...
Cara stood towards the front of the store in khakis and a tunic top, her feet and lower back aching from the thin carpeting over concrete. Compared to the holiday season, the days weren’t as long. Conversations between employees and patrons sometimes made the hours enjoyable; however, she still felt that it robbed the soul a little every day.
“Hi, is there something I can help you with?” Cara said.
“I can’t walk into a freakin’ store without being harassed by sales people. You people are vultures!”
The lady gave Cara a look of contempt that absorbed all of her energy, leaving her discouraged and wanting escape from her life. Cara didn’t say a word, but her eyes widened and brows lifted as she distanced herself from the lady. Another customer, a woman in her late thirties, entered the store, but Cara had not been able to pull herself together to greet her. The lady gave her a slight nod and a malevolent smile.
Towards the end of the day, Cara was in the stockroom gathering her things and talking to her coworker, Beth, about some of the more interesting customers, something that had become a ritual just before quitting time. Looking out into the store, Beth became alarmed and in a staccato tone said, “Leslie-is-here.”
“Oh, what does she want?”
Leslie, the district manager, walked into the stockroom in a ruffled mock two-piece dress carrying a heavy leather briefcase.
“Can I speak to Cara in private?” She spoke to Beth, but looked directly at Cara. Beth left the stockroom, her mouth hanging open with disdain. Leslie pulled her computer out of her briefcase, placed it on a gift-wrapping table and turned it on.
“Cara, we had a shopper come by earlier today. You know they wear tiny cameras in their clothes that you can’t see. We’re trying to determine if our sales people are using the proper greetings and follow up questions. Remember, no matter what a customer says—you’ve been trained to counter with another question that’ll help you close the sale. You understand?”
“Yes,” Cara said in a soft and defeated voice.
“I received the video file a little while ago. Let me show you what our shopper saw.”
Leslie double clicked on a file called cara.wmv which opened a video player and then enlarged to full screen. Cara recognized the front of the store which was moving closer until, like looking in a mirror, she saw her emotionless face gazing down and away. The camera zoomed in on her and then panned to the rest of the store. Leslie closed the file and then the lid to her computer.
“Not only did you not give her the official store greeting, you didn’t even look in her direction. This is gonna go on your record. It’ll affect your review. I suggest you go over the training material again to maximize your sales—which could use a lot of improving. I hope we won’t have to have this conversation again.”
...
Alex threw left jabs at Eduardo, none of them connecting. He maintained a quick bounce in his step, waiting to tag the face so that he would know when he was close enough to throw a right. He had once seen a classic boxing match on the Internet and had read enough about western boxing on Wikipedia to believe that he had a distinct technological advantage. Alex was wearing a dark shirt that said I hear voices, and they don’t like you. Several boys sat down in the field by the school to watch. One boy looked up at the sky to gauge the sunshine and took off his shirt to work on his tan. The rest quickly set up their cell phones to videotape the fight.
“I’ll go for the fat coconut that hears voices...es un coco loco,” one boy said.
“Yeah—probably has a lot of deep-seated rage,” another boy laughed.
“Deep seated? Now you sound like a coconut.”
They’re so smartaphobic, Alex thought.
The boys chanted, “Coco gordo—coco gordo—coco gordo...”
Eduardo could hear the loss of fan support and lunged at Alex, tackling him. He pinned Alex down by sitting on his chest and beat the top of Alex’s head.
“The boxer is getting his ass kicked by the wrestler!” the sun worshipper said.
“This is hilarious,” another boy said. “I’m going to show this video to everyone.”
Venomous hands seemed to fall like hail. Alex was consumed by the unfairness of boxing rules being broken, yet surprised that the beating didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. After Eduardo was satisfied, he smiled, stood up and walked away. Alex looked at the clouds, embarrassed that he had failed those who thought he could win a fight. He could hear them leaving, the sound of footsteps in the grass becoming fainter.
I fought today...maybe I’m not such a coward. You can’t sit on top of someone in boxing. Luciano... Did this really happen? If it had been Luciano, my head would be cracked open. Luciano...
When Alex got to the apartment building, he noticed kittens walking from the parking lot to a vacant field covered in weeds overlooking a canal. John was outside his apartment on the ground floor drinking a beer. He was a small pale man in his late forties with a red face and a severe lazy eye.
“Hey man,” John said.
“How’re ya doing?”
“I’m three months behind on my rent. The manager is cool though—she knows I don’t have a job now.”
“I just got beat up at school.” Alex couldn’t help but commiserate with John about a life that seems opposed to people finding happiness. He moved his hands across his scalp to indicate where the bruises might be, gesturing that it was only a mere annoyance.
“Oh yeah—I’ve had my lumps too. Look at me—you don’t think I got picked on? Yeah—I’ve gotten my lumps.”
John was smiling, as though he was proud of all he had been through.
“I’m gonna see if I can find the kittens. I thought I saw them going to the field,” Alex said.
He looked around the corner of the building that was facing the lot and spotted two black and white kittens. The kittens came up to him and rubbed against his legs. The loud purring brought a smile to his face.
“Where’s mommy? All by yourselves?”
Alex heard someone coming down the stairs. He turned to see that it was Luciano, carrying a large duffle and holding two bats. Luciano threw his things into the back of his Oldsmobile and after he closed the trunk, he noticed Alex. Luciano walked over to Alex and squatted to look at the kittens which now seemed timid.
“Gaticos,” Luciano said. He moved closer, putting one knee on the ground, scratching one behind the ears.
“I love los gaticos—look man, Sorry about the other night—I’m a little nuts sometimes—nobody’s perfect—I’ll make it up to you. I’m gonna go play—gonna kick ass tonight.”
Alex forced a closed lip smile. Luciano in an attempt at amiability slapped the top of Alex’s head. Alex grimaced in pain as Luciano walked away.
Chapter Five
Cara and Alex were often alone, and they shared a large desk in Alex’s room, reluctant to spend time in the living room, which was Luciano’s domain. Alex watched so much anime on his computer that he had picked up some Japanese. In his chat window, he typed his critiques of games and manga, debating people from the four corners of the web.
Cara worked on her drawings. She had perfected her phrasing of the human head. Dozens of pages dedicated to profiles and three quarter views. With a mechanical pencil, sometimes the details were photorealistic, yet she never erased the stray lines, because as her Tio had once said, a brave artist always shows their mistakes to the world.
The drawing book was about three quarters full, seventy pages filled with hundreds of renderings. It was as personal and sacred as a diary. Adriana wanting to destroy her treatise on imagination was unforgivable—how could a mother be so base and insensitive? Her threats had made Cara perpetually uneasy, almost as much as Luciano’s unwanted attention made her ill. She wanted to move out, but would have to postpone.
“I’m quitting my job,” Cara said.
“You’re quitting?” Alex stopped typing for a side glimpse of his sister.
&nb
sp; “I’m handing in my resignation letter tomorrow. I can’t take it there anymore—thinking of temping for an agency.”
“But you’ve been there for a while—are you gonna make as much money?”
“Probably not—but I don’t make that much anyway—I have to leave.”
Alex could tell when Cara didn’t want to talk about something. Her chin would become visibly tense and crinkle, her brows would furrow, and her eyes would look downward yet not see.
“Guess who I found on online?” Alex tried to sound cheerful, hoping to change his sister’s demeanor.
“Who?”
“Remember Matt, the guy who used to live next door to us?”
“Are you serious?” Cara closed her drawing book; a smile fought and then conquered her countenance.
“Yeah, he just finished U of M and he’s going off to law school. They’re having a small sendoff party for him and he invited us. He said we were probably too young—everyone there will be much older, but he doesn’t care, he wants to see us—He also got to see your profile from my friends list.”
Matt saw me—maybe he thought I was pretty. Now he can’t resist wanting to see me in person. “Oh yeah—I remember Matt—But that was such a long time ago. You really wanna go?”
“This is the cool part—it’s this Friday night at the marina in the Grove on someone’s boat. You know how to get there?”
“In the Grove? Yeah, I know. Remember, we went there for the art festival.”
Alex logged into his social networking account.
“Here’s Matt’s profile.”
On the top left of the page was a picture of a smiling Matt wearing a black sports coat and white dress shirt. There was another young man wearing a shirt and tie leaning into Matt with an arm on his shoulder, half his face cut out of the picture.
“He still sort of looks the same,” Alex said.
“He kinda looks like a law student.”
Underneath his profile picture were links: View photos of Matt (16), View videos of Matt (1). Alex slowly scrolled down, reading comments that friends had left. About halfway down on the news feed column there was a small picture of Matt and a girl with shoulder length red hair. It was a dark setting, possibly a restaurant, the camera flash illuminating the couple like satellites in space.
“That must be his girlfriend,” Alex said.
Has there ever been a time in Matt’s life when he didn’t have a girlfriend? Not that it matters.
“She looks familiar.”
“Want to see his video—Improv at Valentino’s Crab House?” Alex said, wanting to click away the redhead.
“Yeah sure.”
Matt and four other college-aged boys were sitting in two rows of chairs on what looked to be a stage. Audience laughter could be heard in what seemed to be a large noisy room. Matt was holding an invisible steering wheel using his entire upper body to make turns. The young man in the front passenger seat with a severe stutter tried to warn the driver of a tree, “Wa wa wa watch out fo fo for the t-ree.” The two young men in the back made panicked expressions as the unintelligible warnings digressed into silliness which produced unseen roaring and hilarity as they pretended to feel the impact of a crash, leaping out of their chairs.
Alex and Cara giggled until they heard the door open and the clamor of Luciano’s bats being thrown across the room, the cursing, the duffle bag violently being emptied of equipment.
“Oh God, he had a bad game,” Cara whispered.
...
The next day, John the alcoholic and Alex were searching for the kittens.
“I don’t see them under any of the cars,” John said.
“They’re not behind the building.”
“Alex,” came Luciano’s voice from the second floor railing.
“What,” Alex responded.
“Come here.”
“Give me a minute.”
“Now.”
Alex reluctantly climbed the stairs. Luciano tilted his head and motioned Alex to come closer, leaning in as if to whisper a secret.
“Quiere saber? Want to know what I did with los gaticos? Last night I put them in a plastic bag—I made a little hole so that water could get in—and I threw them en el canal. And let me tell you something—you’re not going to report this to anyone, or I swear—te lo juro—I’ll kill you.”
A dazed Alex walked into the apartment. Luciano tried to suppress his desire to smile and followed him in.
“You heard me, right? You don’t tell anyone.”
Luciano went into the kitchen to pour several different powders in a blender. The racket of milk, ice and muscle mix gave Alex a moment to release anger, huffing and cursing as he paced the bedroom.
A cat commercial came on and brought a grin to Luciano’s face and then laughter. He slurped his sports drink and then nodded with self-satisfaction. “Ha—they’re so stupid—they believe me. Que gente más comemierdas.” Then he raised his voice so Alex would hear him. “Your mother is sick of Cara’s drawings. I might have to go in her room and take away her drawings.”
An image of Cara’s drawing book sinking into a canal flashed in Alex’s mind. He quietly went into Cara’s room, took the drawing book off Cara’s nightstand and walked back into his room, hastily slipping it under his mattress.
The storyteller shouted above the din of the rain. The men huddled closely together for warmth. One of the men, no longer able to contain his mumbling, spoke out loud.
Some people are born evil! And it is the bad ones that take over the world. One man loves his wife and loses her. Another man is a monster and yet he keeps the woman a good man can’t have. Oh I hate life. I hate this miserable life.
The large man nods sympathetically.
There is no trying to understand the way things are. Trying to understand will only make one bitter. Do you really think that the finite human mind can understand the fabric of the cosmos? We only see a tiny strand. Our minds, our thoughts are like little bugs with short lifespans, clumsily flying around and laying eggs. I’d rather be at peace and accept my limitations. Perhaps in the future they might have a cure for Luciano, but all your thinking is serving no purpose. You judge and you judge and you become angrier and angrier. But all you are seeing is a tiny strand in the complex fabric of the cosmos.
Some of the men look insulted that their right to judge and think had been questioned. The storyteller looked away with concern for his soul and continued the story.
Chapter Six
The yachts glimmered in the lights of the marina, the tang of the sea air reminding Cara that there were other worlds as vast as the oceans, delights untempered by dysfunctional families and tyrannical district managers. The reflections in the black and cutting waters, the unseen horizon, the Big Dipper, all features of a time machine, bringing Cara back, closer to her girlhood, moments away from seeing Matt again.
Cara and Alex arrived at the marina after having encountered heavy US-1 traffic and the difficulty of finding Friday night parking in the Grove for the old gray Hyundai. Walking along the floating docks, the laughter and reggae music indicated which of the moored yachts held a sendoff party. Alex was nervous, not wanting to annoy the college crowd with his under-age presence. Cara was eager to be seen in her flower print wrap-top with jeans. Her hair was down and holding together in spite of the humidity. She wore a sterling y-necklace with a pear shaped sapphire and matching earrings. A touch of makeup on her tawny porcelain skin.
“There it is...the Grace Quintessence,” Cara said looking at the Art Nouveau lettering.
“That’s a big boat,” Alex pointed out.
A large shiny mural of underwater dolphins in shades of turquoise and blue covered the hull, airbrushed scribbles of light riding their bodies. They walked to the other side to see the rest of the mural and noticed a young man, drinking from a bottle, sitting and holding the guardrail.
“You here for Matt?” he said.
“Yes,” Alex answered.
&nb
sp; The young man never took his eyes off of Cara, motioning her to walk across the boarding ramp, approaching to greet her and taking her by the hand.
“Let me help you across the plank,” he said in a pirate’s voice. “Welcome aboard the Grace Quintessence.”
After Cara had boarded and his eyes had sufficiently feasted, he looked at Alex with an inquisitive expression.
“How old are you?”
“Fifteen,” Alex said, petulantly looking away, sensing a long, humiliating evening.
Inside the galley covered in stained mahogany was a table and cushioned seating arrangement with six casually dressed young people. The sight of Matt made it hard for Cara to keep her balance inside the boat, which was bobbing in the light choppy water. She noticed the redhead sitting next to him and instantly knew who she was—Sheryl Janzovich, the girl who had been a legend for her life of pain at an early age. Her hair was like fire, her eyes like flowers, her body delicate, her smile welcoming.
Matt looked up at Cara and Alex, his face bursting with excitement. “Hey!” He stood up and embraced Cara and Alex at the same time.
Cara felt her back tingle, wishing that it would be unobjectionable to hold him forever, and for a moment wishing that Alex had not come.
“Look at you two—it’s been so long.” Matt smiled in astonishment. “Cara—you’re so beautiful—Alex, you’re a big guy. Let me introduce you—this is—”
“I think we know each other,” Sheryl beamed. “Remember me from elementary?”
“Sheryl Janzovich, right?” Cara said, smiling, trying to match her enthusiasm.
More introductions were made. The son of the third generation lawyer whose father owned the yacht. The girl who laughed and drank and didn’t say a word. The couple that couldn’t keep their hands off each other. The pirate who wanted to run off with Cara and toss Alex overboard.
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