“Sign says you guys open at eight,” Chon said.
“I know what the sign says,” Goyo said, getting up from his chair. “But it’s Saturday.”
He walked out of the office and poured himself a cup of coffee from a pot that smelled fresh enough to Chon. Goyo nodded at the stack of Styrofoam cups next to the coffee maker. Chon shook his head no.
“C’mon, man. It’s for the customers.”
Chon grabbed a cup and emptied two packets of sugar and a creamer into it before pouring the coffee in. He made a swirl of varied shades of brown with the stir-straw. He took a tongue-burning sip of it for want of something to do while Goyo stood staring into the space that separated the two of them.
“Eight-fucking-thirty,” Goyo said, not exactly under his breath, but with no trace of hostility directed at Chon, shaking his head as he walked out of the garage and toward Chon’s car.
“So what seems to be the problem?” he asked Chon over his shoulder.
Chon was coming slowly out of the garage, holding the coffee with one hand and shielding his eyes from the morning sun with the other. He didn’t hear the question. “I’m sorry, what was that?” he said. He blinked his eyes and moved his hand from his eyes. In spots and rays and sparkles, Goyo was revealed.
“I asked you—” Goyo said. His tone dropped off there. Goyo looked Chon up and down, as if working up an estimate in his head, “—what’s the problem?”
Chon felt transparent. There was a look of knowing in Goyo’s eyes, and Chon was forced to wonder if Goyo remembered that Chon had seen him drunk, sobbing, and bleeding on Main Street.
“With the car? What brings you to the shop today?”
“Oh, nothing. I just need to get it inspected,” Chon said.
“I know that. I saw the ticket on the windshield. But what’s so wrong with it that you bring it here to me, on Saturday, at eight-thirty in the morning before anyone gets here?” Goyo leaned back on the hood of the car and crossed his arms.
“Nothing, really. The parking brake doesn’t work and the passenger seat belt doesn’t reel in,” Chon said.
Goyo’s left eyebrow raised. He looked at Chon as if he was trying to divine if Chon was lying.
“Just the parking brake and the seat belt?” he asked.
“That’s it,” Chon told him.
“Keys.”
Chon handed them over.
“Brake and seatbelt. Remember that you told me that.”
“The parking brake,” Chon corrected him.
Goyo looked at Chon across the roof of the car.
“Now, do you think I’d be getting in your damn car if the pedal brake didn’t work?” He got in the car and drove away shaking his head.
Chon emptied his coffee in the grass. Steam rose from the ground. After a bit of time that seemed shorter than Chon would have expected it to be, Goyo drove past the garage and backed the Dodge-nasty in so quickly that Chon thought for sure he was going to hit one of the tool boxes or workbenches. It stopped with a rubber-peeling squeal of tires.
“Brakes work,” Goyo said getting out of the car. He clicked on the hazard lights and walked behind the car where Chon was standing. “Lights work too. So it’s just the parking brake and the seatbelt.”
Chon nodded as Goyo turned off the lights and killed the engine. He walked back around the car to Chon. Tossing him the keys, he said, “She’s not going to be riding shotgun, is she?”
Chon didn’t understand the question. Goyo looked him hard in the eye. He pulled up a chrome stool with the Ford logo printed on its vinyl seat cover. He sat, feet propped on the bar around the stool’s legs, his fingers drumming the seat underneath his crotch.
“Araceli, genius. Is Araceli going to be driving around in that death trap?”
Now Chon understood. He understood the question Goyo had asked him and he understood the way Goyo had looked at him outside, before.
“No, no. She…we…” Chon stopped and took a breath. “No. I just take it to work and school. I mean, I drop my brother off at school, that’s about it.”
“I don’t know your brother,” Goyo said. “I could give a shit if you drive him anywhere.”
“Araceli and I are never in this car. She always has her dad’s truck whenever we go anywhere. This thing doesn’t have air or heat.”
“If I give you a sticker, I better not see you driving Araceli in this heap of shit. I mean it,” Goyo said, still sitting feet on stool, but no longer drumming on the seat.
“We never take this car. Ever. I promise.” Chon spoke these words clearly and confidently, like he hadn’t spoken any of his other words all morning.
“Good.” Goyo stood up. “If I see her in your car, I’ll kick your ass.” He was standing right in front of Chon. Two feet separated them, but otherwise they were eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose. “I mean it. I just may fucking kill you.”
Chon nodded his head. “I promise she won’t ride in this car.”
Goyo stood in front of Chon, staring anger at having already lost a brother and now also at the thought of losing a sister. If it didn’t mean breaking his stare at Goyo—which would have meant losing a game that predates language—Chon would have looked at Goyo’s hands to make sure he wasn’t clutching a wrench or some other such bludgeon.
Goyo turned away and walked toward the office. “I’ll get the sticker ready,” he said. “That’ll be $100.”
It had cost Chon $80 the year before, but no one else would give him an inspection sticker on the sly—the repairs his car needed would cost four to five times that. He went to the Dodge-nasty and got his checkbook from the glove compartment.
*
Araceli got her acceptance letter to UT in late March.
In the six weeks of his relationship with her, Chon had received more attention—99% of it negative—than he ever had before in his life. It consisted mostly of dirty looks from girls and cruel befuddlement from boys. He knew that Araceli was having a rougher go of it. He was a nothing, a nobody, a dark horse no one knew was even in the race. She had an image to protect—her own and that of her dead boyfriend. Through it all, she answered the questions of Why him? with silence for those she didn’t know well enough to give the fuck you she gave to everyone else. She did not once—though at times she really wanted to, she told Chon—mention that John, alive, had done her wrong. He had cheated on her. He had left her. Why tar his memory—the one held by his parents and friends, the one she herself wanted to keep, even the ideal held by the finger pointers and stone throwers who were so bent on denying her happiness? What good would it have done?
It occurred to Chon—who never told Araceli his revelation—that what she was running from when she left town the preceding summer was, in part, him. Or at least whoever would have come to fill the role of the thief of Greenton’s crown jewel. She had stayed away to avoid complications like Chon, to avoid life in Greenton, which they were both learning wasn’t real life. It was a world unto itself. No one outside the bounds of Greenton’s 5.9 square miles or 4,498 citizens was scandalized by Araceli Monsevais having moved on from her loss. Greenton was a prescribed reality, and it was one that could be outrun.
So when Araceli received her letter of acceptance from UT with a scholarship package that meant she could get an education from the school for almost nothing, she drove straight to the Pachanga to tell Chon the good news. She handed Chon the letter and jumped up and down in excitement across the counter from him. It was a Wednesday.
All Chon really read was the letterhead: the seal of the college on top with the words written on the header, underlined in burnt orange, “The University of Texas at Austin.” He caught sight of the word Congratulations, but he had not yet processed the word when Araceli hoisted herself over the counter and into Chon’s arms. He pulled her over, her feet knocking down the barcode scanner that sat next to the register.
Her nervous energy was infectious. Three customers came in while she was there. “I just got into UT,” she told them. They all left smi
ling, giving her their congratulations.
In his short time with Araceli, Chon had not seen that look of pure joy. It didn’t infect him with happiness the way it had the customers who had come and gone.
Chon was barely smiling. The muscles in his face that pulled up the corners of his mouth hurt. It was a smile that hid and denied, like so many he had flashed when John was around. That smile hid a longing—lustful and passionate and somewhat embarrassing. This smile hid fear. He was afraid of being left behind in Greenton to spend his nights with Henry, drinking by the cemetery on the nights when he didn’t have to open the store the next morning. He was afraid of losing what he had worked so hard to get, afraid of losing her.
So he smiled grimly and nodded at words he wasn’t hearing as Araceli continued her celebratory jumping up and down. She danced on air there in front of him to music he couldn’t hear. He felt further away from her than he ever had when he was outside of her life looking in.
The bell above the door rang. Chon turned to see who it was, painful smile still plastered on his face. It was Ana. She raised an eyebrow playfully at Chon. Araceli caught sight of her.
“Ana!” she said. “I got into UT!”
Ana looked at Araceli, who hadn’t ever in her life addressed Ana directly by name—just come into the store or seen Ana around town and given the obligatory nod in lieu of a wave—then she looked at Chon. She caught wise. She looked above the stupid grin on Chon’s face at the beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
“That’s great mi ‘jita, really wonderful.”
Being there in the Pachanga with a woman he could only describe as a former lover—though he would never use those words—and the girl of his dreams made Chon feel like he did that night so long ago when, pants around his ankles and Ana on her knees in front of him, he was naked for all of Greenton to see his skinny legs and hairy, chicken cutlet ass. He felt a swell of nausea overtake him. This was all too much.
“There was a trail ride today,” Ana said. “The lot was full of doolies pulling horse trailers. I swear, about fifty kids and their asshole parents, all dressed in stupid Garth Brooks shirts and cowboy hats came in here and wiped out the cooler. I didn’t have a chance to get to it, so I thought I’d come and help you out.”
Chon nodded. It was all he could do.
“Well, okay,” Araceli said. “My mom and dad are both rushing home from work so we can celebrate. They’re probably there waiting for me. I just had to come tell you the great news.” She gave Chon a tender kiss on the lips. A long one with a squeeze of Chon’s skinny waist, followed by a short one and her hands behind his neck, like she always gave when they parted. Ana walked into the cooler without putting on her jacket.
“I love you,” Araceli said as she left.
She kept her eyes on Chon through the glass door that closed behind her.
“Love you too,” he said. The words were toneless and his voice cracked a little under the weight of the phrase, but she couldn’t hear that. She could only read his lips through the glass. She blew a kiss at Chon from behind the wheel of her car.
As soon as the Suburban was on its way down Main, Ana emerged from the cooler. She walked up to the counter slowly and stood looking at Chon. He was exhausted, awash in thoughts of Friday nights crashing ranch parties with Henry, getting drunk and being laughed at by kids who would not be able to imagine themselves that sad and pathetic. He didn’t think he could deal with Ana just then. He knew he didn’t want to.
“What?” he said harshly and without looking at Ana, almost making the word two syllables. When he did look at her, he could see she was checking herself, suppressing a reaction she normally wouldn’t have thought twice about firing off. She took a deep breath.
“You got your chula,” she told him. “I’m proud of you.”
“This isn’t funny, Ana. I’m not laughing, and so you’re really just being mean right now.”
“Chones, I’m not trying to be funny. Or mean. I’m just trying to talk to you. We don’t talk anymore.”
Chon had no response to this. He had wanted a fight just then. He wanted Ana to make jokes and mean comments so he could make some of his own—or even just yell at her. He had no response for her sincere concern. He turned around and busied himself with stocking cigarettes.
“She’s a beautiful girl, and you really do deserve her. You’re a good man. You’re becoming a good man.” Ana paused here for a response from Chon. When he gave none, she spoke on.
“She’s all you’ve ever wanted, and you got her. Do you know how often that happens? About fucking never. People have to settle for what takes them, for whoever’s settling for them. But you got your girl.”
Not seeing where any of this was going, Chon finally looked Ana in the eyes. She just stood there.
“So?” he asked.
“So what are you going to do?” Ana said, herself sounding harsh now, as though she was offended by Chon’s not being able to read between the very clear lines she was drawing.
“About what?”
Ana stared at Chon through the stupidity of his question.
“Well, what can I do—ask her not to go?” Chon finally said. “Ask her to put her dreams on the shelf so she can stay here in Greenton, so she can drop me off and pick me up from work and bring me lunch when she has the free time?”
“I can’t tell if you’re a coward or just a fucking idiot,” Ana said calmly. “But I’ll tell you this, you’re full of shit.”
There it was, the provocation Chon was looking for.
“I’m full of shit? Why, because I don’t live my life for someone else, anyone else who will love me and fuck me and pay attention to me?”
Ana flashed a wide smile at this and nodded her head up and down.
“Alright,” she said, still calm. “You think you have me figured out. That’s cute. It really is. But you know what? I have you figured out too. See, I’m all alone. It’s just me and a paycheck that barely pays the bills. I didn’t finish high school, and I’ve only worked in shit places like this. I can’t leave this town, this job. I wouldn’t be able to buy enough gas to get me to any place better. And if I did go someplace better, what would I do when I got there?
“But you, you fucking pussy, you can do anything you want to. Hell, you’re about to finish high school with decent grades, and you’ve got a girl who loves you. But you look at this situation and see no fix. You know why? Because fixing this would mean you’d have to do something big. You’d have to quit here and leave the only place you know so you can chase a girl you don’t even know will stay with you. Yeah, I know you, Chones. You can’t see the thing to do because you’re so damn scared of being hurt and of not having home and this stupid fucking town to fall back on. I’ve never left here because I’m broken. You won’t leave because you’re afraid.”
Chon said nothing to this. He stood there, steam building inside of him, trying to think of something absolutely horrible and cruel to say to Ana.
“Honestly,” she said. “Why do you think you were here at the store or over at my house, fucking me when you wanted your little homecoming queen? You were too fucking scared to go after her because you didn’t know what would happen. You saw me, sad and old and lonely and you hopped on. How pathetic does that make you?
“It took two boys dying for you to go after this girl. If they didn’t die—” Her voice cracked here. She shook off tears that were trying to form in her eyes. She shouted, “If they didn’t die, you’d still be at my house, fucking me and leaving with that sad little look on your face, like you wanted to be with anyone in the world but me.”
“Yeah,” Chon was finally able to shout back. “And you’d still let me fuck you.”
Ana picked up a plastic chewing gum display and threw it at Chon. It caught him on the chin. Blood rolled down his neck onto his shirt. There was chewing gum all over the floor behind the counter. Ana was crying now.
“Yeah, I would. But who does that really make look sad
—me or you?” She walked away from the counter, but stopped at the door.
“I really mean it,” she said. “You deserve a beautiful girl like that.” She spoke her last words between sobs. “Because you’re a really great person. You’re just such a fucking pussy. But I guess no one’s perfect.”
Chon stood there for a minute, staring at where Ana had been at the counter in front of him, thinking of more horrible things to say to her, trying not to hear what she had told him. He looked out at the parking lot. She was gone. He went to the restroom and washed the dried blood off his chin. He grabbed a Band-Aid from the first aid kit in the back and put it on the dent the plastic had made on his face. He picked up the gum from the floor and was able to restock the near-empty cooler between customers.
It was a slow night at the Pachanga.
The last day of school snuck up on Chon like it had on the rest of the class of ’99. There were tests and projects and make-up absences to think about, but between school and work and Araceli, Chon felt like he’d lost all sense of time. He found himself wishing that the last day of school would never come. It was ironic that, after wanting school to be over for so long, Chon only thought of the next day’s passing with dread. In a place where time seemed to stand absolutely still, Chon felt like all of the boring events of Greenton and high school were happening too fast. Because, come fall, Araceli would be gone.
They had talked about the fall. She was going to Austin for school. She would visit home as often as she could. When Chon could get time off from work, he would visit her. He would spend the semester working and applying for spring enrollment at UT—which he didn’t believe he would get, but he didn’t tell that to Araceli.
They had also made love by this point. Chon’s parents were at Pito’s baseball game one Saturday afternoon. Araceli came over. Chon didn’t realize what was happening until it was done. Araceli told him it was better than her first time with John. With her there lying naked in his arms, Chon decided that he had had a happy childhood. None of it seemed as bad as he had made it out to be.
At work, Ana had taken to leaving early, abandoning the store completely, not bothering to lock up because she would always leave just minutes before Chon arrived. There were a couple of occasions where Chon walked into the store and there were customers walking the aisles, trying to decide what brand of unhealthy and overpriced they were going to buy that day. They never seemed to notice the store was unmanned, maybe assuming that whoever was working there was in the back or in the restroom or anywhere but a cheap clapboard house on the bad side of town. Chon couldn’t tell if he actually missed Ana or if he was just feeling bad for what he told her or, even worse, if he was mad at her because she said the things she did.
Seeing Off the Johns Page 15