bright white pump lights of a gas station that signaled Driscoll, Texas ahead of them. There were still two hours of dark, mostly middle-of-nowhere driving, ahead of them. Araceli pulled the Suburban into the station and up to a pump. She did a thing Chon had been noticing of late. She leaned her head slightly to the right to crack her neck, her shoulders rising up and rolling back, and her hands rising to her yawning face—always that sequence, always in one fluid motion like she was summoning something up from deep inside of her and expelling it with a pleasure as simple as waking up from a satisfying nap.

  It was here that Araceli walked a fine line between beautiful and sexy, someone he wanted to love and someone he wanted. It killed him. It always had, all of the wanting and longing to no avail. But now, the new dimensions of his actual earned, interactive knowledge made it more exhilarating than torturous. Araceli’s neck pop-back stretch-yawn move woke Chon to the fact that while he was riding back home from a game, baring his soul and making embarrassing confessions to a new friend, that was not all he was doing. He was doing it all with the girl he’d thought about constantly for as long as he cared to remember, and that was larger than the sum of its mundane parts. He was sitting in a car with Araceli, the girl he had lost and the woman he had since declared to himself to be the most everything anywhere. The good life was spending an evening alone with the girl of your dreams, and Chon was living it.

  “Are we on empty?” he asked.

  “No, but we should fill up to be safe.”

  “Alright, I’ll get it.” Chon unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door to go in and pay for gas.

  “Stop it,” Araceli said, loud but not angry.

  “What?”

  “You paid for the tickets to the game and then you paid for the burgers. Stop it. I’ll pay for the gas.” Araceli got out of the Suburban and started for the store. Chon followed her. “I’m not going to let you pay, so don’t even try.”

  “Fine,” he told her. “I just thought I’d walk into the store with you. Keep you company”

  Araceli gave the cashier a twenty. The guy didn’t bother to put down the phone to make eye contact when he whispered thanks. Chon hated gas station service like that. Worse, he hated more the fact that it was something he noticed.

  Araceli walked quickly to the pump, as if she were racing Chon. She took the handle off the hook and put it in the Suburban’s gas tank.

  Seeing that she was having some difficulty, Chon offered silently to help. Araceli grimaced at his gesture, but he insisted by grabbing the handle, squeezing it, and thumbing down the lever that rigged it to pump on its own.

  “Don’t mean to step on your toes. I’m good with these things, kind of my job,” Chon said.

  They stood there, listening to the sound of trucks idling at the station and trucks passing by on the highway, to the rush of gasoline flowing through hoses into the Suburban. Chon grabbed a squeegee from a bucket next to the pump. He went to work ridding the Suburban’s windshield of dead bug parts. He did
it in a few quick motions, and had the squeegee back in the bucket by the time Araceli’s twenty dollars’ worth of gas was done pumping. When it was, Chon put the handle on the hook and opened the driver’s door for Araceli. He made a gesture like a chauffeur.

  “Thank you for your business today. Be safe in your travels and come back and see us if ever you’re down Greenton-way,” he said in faux-broadcast voice. “I mean, Driscoll-way,” he corrected himself, speaking normally.

  Araceli didn’t move. She had been watching Chon’s gas station attendant routine, arms crossed and lips uncurved in neither smile nor frown.

  She pointed the ignition key at Chon and said “Listen,” in such a tone that Chon didn’t know what to expect her to say next. “I’m not being bitchy or cold. I just get tired of guys always trying to pay or to treat or to step in and fix something that’s not broken or help me with something I can do on my own. John did it all the time. It pissed me off no end. I just wanted to let you know that. So I did.”

  She was dead serious. She stood there, arms crossed, left hand in the crook of her right elbow, right hand extended to Chon with a truck key claw as a pointer—like she was going to fight him using the Praying Mantis kung-fu technique—her face not really scowling, though it might as well have been for as unused to seeing Araceli unsmiling as Chon was.

  “So I won’t pay for you,” Chon said, cautiously. “And I’m sorry about pumping the gas.”

  “Well, it’s your job,” Araceli said. “I’d give you a tip, but I just used all of my cash for gas.”

  “Don’t worry,” Chon said. “I’ll pay the tip…wait, never mind.”

  Araceli laughed and threw the keys at Chon. When they bounced off of his chest, she laughed harder. Chon bent down to pick up the keys and rubbed his chest where they had hit him.

  “So now you become violent with me?”