by Jolene Perry
I should have expected this. I just didn’t realize how it would steal my breath.
He stops when the water’s not quite to his knees and slowly lowers her down. I can’t really make out her face in the dark, but her body language says it all. She’s practically sealed to him they’re so close.
I’m standing in shadow, but I know in this moment that I don’t want either of them to see me. I also don’t want to see any more.
Now I do run. I run past where he’s dragged her into the water, and past the other few people on the beach. I run up the well lit area in front of the parking lot, jump on my bike, tighten my helmet, and drive.
* * *
Reno, Nevada isn’t nearly far enough away from home, but my bike’s turn signals are glitching out on me, and that’s something I know how to fix. Electronics I can do. Engine…not so much.
I’ve been driving for… I’m not even sure how long, but my ass aches and my back’s starting to hurt. It’s been light for hours, and I never stopped last night.
Another gust of wind pelts me as I slow down and pull into the parking lot of a red brick motorcycle shop that looks as if was built in the fifties and left to weather. I’m still on the edge of town. A few weeds poke through the asphalt near the ice cooler on the side of the brick building, and I climb off the bike after setting the kickstand, hoping I have the tools I need in my small tool kit.
A little girl, maybe three or four, stops next to me in a dress. Her pudgy knees are stained in oil, and her caramel skin is a sharp contrast to her bright pink dress. “I Celia.”
“Cecelia,” I say with a smile. “You’re breaking my heart.” I laugh at the joke she won’t get.
“You’re shaking my confidence, baby.” She giggles a high-pitched squealy giggle.
I snort out a laugh. Who the hell teaches their child that song?
“Ceecee!” A short woman dashes around the corner in tight jeans and motorcycle boots—her skin the same caramel color as the little girl.
Her hair is almost as short as mine, but when she stops our eyes meet. She has Bambi eyes—wide and round, and thick liner and mascara. Her gaze travels from my head to my feet and I try on a smile, but it’s been so long since I was out and…interacting with people that I have no idea how I come off.
Her black tank is cut low to show off a tattoo on her left breast of a tiny heart with large wings.
“My eyes are up here, Chico,” she says.
I snap my gaze to her. She can’t be the little girls’ mom. Maybe an older sister?
“Sorry. I just pulled over to fix my blinkers.” I point to my bike as I shift my pack off my back.
“We don’t have an electronics guy, but Hector can take a look if you need a hand,” she says. “Or I can.”
I manage to hold in my second snort at the thought of her being able to fix my bike better than me, before unzipping the outer pouch of my pack and sliding out my small kit.
“Such bullshit,” she mutters. “Come on Cee!” she says more brightly. “Let’s go check on Abuela.”
I let out a long breath and pull off the taillights to check the wires.
Everything looks fine. Dammit. The problem has to be deeper, or maybe just new light bulbs would help.
My stomach rumbles again and when I breathe in, I smell… Carne Asada? Now my stomach’s rumbling and my mouth is watering. I stand up and see a small taco stand on the far side of the lot. In my experience, these places are either really awesome, or leave you in the bathroom for two days. At this point, I’m ready to risk it. The only other option within sight is a McDonald’s, and I’m not desperate enough to eat there.
I shove my kit back into my pack and walk across the parking lot.
The same little girl runs out after me, but I’m ready for her this time and spin around just as she gets close.
She squeals and claps her hands. “You ssared me!” She slurs her s’s.
“You know you shouldn’t talk to strangers,” I say.
“I Celia,” she says holding out her hand.
I bend down on one knee. Bright brown eyes peer from underneath wavy bangs on a chubby face.
“I’m Shawn.” I shake her tiny hand. “Are you helping today?” I point to the garage.
“I work here,” she says as she places tiny hands on her hips.
“Cee!” A guy with grey hair waves at her from the taco trailer and she sprints his way.
I stand up and brush off my knees, heading for the truck. The closer I get, the better it smells.
When I stop at the window, Celia’s face appears again—this time through the window. “I Celia! I help, see?”
I’ve never spent much time around little kids, but something about her easy smile and openness is refreshing after spending so much time around “troubled teens.”
“You are on a row today baby girl.” The shirt-haired girl is back.
I’m not sure what to make of the way she walks. It’s almost like…a guy? Like she just moves forward in a way that would make me step out of her way.
“So, Celia,” I say. “What’s the best thing here?”
“Super Taco!” she yells. “Or nachos!”
The grey-haired man comes back to the window. “Sorry about that.”
“She’s fine,” I say. “I just need food.”
“What are you after?” he asks.
“Apparently I need a super taco.”
The man chuckles. “Be right out.”
I sit at a tired table with a stained umbrella. When I breathe in there’s not even a tinge of ocean to the smell.
Maybe this is far enough away.
I glance back at the garage again. A two-story, brick building. There’s offices or living space or something above, a convenient store to the left, and the garage on the right. Well…and the taco truck that smells amazing.
And then I see it. A small for rent sign stuck in the window on the far right. A room. Here.
Could I just do that?
“Hey,” I call to the short-haired girl-woman I saw earlier.
“Maci,” she says.
“What?”
“Maci, like the store only without the ‘s’,” she says. “That’s my name. Yanno, so you don’t have to say ‘hey.’”
I open my mouth to say something smart back, but I’m not sure what. Her face is relaxed, not like I pissed her off, but she’s also not smiling.
“Was just wondering who I talked to about the apartment.” I point.
She does the look me up and down thing again as she leans against the truck. “Why?”
Because I needed out of town before I ran into my ex again. “Because I need a place.”
She smiles, a full gorgeous smile of white teeth to match her full lips. “Your bike is really broken, then, huh?”
She’s teasing.
I give her a smile. “Nope. Just need a relocation.”
She folds her arms. “I hate to break it to you, but this is a really, really awful place to relocate.”
“I’m warned.” But I still don’t have an answer from her.
Celia slips two plates through the window and Maci heads my way.
“Your taco. My uncle runs the motorcycle shop. My dad used to run the garage until he retired, and then he moved into the condo community behind the garage to finish raising my million brothers, and my little girl. Well… And he always wanted to be a chef, so…” She jerks her head back toward the Taco Truck.
Wait. Her little girl?
Celia runs from the taco truck, throwing herself onto Maci’s lap.
“I see that judging face,” she says to me. “Stop it.”
I stare at my taco, unsure if we’re eating together here or what.
“I was fifteen and stupid,” she continues. “I could have gotten an abortion, but I didn’t. And my grandparents are half raising my child, even though I’m nineteen. That’s also maybe not the greatest testament to my character or whatever.”
“I’m…” I have
a story, too, but I’m not about to share it with a stranger.
“I just wanted to watch your face as I told you my story. That’s all.” She grins. “It’s very telling, you know. On a person’s character.”
“Did I pass?” I ask.
Maci wrinkles her nose. “You got a C, but that’s still passing.”
“She’s beautiful,” I say as I smile at Celia who is picking food off her mom’s plate.
“She is the most gorgeous creature that ever walked the earth.” Maci squeezes the girl and plants a kiss on her cheek. “And your C has shifted up a grade—not that you’d care.”
I feel like I owe her some kind of truth. “I needed out of town. Where I landed wasn’t important. It isn’t important. As long as it’s far enough away.”
“Well, I hate to disappoint you then,” she says. “But if that’s the case, you’ll probably never get far enough away.”
I have no idea what she means by this so I stay silent.
“The room’s yours if you want it. Three hundred down and four hundred a month. It’s cheap because it’s a crap hole.”
“So…” I gesture around. “Where do I go to pay, or…”
“We own all of this palace.” She snorts as she gestures toward the miniature convenience store. “But Marie is my mom. She’ll be in the small shop, and she has the keys.”
I nod.
My first place is a shithole above a motorcycle garage in a town I didn’t even intend to drive through.
But after I sign a tacked together lease, and open the door to my first place (that is definitely a shithole) I feel the first bit of freedom I’ve felt since… Since I don’t know when.
The stairs up the tiny hallway creak. Every noise from the garage carries through the thin walls. The kitchen is a sink, a hot plate, and one small counter. The living room is two windows and space for a few chairs. The bedroom would have trouble fitting something bigger than a double, which sags in the center of the room.
But it’s mine.
* * *
I’m not even sure what to do with myself when I wake up the next day. And then I roll over and the clothes I used to cover myself last night fall off the side of the worn mattress.
Maybe I’ll buy sheets or something.
Crazy. I’ve never bought sheets. I need cleaning stuff and… I need a job.
The problem is who the hell is going to hire me without a real resume? My dad’s in jail, so there goes that reference. Telling a possible future boss to call my counselor in juvie probably won’t go over real well either. I really should have thought of some of this before I drove away from home and spend almost a third of my money moving into this apartment.
* * *
Following Mom’s shopping lists is one thing, but it’s totally different shopping for myself. She sent me with a list. I have no list, only some idea of what I need. And I’m shopping at Walmart. I never thought I’d be the guy picking out bed linens and silverware at Walmart—not with the snobby people I grew up around.
My cart is full of stuff that I’ve never had to buy before, and I’m afraid to buy anything fun because what happens when I run out of money?
Well, I know what happens. I can call Mom and she’d buy me a plane ticket home or send me money… I don’t want to do that. Part of me doesn’t want the safety net. Is it a real re-start if I have the same safety as I had before?
I gag when the lady who checks me out asks for four hundred dollars.
Four hundred dollars for stuff that I need to survive?
What bullshit.
I go from Walmart to the phone store, and am told that without a credit history, all they can do is set me up with a cheap-ass go-phone.
Though, it’s not like I think someone will try to call me. Or that I have anyone to call. It’s more that if I’m going to even attempt to get a job, I need to have a phone number.
Utilities come with my crap apartment, so that’s one less thing to worry about.
When I get home after balancing two huge bags on my motorcycle, I shuffle up the narrow stairway to the short hallway and to the door of my apartment. I’m not sure what else they use the upstairs floor for, but I get the impression that my apartment’s been empty for a while.
I plan on using all four containers of Clorox wipes on this place today. Tomorrow I’ll deal with work.
* * *
“Nico!” A guy shouts.
“Keep your panties on!” Another guy yells back.
I’m watching one of the two channels that the old TV in my apartment can pick up, and listening to the guys downstairs.
“You’re the asshole who said you could install my radio. Now get your ass over here!”
“Customer’s picking up his bike in one hour. Figure it out!”
That’s it. They’ve been yelling back and forth about this stupid car stereo for over an hour. It’ll take me twenty minutes, tops, and I seriously deserve a nothing day before I start looking for work.
I jog down the stairs and walk into the garage.
“Can I help you?” A massive guy asks.
“I rent…” I pause. Why did I think this was a good idea. “I rent up there?” I point like an ass. “Anyway. I can hear you, and—”
“If you think Nico can talk quiet, you’re wrong.” I’m guessing this guy is Hector then.
“It’s not that,” I say. “I used to install car stereos. I could probably do it.”
He raises a brow, his work overalls half coated in oil and stains. “Hector. I’m Maci’s big brother, so yanno…”
“Don’t touch your sister?” I laugh. “Not a problem.”
“You got a problem with Maci?” Nico asks as he comes into view.
For all the massive height and broadness of Hector, Nico’s the opposite. He’s as short as me, but I’ve got a lot of inches on him around my chest.
I decide not answering his question is probably my best move. “I’m Shawn.”
“If you think you can fix it, maybe I can talk Marie into docking some off your rent, eh?”
“Whatever,” I say. I just want the yelling to stop.
“Stop calling Mami, Marie!” Maci’s here now, adding to the chaos.
She’s in overalls too, her face smudged with dirt. On one cheekbone, but not the other, and another smudge on her neck.
“What you starin’ at?” She scowls at me.
I raise my hands in surrender and take a step back.
“Ha ha!” Hector laughs. “At least one man in here knows what to do with this crazy chick.”
“Screw you, Hector,” Maci says. “Help me finish up this bike, would ya?”
“You work on bikes,” I say even though it should be totally obvious by now.
“Yes, and the damn starter still isn’t working and this brainiac told the owner it would be ready this afternoon.”
“Maybe I can help,” I say even though I probably can’t. Unless it’s a wiring thing.
She blinks a few times, her eyes lined thickly again. She looks sort of like a doll. A dirty, scowly doll with short hair but still… Something about her round face and big eyes and smooth cheekbones…
I really should not be staring at her.
I wipe my covered-in-Clorox hands on my khakis and follow Maci toward the bike.
“So, this is it.” She gestures to one that’s not too different from my Honda. Okay… At least I won’t make an ass out myself when I try.
“I know electrical, but I’m a bit rusty,” I say.
“Rusty? What you been doing with yourself?” she asks.
“I’ve been…” I let out a breath. What do I tell people about my last year? “I’ve been busy.”
She eyes me for a moment longer, and then I swear her face softens.
Her brothers are still arguing over the car stereo, and I figure they can stay on the other side of the garage for a few minutes more.
“You want overalls?” she asks. “Protect your pressed pants?”
I gl
ance down at my khakis. “I’ll be careful.”
She shoves a bandana that’s been hanging around her neck over her face until it holds her spikey hair off her forehead. “Okay, Shawn. What do you think?”
I kneel down and immediately dig into the place between where the key turns the bike on and the engine. I don’t know what this place is called, and I’m not ready to look totally incompetent, and then a small miracle happens.
“I know why it won’t start,” I say.
“What?” She kneels next to me—a bit of taco truck smell mixed with something spicy but sweet…and oil. And exhaust.
This girl’s a mix of a lot of things.
She’s leaning over my shoulder, and I can’t think. It’s stupid. She’s not my type. And I’ve proven that I pretty much suck at being with girls.
“Here,” I say. “This wire’s loose.”
“Barely.”
“I drive the same kind of bike.” I turn to face her, and my face is now almost touching hers. “This same thing’s happened to mine.”
Instead of jumping away she smiles at me a little. “I have terrible taste in guys,” she says.
“Um…” What am I supposed to say here? Yes? No? “What are you talking about?” I ask.
“Oh, hell.” She backs up and stands. “Never mind.”
I’m still crouched next to the floor when Hector emerges from the truck. “Can you help with the stereo?” he asks me.
“You wanna give me a job?” I ask back.
He points to the bike. “You figure that out?”
“I think so,” I say.
“He totally did,” Maci says.
I don’t get this girl. Is she trying to help me? Because I feel like something weird happened between us, only I have no clue what it is.
“You don’t mind doing some of the stupid shit we hate doin’?” Hector asks.
“Just say yes,” Maci mutters under her breath.
“Uh…yeah. Sure.”
“Great.” He shakes my hand. “Marie will get paperwork for you.”
Of course she will.
“We gotta shut my brother up and get this stereo in.” He gestures with his head toward an old Chevy.
So. Two days. A phone, a job, and an apartment that’s slightly cleaner than when I moved in.