The New David Espinoza

by Fred Aceves

  I mean, I get it. Steroids killed Alpha, and the damage I’ve already done is irreparable.

  When will I ever give it up? When will I ever be okay with looking smaller than I am now?

  “Give everything to your gains,” Alpha used to say, “and they’ll give everything to you.”

  His obsession with gains gave him an early death.

  What has my obsession given me? A better physique, supposedly, which I somehow dislike as much as the one I had when all this madness began. No, steroids haven’t given me anything at all. They’ve only taken away from me.

  First my family and then Karina and my friends. The people I love the most. It may even take my life if I’m not careful.

  After two days of being foggy-brained, my head is clear now and I know what I have to do.

  I go to my room and, with a long stretch on my arm, pull out the box containing all the steroids in the house. Take it to the kitchen.

  I start with the pills. Uncap the bottles and tip them over the garbage disposal. Round pills pour out. Oval pills pour out. All five bottles, completely empty. I turn on the water and hit the switch of the garbage disposal. The loud grinding makes me feel better.

  I take out the growth hormone from the fridge and put it with the rest of the tiny bottles and ampoules in the box. Cover it with the lid. Then I drop the side of my fist on the box, hard and fast. Again and again. Glass cracks and breaks until it’s a crushing sound.

  This bullshit is the reason I lost the people who loved me, and it’s what set me on the same path of destruction as Alpha.

  I keep slamming my fist down on that box until splotches of oil start to soak through the lid.

  I stop. My heart is racing and the bottom of my fist throbs with pain. And here I’ve been believing I could control my rage—another lie I’ve been telling myself.

  Because of roid rage I hurt my dad’s back, went off on Karina at the movie theater, and got my ass kicked in the lunchroom by Ricky.

  This time, the only damage I’ve done is give myself tiny cuts on the side of my right fist. I rinse the blood off, and head to the bathroom for the first aid kit, to disinfect and wrap my hand.

  30

  THERE’S A MIDMORNING HUMIDITY, and overhead a few motionless, wispy clouds look extra white against a bright blue sky. Not a single breeze has rustled the leaves since I’ve gotten here. The weather is the same as it was for Mom’s funeral almost two years ago.

  Mom’s grave is about eighty yards away, across the road that cuts through the cemetery. I can spot the tall tree with the lush, sprawling branches that provides shade. We chose it because the sites where sunlight never touches are cheaper.

  More people have arrived, bringing the number close to sixty. The casket is set up on two thick pedestals, under a large white tarp set up like the ones at a fair.

  It’s never been easier to tell the family apart from the friends. Just look at the eight guys on this side of the casket, bulky under black clothes, the long sleeves stretched by muscle.

  Most mourners arrivering give us a nod, if any recognition at all, before going to console Alpha’s mom, who can’t stop crying and pressing tissues against her eyes. His dad stands slumped, sort of off to the side of her, receiving mostly handshakes and back pats.

  “We lost a good one,” Launch announces after a long silence.

  The others nod, dark sunglasses moving up and down. I forgot mine. When I start crying, it will be all out in the open.

  The gearheads are all in collars and ties. Except for Jake wearing a plain black T-shirt—no Superman logo for a change—over black slacks.

  They could all be high-salaried security guards.

  “He gave it his all, though,” Tower says, “and lived a great life.”

  More nods. Not from me though.

  Was it really a great life? How? Sure, he gave it his all—it being huge muscles. That’s precisely why his life was less than great.

  They make him sound like he was some war hero, or passed away after battling a disease.

  I move closer to Alpha’s casket for the first time. I make it about ten feet from the casket. It’s off-white with handles that might be brass. It reminds me of the last marble-and-gold trophy Alpha brought home.

  I will myself to move closer, But I just can’t get my legs to move.

  Mindy, wearing a long black dress and oversized sunglasses, appears next to me.

  She also faces the casket. “It was hard for me to get close too.”

  I nod.

  “Alpha’s parents have invited you to the reception,” she says. “You can ride with me.”

  I need people, and being around the guys isn’t helping. “Okay.”

  Alpha’s mom made it clear in the hospital that she wanted nothing to do with Alpha’s friends. She wouldn’t even make eye contact with any of them. She was nice only to me, maybe because of my age. I introduced myself as Alpha’s employee and roommate.

  She believed me when I told her I didn’t take steroids.

  Mindy says, “Come over to the family side if you want. You know how Mrs. Richardson feels about Alpha’s other friends, but you’re welcome.”

  Mindy goes back with the family.

  It’s time to say goodbye to Alpha. I go up to the casket. I don’t talk to him, because I know he can’t hear me. I just close my eyes and think about him. I think of the good times I lived with him, and think back to who he was at my age. The skinny kid who felt like he wasn’t enough and decided to take steroids in order to transform his body. The kid I later became.

  The disappointment I felt in myself just hours ago I feel again. Because he started and couldn’t stop. Because he basically killed himself so young while supposedly trying to live his best life. It’s depressing as hell, so why can’t I cry?

  I just stand here with my eyes closed trying to focus on the good moments while the stupidity of it all keeps interrupting those thoughts.

  “David,” someone says behind me.

  I turn to see Jake standing off to the side. I guess he’s waiting for his turn.

  I leave to join the others.

  “Wait.” Jake forces that word out with a loud whisper.

  I stop.

  He creeps up to me like he has a secret, glancing back at the other guys twice. Walks past me two steps and motions me over with a jerk of his head.

  I join him just outside the shade of the tarp, curious at what this is about. “What’s up?”

  In a tight-voiced whisper he says, “I know this isn’t a great time. I know that. But I wanted to talk to you before anybody else does.”

  Why is he being so secretive? The others are way outta earshot. I can’t even hear what normally loud Tower is saying, though I can guess it’s one of his braggy stories.

  “Sure,” I tell Jake. “What is it?”

  His gelled patch of parted hair shines in the sun when he leans toward me. “What about the gear that Alpha has left over?”

  My stomach turns. I inch back to see if this guy’s serious. He watches me, straight-faced and patient.

  “You’re serious?” It might take more restraint than I have to keep my voice low. “I can’t believe it. You’re actually serious right now.”

  His eyes flick once again to the others before he says, “You know I lost my job at the packaging company and I’m low on money. Somebody is going to ask you for the gear, bro. That’s a fact. I just want you to think of me first, in case you plan on sharing with someone.”

  “You’re an idiot,” I say. “You know that?”

  Now it’s his turn to be shocked. I’m not afraid of his reaction. Maybe it’s because we’re at a funeral. Maybe it’s because I didn’t actually insult the guy by calling him an idiot. It’s an observation. He is an idiot.

  “I get it, bro,” he says. “I don’t expect it for free or nothing. But what about a discount? I’m unemployed. That’s the only reason I’m asking.”

  I wish I could slap this guy. Not from rage�
�I’m totally calm. I just think a good hard slap might rearrange his brain and make him less stupid. Make him realize, at least, where we are and how inappropriate this is.

  “There’s nothing to give away or sell. It’s gone.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks with a dumb stare.

  “I destroyed all the gear because I won’t be using it again. You shouldn’t use it again either.”

  “You actually threw it away? That’s . . .” He looks at me, horrified. “What all was there? What did you throw away?”

  Just one slap. A really good one. I swear to God.

  “Our friend just died, Jake. Because of steroids. You’re at that friend’s funeral asking for drugs that killed your friend. Think about that.”

  I leave him there.

  I walk around the grave and casket to the other side, close to where the family is mourning. This is the side where I’ll be hanging out during the service.

  After the second time the white-haired priest pronounced it Alfonse instead of Alfonso, I lost interest in what he was saying. Why is this old man, who didn’t know Alpha, the only one who’s going to talk about him?

  This priest turns pages in the Bible to read something you’d think he’d have memorized by now. He talks super fast, as if he wants to hurry home for a nap.

  I haven’t shed a single tear yet today. I feel sad about my friend Alpha, I really do, but I’m feeling more lonely than anything—in a way that has nothing to do with him. I can’t explain it.

  I try not to look at the group of Alpha’s friends on the other side of the casket, standing still and serious like they’re Secret Service. Like they’re trying not to cry.

  They’re not bad guys. I still like them all, even Jake with his dumb questions. I just don’t wanna be like them anymore.

  A shiny gray Nissan pulls up to park behind the last car in the row. Rogelio gets out, black suit and tie, and closes the door lightly.

  He’s the third gym member to show up who wasn’t a close friend. I’m glad to see him. Not sure why.

  The priest steps away from the podium.

  Rogelio walks quickly, cutting through the two large trees, and makes his way to us as the priest recites a passage from the Bible. Rogelio acknowledges the gym guys with a nod and walks over to me.

  As the casket is lowered into the grave, the sobs coming from Alpha’s family get louder.

  “I couldn’t get here sooner,” Rogelio says. “Are you doing okay, buddy?”

  I nod.

  The question makes me feel good. Nobody has asked me anything like that for months.

  To think that Rogelio used to get on my nerves. Just like Dad and Karina.

  Some guy I barely know cared enough to try to help me.

  All of a sudden I realize something. I’ve been so lonely among all these people because I don’t care about them all that much. They can’t console me. At Mom’s funeral there was lots of family. Dad and Gaby, and relatives from Texas, California, and Mexico.

  Here there’s nobody for me to lean on. I don’t love anybody here. Besides Alpha, of course, who’s dead and doesn’t need me around.

  The casket creaks when it settles on the dirt six feet under. I feel Rogelio’s arm go around my shoulders. He gives me a side-squeeze before letting go. That sort of hug makes me feel better than I have in days.

  Alpha’s mom lets out an anguished sob. Nearly falls when the priest hands her the saltshaker thing full of dry soil. Her husband holds her tightly as they step to the grave.

  This is it. The final acceptance of death. You sprinkle some dirt over the casket. We had the same thing at Mom’s funeral.

  I also lost it when the priest handed that dirt shaker to Dad.

  I tried to be strong for Gaby, but I was completely lost in tears, barely able to lift that shaker for my turn. My tío Chano had to hold me up and help.

  I had lots of family that day to help me through the most difficult moment of my life. Days later they were gone, but I still had Dad and Gaby. Only two members of my family, but they were so great, and we were so close, that it was enough.

  And I fucked it all up. So quickly and so easily. I didn’t realize how fragile my life was. That by selfishly building a new me I was tearing down everything I loved the most.

  I was planning on making things right with Dad soon. But I can’t wait until the weekend. I don’t even wanna wait until this service is over.

  “Rogelio,” I say, turning to him.

  “Yeah?”

  “This might sound crazy right now,” I say, “but could you give me a ride?”

  31

  ROGELIO IS driving me to the auto shop. Besides asking me for the address where we were going, he hasn’t said a word. Which was great. I wanted to focus on what exactly to say to Dad.

  A lot of good all that thinking has done me. Every second we’re getting closer to the auto shop, and I still haven’t figured out what to say after the apology. Will Dad even be willing to listen?

  I knocked him down and hurt his back. My own dad. Even before that day I disrespected him, snuck out and left my little sister all alone at home.

  Also, why haven’t I apologized sooner? If there’s stuff I don’t understand myself, how am I going to explain it to Dad?

  Rogelio turns onto Bautista Street, and there it is three blocks away—Espinoza Auto Repair. The rows of streamers across the front, and the two-tiered rack of used tires. That’s the family business where I used to work alongside Dad for two years. It’s where Dad taught me all that he knew about cars, and gave me some money for my work.

  Money I spent on steroids.

  Rogelio doesn’t pull all the way to where the tires are, like customers do. He barely pulls into the lot before stopping.

  “Thanks,” I tell him, and shake his hand with my bandaged one. “I really appreciate it.”

  “No problem.” He takes out a card from his wallet—Bayview Realty—and hands it to me. “My cell phone is on there, in case you ever need it.”

  “Pull up closer!” a familiar voice shouts.

  I turn my head. It’s Dad smiling all friendly. The windows on this Nissan are tinted too dark for him to see who’s inside.

  “Is that your dad?” Rogelio asks.

  “Yep, that’s him,” I say, still looking at Dad.

  He’s wiping his hands with a small towel. He takes a step into the sun, and motions for us to pull up closer.

  That smile is going to fade soon. Here we go.

  I take a deep breath and get outta the car. Close the door as my pulse quickens. Rogelio drives away. When I turn to Dad, his smile is gone.

  He’s standing there like a statue. I do the same thing.

  As I look at him, my nervousness evaporates. Even though I have tons to say and still don’t know how to express it. I just need to be near him now.

  I start walking over there. Or maybe he’s the one who starts walking first. All I know is that we’re moving toward each other, closing the distance between us.

  And I don’t know who opens their arms first but we lock into a tight embrace. Right here in the lot of Espinoza Auto Repair, with the sun blazing down on us, he holds me in his arms as I jerk with sobs.

  The tears come down hard, like on the day of Mom’s funeral. Big, fat tears.

  My own neck gets wet from Dad’s tears.

  I try to say the words “I’m sorry” but he’s squeezing me too hard for them to come out.

  Eventually the jerking becomes a steady trembling as I keep weeping. I don’t know how long this hug has gone on, and I don’t care either.

  I’m not letting my dad go. Not ever again.

  32

  TWO DAYS LATER Gaby the birthday girl is standing on a plastic fruit crate in the kitchen. She’s a miniature chef mixing up the chocolate chip cookie dough. Dad will be back from the auto shop by noon with the cake he ordered, and after the kids show up we’ll be ordering pizza.

  None of it is muscle food. But I’m going to try
to eat some and enjoy it. I want my life back, to think and feel all sorts of different things again.

  Miguel comes back from the living room after putting up the last of the streamers and balloons in there. The party theme is My Little Pony.

  “All done,” he tells Gaby. “This looks like it’s gonna be the best party in Tampa. Too bad I didn’t get an invitation.”

  “Of course you’re invited,” Gaby says. “If you’re my friend, you’re invited.”

  She stops mixing to look at me. “Karina! Tell Karina to come!”

  I take out my phone and pretend to do just that. The truth is that Karina knows about it and will be coming for a little while.

  I ended up mentioning Gaby’s birthday after I sent an apology text last night.

  Hi Karina. This is David. Do you hate me? Maybe you do, but I want you to know that I’m SO SORRY about everything. I was on steroids. You were right about that. I got obsessed with getting big. I recently discovered I was dealing with muscle dysmorphia (you can look it up). I’ll be starting some treatment for that. I’m just writing to say I hope you forgive me. Maybe I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I didn’t mean to hurt you. You have to understand that. In fact, I’d like to see you so I can apologize in person. I’ll be back in school at Culler High on Monday, but I could drop by your house before then. I’ve moved back home, living in the neighborhood again. Trying to piece my life together. I hope you don’t hate me so much that you don’t respond.

  I didn’t tell her how much I still think about her or that I still love her. It didn’t seem like a good idea to include that in a first message.

  She responded about ten minutes later:

  I’m happy you’re doing better.

  When I mentioned Gaby’s birthday party, she said she’d drop by. I’ve been wanting to see Gaby and your dad anyway.

  “Like that?” Gaby asks when she’s done putting lumps of cookie dough on the tray.

  “Perfect,” I say, and slide it into the oven. I took my bandage off this morning and it looks like those tiny cuts on the side of my hand won’t scar.