by Lauren Salem
Paco and I stood on the sidelines watching the chase as we philosophized what the chase said about someone’s character. Paco was eighty years old, and he still loved watching people chase trucks for amusement.
Paco pulled out a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket. “You see that young white lady? The one at the top of the pack.”
“Yeah, I see her. She’s my girlfriend,” I said.
“She’s fast,” Paco lit his cigarette and began to smoke. “Want a smoke?”
I picked a clean cigarette from the box, and he lit me up. We watched Laura chase the truck and latch on. The driver needed five workers and four had already secured their space in the back. Laura was running against four men who ran just as fast as she did.
“She has great agility but not much physical strength,” Paco said. “She tries hard but seems unprepared and unplanned.”
“Yep, that’s Laura.”
“She’ll never have even the slightest chance of making it onto that truck because she’s a loner. She isn’t working with the other people; she’s working against them.”
Two of the four workers in back of the truck reached their hand out to a fellow man. Laura tried to reach for the helping hand and shout at the people in the truck to get their attention. I couldn’t hear what she said, but I could pick out her voice from the crowd.
“How come they’re not helping her?” I asked.
“She’s a stranger who is not part of su familia. To be successful at truck hopping, a sport where there are so many competitors, you have to be friendly with people you don’t know and find a way to be a part of su familia. I’ve seen people prepare to truck hop for months before they actually do it. You spend time getting to know a strong familia, so when it’s time to hop truck, the other members work with you and make sure that you get pulled into the truck over someone like Laura. Why are you people truck hopping anyway?”
“We’re looking for work.”
“She’s looking for work,” Paco replied. “You’re just standing here, smoking a cigarette, and talking to an old man about the art of truck hopping.”
“True, but wouldn’t you say that I could be more successful at the sport than Laura because I actually took the time to talk to an expert?”
A fifth man got pulled onto the truck, and they closed the tailgate. Laura stopped running and started to walk back over to me.
“Yeah, you could say that, but just talking to me isn’t going to do you much good. You got to convince them, the people who actually play, to let you into their familia. I’ve stopped running years ago. I just like to watch now.”
“Why did you come back to watch? Did you not find a job?” I asked.
“Several years ago, mi familia immigrated to the United States looking for work. The man who helped us cross the border brought us to this parking lot. He told mi familia that if we didn’t have a connection to someone who already worked in the United States, it would be difficult to find work. Mi familia learned to truck hop because we were first generation immigrants, and we didn’t have any professional connections, so this was our best option. One day, a few years ago, un camión de producción de nueces y cerezas stopped at this parking lot.” Paco’s eyes started to tear, so he stopped speaking for a moment to lower his head.
“Paco, what’s wrong?” I asked, “What did you say stopped at this parking lot? I don’t understand.”
“The driver of the produce truck got out of the truck, lined us up, and tested us. He asked mi familia and many others to lift crates of cerezas…you know, tiny, red fruit. The English word I don’t remember. He forced those that could lift the crate to get on the truck. Half mi familia desapareció and I never saw them again. Mi familia didn’t want to listen to the truck driver. We tightly held each other’s hands and refused the man’s work unless he took us all with him. He became angry and impatient, so he shot my cousin and forced those that he selected to get on the truck and leave the rest of mi familia behind. I don’t watch truck hopping because I’m amused by it. I’m looking for the truck that stole mi familia so I can be reunited with them again.”
“What makes you think the produce truck will come back again?”
“Faith…It has to come back. It’s my only chance.”
Hmm…produce truck with tiny, red fruits. “Was the fruit a cherry?”
“Yes, that’s the one!”
“Vincent, you were supposed to be running with me,” Laura said out of breath.
“I told you I don’t run.”
“You have to. How else are we going to find work?”
“Actually, I have a better idea. We should go work the customers inside, where there is less competition.”
“Ah, there you go!” Paco said. “Now the wheels are turning!”
“Thanks for the smoke, Paco,” I said as I dropped the cigarette on the ground and smashed it. “I hope you find your family soon. Come on, Laura, let’s go inside.” I held her hand, and we casually walked into Home Depot like a newlywed couple.
“So what is your plan?” Laura asked.
“Better than yours,” I said as I scanned the aisles for someone who looked like they needed help.
“That remark doesn’t make any sense in response to my question. Stop fooling around when I’m trying to be serious.”
I stopped in my tracks, turned around, and held Laura’s hands in mine. “I’m sorry,” I said, looking her straight in the eyes. She shot me a slight smile before I gave her a peck on the lips and continued walking past the aisles. “We’re looking for someone who looks like she needs help. When we find that person, we’re going to talk her up and be friendly. Finally, we will offer her our help and services and see how much she’s willing to pay for it.”
“Sounds like a good plan as long as you know how to be friendly.”
“Well, I got you to stay with me, didn’t I?”
“Maybe you should let me do the talking,” Laura suggested.
I spotted a middle-aged woman, who was alone, confused, and emotional…the perfect target. She stood in the paint aisle, crying in her black dress and high heels. Based on her pearl earrings, diamond necklace, and bracelet, she appeared to have a lot of money. Her cart was empty, and the paint rollers looked disorderly on the shelf and were scattered all over the floor…signs of frustration.
“Is that a Michael Kors Skorpios Crescent Hobo shoulder bag?” Laura asked. “Those are $895 handbags…I’d do anything just to wear it for a day. Doesn’t the black, pleated Italian leather on the purse go beautifully with her Michael Kors Lace Inset Side-Slit Gown?”
Wow, Laura, that was a mouthful of gibberish. What did she say? Something about Italian leather and in-slit or side-set gown? I didn’t know what any of that meant.
“Ah…I’d be her slave for a month just to wear that dress for a night. It cost $3,895, and it was made in Italy…I know because my mother wore one just like it. It’s so lovely on this lady. Despite the fact that she looks like she’s a young fifty, she has fine legs.”
A girl commenting on how fine another girl’s legs were was hot, but $3,895 was far too much to pay for any dress…unless it was made of pure gold and gemstones or it was equipped with the technology to change patterns digitally. That would be cool if Laura had a dress that changed patterns as frequently as New York City’s billboards.
“Hey, Vincent, did you see her black Galli Suede Mary Jane Pumps? They’re also by Michael Kors and are available in crimson suede, which I personally like better than the black. I was saving up for the crimson suede pair, which is only $195! I wanted to wear them to prom. Oh, I wonder if she’ll let me try them on.”
“OK, Laura, stop drooling over her crazy outfit, and let’s go talk to her and see if she needs help,” I said to calm Laura down from getting overexcited.
“Excuse me, miss, would you like some help?” Laura asked.
“There are so many choices in rollers and sizes; I don’t know what to choose,” the woman cried.
“Aww, don’t cry,” Laura said, while patting the woman on the back. “You’re going to wet your dress.” Laura grabbed a clean McDonald’s napkin from her pocket and handed it to the fancy woman, who dried her eyes.
“What are you trying to paint?” I asked.
“My house…I don’t understand why I feel so depressed. I won the house in the divorce settlement, but is there even a point in repainting it if no one is there to see it? What am I doing? This is so silly and ridiculous. I don’t even know how to paint a wall,” she laughed.
“We could help you,” Laura said. “There is always a point in making something look beautiful.”
“But now that I’m newly divorced, who’s going to want to come to my house? Everyone I know is married, and all the neighbors are married. People don’t like odd numbers at dinner parties. It’s such a big house, and I’m just one person living alone.”
“Well, after it’s painted and redecorated, you could throw an open-house party and invite all your friends. Once they see how well you did after the divorce, they won’t care that you’re single and living alone; in fact, I bet you they’ll all want a divorce. It will be fun, and they’ll rant and rave about how much better your house looks than theirs.”
“You’re kind, but I don’t know if I’m ready to see anyone right now. I’m such a mess.”
“Don’t worry,” I interrupted. “You don’t have to have a party or even leave the house if you don’t want to. We can help you through this rough time and get you whatever you need.”
“Yeah, kind of like your personal assistants who do housework, shopping, and painting,” Laura added.
“Well, I would like a little company, and I could use some help with the house. It’s just all so overwhelming. Would you be willing to work for twenty dollars an hour? That’s twenty dollars each, of course.”
“That sounds perfect,” I said. Twenty dollars each an hour was far more than what I expected we were going to get. This lady must be desperate for help and super-rich.
“Now help me pick out some rollers and paint so the walls don’t look so depressing,” the woman said with a sense of relief.
Luckily, Laura knew a little about painting and had some experiencing painting walls, because I didn’t know anything. I had never painted a wall, cleaned a bathroom, or washed laundry before. When I lived with my parents, we had a maid who would take care of all the housework. When something broke or a wall needed to be painted, we’d call a service. I never thought that there would be a day in my life that I would be the service.
After Laura assisted Mrs. Putzer with her roller, brushes, and paint selections, she purchased the items for us, and we helped her pack the bags into the trunk of her sparkling-blue 2012 Porsche 911. Did she win the car in the divorce too? Who was this woman? What line of work was she in that made so much money? Laura and I settled into the back seats before Mrs. Putzer began the long drive back to her house.
“So what do you do for a living?” I asked.
“I’m the CEO of a very successful corporation.”
“Wow, that’s impressive,” Laura said. “Where do you live?”
“I live in Phoenix.”
“Vincent and I are from Phoenix, too. What part?”
“I live on Hillsdale Court.”
Laura grabbed my hand and squeezed it tightly. She looked at me all worried and concerned. I thought she was afraid she would run into her parents, or she could even have been afraid of the neighbors. When she got caught prostituting, her reputation was ruined on this street.
“Ah, the famous Hillsdale Court,” I said. “I’ve heard much about it.”
The year Kat died was the year Hillsdale Court got put on the map. Anyone and everyone that lived in Arizona could tell you about the infamous street where the poor teenage girl died, but the fact that she died wasn’t why Hillsdale Court was the street to talk about during your lunch hour. Kat’s death attracted a lot of press coverage because how she died, why she died, and who killed her were such controversial issues. Some people in the neighborhood, like Kat’s family, for example, said that I killed Kat, and they blabbered all that to the press. Others said that just because I shared my pills didn’t mean I put them in her mouth and that she chose to overdose on her own. The obituary said that Kat died from organ failure. Those who believed that Kat didn’t receive the justice she deserved for her death tried to get the police to investigate why I was relieved from my involuntary manslaughter sentence. The fact that I wasn’t punished for my crimes created a lot of skepticism among the neighbors and caused problems with my mom’s reelection for senator.
A lot of people thought it was fishy how I got off so easy. “There is something going on here that isn’t right and not just,” Kat’s mother said in the Arizona Republic newspaper. “If he wasn’t the son of two senators, he’d receive the correct punishment. Senator Henderson and Senator Smith are covering up the murder and are trying to convince people that it was entirely my daughter’s fault.” Shortly after the quote from Kat’s mother was printed in the newspaper to clear up some of the looming speculations, a television interview with my mother and me aired on the local news. For the interview, I had to look like a normal boy who wouldn’t cause any trouble. My hair was recolored blonde (my natural hair color) and was cut to look like a boy from prep school. My black, Gothic clothing was replaced with a more professional, innocent look: a collared shirt underneath a cardigan sweater and slacks. My parents even made me wear a tie…It was awful.
Reporter: Vincent, why did you give Kat the sleeping pills when you knew she had problems with drug abuse in the past?
Me: Kat went to rehab a while ago and was released because she was cured from her addiction. She said that she was having trouble falling asleep, so I offered to share some of my sleeping pills with her. It was an innocent mistake. I had no idea that she would overdose again.
Reporter: Why did you lie about not knowing that Kat was a drug addict?
Me: I meant to say that I didn’t know that she was still a drug addict. I was so nervous because I was put under a lot of pressure, so I didn’t say what I meant.
Reporter: Senator Henderson, did you have any involvement in reducing your son’s sentence?
Mom: No, I did not. Vincent did not have any intentional involvement in Kat’s death, so the charges were dropped after the investigation proved that Kat chose to overdose on her own.
This incident is a perfect example of how common drugs are being used incorrectly by teenagers, and it shows us that this is a serious problem for parents. I feel sorry that this happened to Kat because she and Vincent were good friends, and I know that Vincent would never do anything to intentionally hurt her. I send my respects out to Kat’s family, and right now I’m working to pass Kat’s bill. I’m hoping that Kat’s bill will reduce the number of teenagers that die from misusing drugs by making these drugs less available in stores. Kat’s bill will require all venues that sell sleeping pills, cough medicine, and alcohol products, like hand sanitizers, to sell only to customers who are twenty-one years of age or older and only in limited amounts. The cashier will be required to check the customer’s identification at the point of purchase. This will reduce the availability of common drugs and products that teens misuse and promote parents to be more aware of the drugs their teens are taking. Studies show that teens abuse drugs less when their parents purchase the drug for them and supervise when they use it and how much they take.
Reporter: Vincent, I understand that everything that’s happening right now with Kat’s death and your mom’s campaign must be really overwhelming for you, but what made you think about suicide?
Me: Due to Kat’s death, I was emotionally in a dark place, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was diagnosed with severe depression. Being the face of family values is already stressful enough along with school and trying to live a normal life. People are still accusing me of something I didn’t do, but ultimately it was the stress of the campaign that pushed me
over the edge.
Reporter: Senator Henderson, some people believe that Vincent’s actions are a reflection of bad parenting; thus, they don’t believe in the family values campaign. What do you have to say to those people?
Mom: As parents, my husband and I have decided to enroll Vincent in Sonoran Correctional High School, so he can start his recovery. We love our son very much, and I realize that his well-being is more important than his help in my campaign. Just because Vincent is not currently emotionally healthy, doesn’t mean that our family doesn’t have strong values or that we are bad parents. Vincent has been put under a lot of stress lately, and the doctor said that suicide is a normal response for a teenager put under that much pressure. We are very fortunate and thankful that Vincent is still alive. At the correctional school, he will be able to get the counseling he needs, a structured curriculum, and time away from the campaign. Sending Vincent away was one of the most difficult decisions my husband and I had to make, but we know that it’s for the best.
Reporter: Vincent, is going to Sonoran Correctional High School what you want to do?
Me: Yes. My parents and I weighed out all our options, but it was up to me to decide, with their help, what was best for me. I chose to go to this school and leave my current life behind.
Ultimately, a public relations miracle, good press, lack of evidence, and time to heal got my mother reelected as senator that year. My public life was full of lies and half-truths. This was my last interview, and I was relieved that I didn’t have to be a part of my parents’ political life anymore or even part of the family.
* * *
“Where are you all from?” Mrs. Putzer asked.