by Tiana Laveen
“I just need to finish this, and then I can go to sleep. Damn, I’m tired.”
Grabbing his mug of coffee, he chugged what was left. He noted the time on the clock. Going on one in the damn morning. He yawned and stretched, mapping out the things he had to do the following day.
Pick up Mama’s medicine… Visit Mama for a bit… car dealership… Noah’s play… drop off lemon zinger smoothies to PeeWee…
“Shit…” He ran his hand down his face. “And that don’t even include my work shift.”
He accepted his fate and decided to retire for the night. Closing his computer, he shifted about in his seat, then paused.
What was that?
He’d heard a strange noise coming from near his living room window. He paused, looked to and fro, not sure what to make of it.
He was quiet, so very quiet… but heard nothing more.
Hmmm, I’m completely and utterly exhausted… that’ll get me nowhere. Now I’m imagining shit. Yeah. It’s definitely time to take my ass to bed.
When he stood to put his cup in the sink, his heart damn near froze. He caught a reflection of someone peering in through a window, but it was gone before he had a chance to register it, to prove what he’d seen wasn’t a figment of his imagination. Setting the mug quickly down, he raced to that window and practically pressed his nose against the glass as he looked out, but didn’t see anyone.
“Damn! Am I losing my mind? Yasmine warned me that I wasn’t gettin’ enough sleep.” He drew the curtains closed, returned to the table, and made his way back to the kitchen with his mug. Let me wash this right quick and hit the hay…
CRASH!
The window exploded in a thunderous blast. Pieces of glass shot everywhere, spraying in all directions.
“Shit!”
Dropping the mug to the floor, he made a mad dash to his bedroom, closing and locking it behind him. He instantly heard heavy steps in his living room, as well as things crashing on the floor. Heart beating out of his damn chest, he grabbed his gun and slid up against the wall, bracing himself. He stayed close to his closed bedroom door, praying and cursing, weighing his damn options.
Can’t call the police… fuck!
He realized he’d left his phone on the damn table next to the computer. He couldn’t call the authorities; he couldn’t call anyone.
“LANGSTON!” a deep voice rang out with a heavy Latin accent. “You know why I’m here! Thought he forgot, didn’t you?!” Another loud crash. “You put my brother in prison for the rest of his life! And he’s a cripple now because of you! Roberto is gonna die in prison, man… you fucking bastard. Judge ruled no possibility of parole!”
Yet another loud crash rang throughout his place. “I’ve been watching you. I know where your mother and father live… your sisters and brothers, too. I know about your girlfriend, her son, everything! After I’m done with you, I’m going to kill them, too! You fucked with the wrong fucking family, Lopez! Shoulda minded your fucking business!”
He heard what sounded like a gun being loaded and doors opening and closing, some slamming so hard, they were probably now broken. Sweat raced down his face as he breathed hard, gripping the gun and praying a million times over…
God, if I die tonight, let me take him out, too. If I die tonight, let my family and my Yaz be all right. Protect ’em! This I ask in your name! Amen!
He flung the bedroom door open and his eyes widened when he came face to face with a gun pointed directly at his forehead.
BAM!
CHAPTER TWENTY
Bullets, Brides and Brooms
YOU CAN’T EVER wash it away…
Those strong smells from a hot, summer day. They worm themselves into your mind and eat your razor-sharp pain, shoving in its place fragrant nostalgia from years gone past…
When we was kids, we smelled like wet grass and burned earth. The smell of ice cream bar cardboard from Nana’s freezer would fill our nostrils, soon as we stepped foot into her little house with the big painting of Jesus and the Virgin Mary framed in fake gold. Her long, coarse black hair would drape over her shoulders. Her skin was the color of fresh cantaloupe and she smelled like wine and Coast soap. Grandpa’s cigarette smoke, Nana’s homemade corn tortillas, crispy fried chicken, white rice, black beans and stewed potatoes and okra would fill the air on practically a daily basis… I miss her so damn much. She filled in the gaps, made sure I watched my temper and explained how important it was to learn from our mistakes.
Nana was my rock. She was my connection to humility, humbleness. We spoke in Spanish all the time; she preferred it, and I obliged. Some feelings though have no translation—not in English, Spanish, French, nothin’. When she died, she took a piece of me with her. I never expected that… she’d been healthy as a horse. Imagine my surprise when I walked into her house, my arms full of presents come Christmas mornin’, wondering why she didn’t show up at Mama’s. She was still in her bed, lying there real peaceful like. She looked like a Navaho Indian…
Her hands were crossed over her chest. She was wearing a long red and white flannel gown and there was a smile on her face, like she knew a secret the rest of us didn’t. I screamed so loud when it became clear she was really gone… no pulse, her hands and face cold as ice. Grandpa had died before her, but the smell of his cigarettes always married with the aroma of her cooking and remained imprinted in that house. I ’spose they got together again then, writing Spanish love letters to each other once more, just like they used to. Nana loved roses. I ’spose he’s still giving her flowers every day, too…
The past is the past, right? But the past can make sure your future is royally fucked up or a blessing beyond your wildest dreams.
I wish I knew magic. I wish I had a time machine. I wonder if I’m dead right now and if I am, can I rise up from my grave and protect the ones I love without no heartbeat? I may not ever feel my mama’s hand touch mine again, hear the sounds of my nieces and nephews laughing, have a baby of my own… I guess I won’t be gettin’ married; the love of my life will have a ring but no husband. My good luck charm will have to change her plans. She can’t marry a dead man.
I’m sorry, Noah. I’m sorry to a lot of people right ’bout now…
Maybe it’s not over? Maybe I can rise from the dead just like Jesus?
But I’ve sinned, so probably not…
I wonder if that Hoodoo woman babysitter made stewed potatoes and okra, too, just like Nana? Did she put that chicken foot and fox skin in that pot for some wicked spell to damn a soul to Hell? I wish I knew. I wish she’d been my babysitter, too…
Langston’s eyes fluttered and the sting of freshly spent blood surrounded him. The sounds of bursting windows and glass crunching under the weight of stomping feet made him jolt.
“He’s up!”
“He’s having a nightmare!”
He could barely move his arm and a pain radiated so strong within him, it rendered him speechless.
“Be still, honey… it’s all right,” came a soft voice. He tried to turn in the direction of the sound, but it was damn near impossible. “Shhh…” The gentle touch of a hand caressed his face. “They took a bullet out of your shoulder… Don’t try to move, baby…”
“Yaz…” he uttered, his mouth dry like sandpaper.
“Langston…my boy…” Mama spoke, too, and now two hands were on him—one White, one Black. Two kisses from two sets of lips blessed his face on both sides.
“What… what happened?” He tried to focus and, through a blurry vision, he now could see Yaz and Mama real close to him, leaning in, looking at him with concern in their bloodshot eyes.
“A man broke into your house, the brother of Roberto Gomez. He shot at you, but you moved just in time and he got your arm—your shoulder, to be exact. You shot him square in the chest, blew him away. He’s gone… dead. You managed to get your phone and call the police. The police got there and you told ’em what happened. I’m repeating to you everything you said, verbatim. Y
ou were losing a lot of blood and you passed out several times… You’re okay now, baby… you’re okay.”
Yasmine brushed his hair away from his face and kissed his forehead. Soon, the hospital room filled with doctors and nurses, asking him things, saying stuff that made no sense. His brothers and sisters came and went. Brittany was crying, beside herself.
“Mama, how are you?” he said through the commotion as he stared into his mother’s eyes.
“Don’t worry about me, baby. I’m just fine!” She patted his hand. “Your father is on his way back from Rhode Island.”
“Yaz… did uh, did you get those smoothies to PeeWee? You know you gotta get them to him. They’ll spoil. That’s a lotta money to waste.”
“Lang, no, I didn’t. This isn’t the time for that, baby.” Her tone dripped with disapproval.
“Well, please go back… go back to my house, get ’em out the refrigerator, load ’em up in those boxes I got in the back of that closet, and drive ’em over.”
“Ain’t nobody ’bout to do that, Langston,” Mama stated dryly.
“Those smoothies can wait! You’re lucky to be alive. You’re the only person I know that could be shot and ask about some beverages to sell. Come on, now. That’s crazy. You must be delirious… bumped your head when you blacked out.”
He managed a smile. “A doctor, when can I go home?”
“Not for at least a couple of days, Mr. Lopez. We have to make sure your healing process begins okay. The bullet went through the lower half of your bicep and cuff tendons. I understand, according to your mother, that you’re a bodybuilder. That probably helped… made the muscles tougher. But, you will need to watch mobility for quite some time. No lifting weights for a while.”
“Shit. I’ve got a competition in two months!”
“Mr. Lopez, I just don’t see how that’s going to be possible. In good news, however, you should heal fine over time, as long as you don’t overexert. That can take up to a year.”
He sighed and rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe this… motherfucker breaks into my damn house over some mess his brother did, got what he fuckin’ deserved, and now I gotta walk around like Frankenstein, all stiff ’nd shit! I depend on that money from these shows. I use it now for my business.”
“It’s settled. You’re crazy. Count your lucky stars you’re even here to complain!” Yasmine yelled at him, looking angrier than Hell. After a short while, he swallowed and grimaced, feeling like death warmed over.
“Baby, you’re right… you’re right. It just don’t seem real… feels like I’m dreamin’ or something.”
“It’s like a nightmare, that’s for sure. We’ve all been praying.”
“Yasmine… lemme talk to you for a minute… alone, please.” Soon, everyone cleared the room. After being brought a sip of water, he lay back down and focused on her. “Life is short. It’s times like these that remind me of that.” She nodded as she sat next to him, grasping his hand. Taking a deep breath and trying to muster the energy, he got on with it. “I’m not rushin’ you, but I’m rushin’ you. I got a feelin’… a funny feelin’. I don’t know if it’s the medicines or what; I might be talkin’ out the side of my neck since I’m high as kite right now…” She burst out laughing and gave him a gentle squeeze. “But I wanna marry you sooner than we discussed. We originally said we’d aim for next year, but let’s do it now, all right? Like, within reason, but as soon as possible.”
“Well, I guess we can, but it costs a lot of money for a weddin’, baby. That’s why we said we wanted to wait.”
“I know. That’s the second part of this. Now listen up. I ain’t told nobody, it was gonna be a surprise, and they haven’t said hundred percent yes, but it’s almost settled… I got a tentative order from Walmart, but it’s the freezer section.”
“Oh my God! What? How?!” Her eyes grew large as she looked at him, excitement dancing in her expression.
“Basically here’s what happened. I presented a kit idea where the customer has the right amount of frozen fruit for their specific smoothie, you see? They’ve got the powders all mixed together in a little pre-made pouch and easy directions. They set that pouch out and let it defrost for a few minutes or they can use it frozen. It doesn’t lose the nutrients by being flash frozen, you see. Already had that tested. All they gotta do is add milk, Greek yogurt, or water. I ain’t tell you cause I didn’t think it would fly… but it did. Not only that, I got the idea from you.”
“Me? I don’t have anything like that.”
“Naw, but you said somethin’ a couple of months ago, like how people, including yourself, are sometimes too lazy to make the stuff we need to stay healthy. That it’s a shame we can’t just get a microwave meal that has all the nutrition we need. Everybody is so busy but ain’t nobody out here waking up thinkin’, ‘Damn, I sure would like to be unhealthy and not take care of myself.’ And you were right. That made me laugh, but a bell rang off in my head.
“This is just an alternative is all. Hell, it might flop ’cause honestly, it’s more expensive than my regular line of smoothies. But if Walmart is talkin’ about sendin’ me purchase orders for this, then I definitely want in. Walmart, see, shies away from perishables unless it’s produce, for obvious reasons. It takes up space and can hurt their bottom line ’cause if it don’t sell in a timely fashion, they gotta toss it out. Ain’t no revivin’ an expired smoothie. This right here though is a viable alternative. I can’t keep up with the demand anymore, ’specially now that that motherfucker screwed up my shoulder. So right before this happened, I spoke to my family. José, Brit, my brother-in-law Eric, and Jacelyn are gonna help me fill the orders for the mall and World Market, and now, hopefully, Walmart.”
“You’re gonna need more than that, but first of all, you need space. Come make ’em in the stockroom at the grocery store. We got that refrigerated unit back there, and the double sinks, the two deep freezers, the counters and everything. It ain’t that big, but it’s more space than you’ve got right now.”
He smiled. “That’s a real good idea. I figured I’d have to rent a spot, but anything I can save on overheard goes back in the business or to pay ’em, which is essentially the same thing.”
“And as always, you can take the produce that you need right there from the grocery store—one stop shop. You take the fruit that is on its last leg but still tasty off my hands for a discounted price, and I help you slash your investment costs in half. Win-win situation.”
“I’ll take it! You drive a hard bargain. Now, here’s the hard part…”
“What?”
“Lean over here and give me a kiss… I can’t chase you right now, but once I get my wherewithal, your goose will be cooked!”
She chuckled at his words and pressed her mouth to his.
…A few weeks later
ALL OF HIS boxes were packed and taped shut but the house still seemed to have a ghost of an evil spirit…
Langston’s arm was bandaged, but he moved like he was on fire, even after several warnings to slow it down and take things easy. The night of the break-in, the walls in his hallway by his bedroom had been sprayed with blood—his own mixed in, too. It looked like a blood bath… something one wouldn’t soon forget.
After he’d been released from the hospital, he’d insisted on going straight over. Luckily, Yasmine had realized his plans early on. While he was still rested up, she and his brother and sisters went to his place and cleaned and swept, then bleached it all down. It was eerie being in there without him, looking around at the place in such disarray and knowing someone had taken their last breath right in that very space.
She recalled how horrified Brittany’s face looked when she’d seen and smelled all the dried blood. The police tape was gone, but the tapes in their heads would play forever. She put his sister on glass pick up duty and vacuuming while she and José got up all the gore and matter. That didn’t trouble her or make her weak in the gut. What hurt her soul was the pain that the w
alls seemed to absorb, the hell Langston must’ve gone through as he saw his life flash before his eyes.
Can’t nobody tell me God ain’t real! A man jams a gun at your head and he a half second too late, enough time for you to drop low and survive… and you got enough adrenaline flowin’ through your body to aim and shoot his behind square in the chest before you fall to the ground and pass out! Take him down cold! Now here this man is, alive, breathin’, walkin’ ’round here and ready to get goin’, move on with his life.
The whole vibe had changed now that that had happened, and Langston had made it quite clear that he was eager to get the hell up out of there and move. She couldn’t much blame him.
“I’mma stay with Yaz for a bit, put some of this stuff in storage,” he announced to his brother-in-law, Eric, who helped out with loading the moving truck. “Y’all can have the couch, the table, the refrigerator and oven…all of it. I’m just takin’ my televisions, my artwork, my bedroom set since it’s less than six months old, and my clothes. He fucked up my fish tank…” Yasmine glanced over where the thing had once been. It was now busted and drained dry. The fish had floated out like it had been a waterfall, then died right there on the floor… poor things. “Now what kinda dumb shit is that?!” he roared angrily. Everyone drew quiet around him while his big, broad chest heaved under his white shirt.
“Just come up in here bustin’ all my shit up! Shit I worked hard for. He came to try and get some revenge, to kill me, then why in tha hell go through all of this effort, too?! I swear, some folks are fuckin’ arrested in the brain! I had, uh, Pepper,” he said, starting a list of the fallen fish that wouldn’t be there to swim another day. “Scooby, Golden Pond, Diamond, Hot Sauce, Angel and Fin… all dead… son of uh bitch! Wish I could go get his body from Hell and shoot ’im all over again!”