Don't Skip Out on Me

by Willy Vlautin

  ‘The horchata will calm your stomach and help with tomorrow’s hangover,’ Diego said. Horace ate the tacos and drank the horchata. When they were finished, they said goodbye to Javier and Horace and Diego took a cab back to the Marriott. In the lobby, Diego gave him a hug and told him they’d be leaving the next morning at nine.

  In his room, Horace collapsed on the bed and tried to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. He thought of the skinny girl and wondered how old she was. As he lay there in the king-sized bed, he realized that every day, while he trained and put tires on cars and ate at Lucky Wishbone, she was spitting out come into a dingy sink.

  An hour passed and his stomach hurt from the food and his mind became engulfed in a tirade against himself. ‘You said you wanted to be a champion, but a champion doesn’t do that. A champion doesn’t take advantage of a street girl. And tomorrow, in the car, don’t blame Diego. He didn’t make you go up those stairs. He didn’t force you. A real champion thinks for himself. A real champion builds his own boat and travels his own way. A real champion stands up and says, “This isn’t right!”’

  He looked at his phone. It was two thirty in the morning. Why was the night going so slowly? He wanted to get up but he didn’t know where to go, and he was too scared to walk outside alone. If they had a gym he could work out, but his ribs hurt worse than they ever had and he thought his stomach might burst from all the food. He held it with his hands, like a pregnant belly: two hot dogs, four Cokes, two chicken-neck tacos, a bowl of goat soup, three pastor tacos, a horchata, six beers and five shots of tequila. He rolled off the bed and stood up. His ribs burned with just his breathing. He began to pace.

  He wanted nothing more than to get back to Tucson, where at least he could understand the language, where at least he knew what he was eating and which faucet he could drink from. And the second he got back, he’d move out of his aunt’s house and he would get his own place. He would call the Reeses and tell them that he missed them. He would rebuild his boat. Brick by brick and row by row. He would make up for who he was.

  He continued to pace and the night wore on. At 5 a.m. his nose began to bleed, and at five thirty he got the runs. At half past six he threw up, and that caused such pain in his ribs that he dropped to the bathroom tile, where he stayed until his alarm went off at eight thirty.

  19

  Mr Reese pulled into the turnout at Canyon Mine and shut off the engine. He nursed a cup of coffee, ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and listened to the radio. From the truck’s glove box he took out the weathered laminated sign – This truck belongs to the Reese ranch. Please don’t vandalize! We’re a mom and pop outfit – and put it on the dash. He finished the coffee and got out of the truck. He went through his yoga stretches and then unloaded Slow Poke and Honey and tied them to the side of the stock trailer.

  In the dawn light he took a vial of Valium from his shirt pocket, broke one in half and swallowed it dry. He took the supplies from the bed of the truck and loaded Honey’s panniers, tightened both cinches and then walked the horses up the narrow washed-out mining road until he came to a stump on the side. He stood on it, brought Slow Poke beside him, put his foot in the stirrup and got on the horse.

  For the first hour he felt alright. Louise had rubbed his back with heat lotion before he left and Slow Poke’s plodding, methodical pace had a rhythm that eased more than hurt. The old man swayed with every Slow Poke sway, concentrated on his breathing, and time passed without incident.

  He had gone up three thousand feet when the narrow canyon walls opened to the first plateau. Acres of meadow grass appeared and the struggling creek grew, and groves of aspen trees quaked alongside it. Mr Reese needed to urinate and the horses needed a rest, but when he tried to dismount he found he was unable to. His back was now stuck and the pulsating pain that had begun earlier was now worse. He pulled the vial of Valium from his shirt pocket, took out a full pill and swallowed it. He waited for ten minutes but the pain seemed only to worsen.

  He took Slow Poke’s lead from around the saddle horn and pulled his right leg from the stirrup and then his left. He pushed his cowboy hat down as far as he could and wrapped his arms around the neck of the horse, then slowly rolled off Slow Poke until he fell into the grass. The horse didn’t spook, only looked tired and hot in the midday sun.

  The pain worsened as Mr Reese tried to stand. He broke down crying. He got himself upright, hunched over and stuck, while Honey stood listless next to Slow Poke, her eyes half-closed in sleep. He grabbed both leads and moved the horses to the shade of the aspens, tied them to trees and urinated. From Honey’s panniers he grabbed his lunch and water bottle, then he loosened both horses’ cinches and collapsed on the grass. He tried to find a position that was comfortable, but there was none. The pill didn’t seem to be working so he took another half, and then finally the pain eased. He grew drowsy and fell asleep.

  It was dusk when he woke. He stood up, disoriented and sore, but the spasms had stopped. He looked at the darkening sky. It was too late to make it to Pedro’s camp. He’d have to wait until dawn. He decided not to unsaddle the horses for fear that he wouldn’t be able to get the saddles back on the next morning. He apologized to Slow Poke and Honey and led them to the creek to drink before bringing them back to the aspen grove and hobbling them. He took a small tarp, an air mattress and his sleeping bag and laid them out. He ate a turkey sandwich in darkness.

  The breeze grew cool and he pulled off his boots and took drinks from a flask. In the distance he could hear yips from coyotes and above him the stars shone and he could make out satellites passing in the vast sky. He got in the sleeping bag and fell asleep.

  *

  The horses woke him before dawn, startled by something in the night. The small air mattress Louise had bought him helped, but the fact was that he was so tight he wasn’t sure, when morning came, if he would be able to stand.

  He thought of his father’s death alone in the mountains. Would that be such a bad way to go? He wouldn’t mind dying alone, away from people. He didn’t think he would be more scared that way than any other. Maybe less, somehow. But then Louise would be frantic. She wouldn’t call the police or the BLM, she’d just call Ander – and Ander, now seventy-four, would try to get on a horse and look for him. In the end a half-dozen people would have to search and the sad thing is, one of them would find him just like Ed Morton had found his father. He supposed, then, he’d rather die in bed at home. It would be the least amount of work and worry for everyone involved.

  He looked at the starry sky above him and thought of his daughters and then of Horace and wished he had Little Lana to keep him company. He closed his eyes and again drifted off. He woke next at sunrise, took half a Valium, waited for it to take effect and then slowly got himself out of the sleeping bag. He did the stretches he could and rubbed heat lotion on his lower back. He put his sleeping gear away, ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and switched out of his cowboy boots into a new pair of running shoes that were easier on his back. The horses stood next to each other quietly. He tightened both cinches and together they began the walk toward Pedro.

  *

  It was late afternoon when, in the distance, he heard the bleats of the sheep. He rose over a small ridge to see his flock nestled in a bowl-shaped meadow and a blue tarp in the far corner, half-hidden in a grove of aspens.

  Little Roy came to him first but Mr Reese’s back was so tight and sore he couldn’t bend down to pet him. The Border collie walked beside him as he headed toward camp, and soon he made out Whitey and Jip and then Wally and Tiny. Everyone was okay. He high-lined the horses next to Myrtle and took the saddle off Slow Poke. He unloaded the supplies from Honey and took off the panniers. He brought his personal pack into the grove of aspens and found Pedro lying face down, naked, on his sleeping bag. The camp was in disarray, with discarded cans of food near the fire. A fifth of rum was three-quarters empty by Pedro’s head.

  He called to Pedro a half-dozen times and then
kicked on his foot with his running shoe. Pedro was breathing but wouldn’t stir. The old man moved to the other side of the spent fire pit, laid down his tarp, the air mattress and sleeping bag, and collapsed. He slept until dusk. When he woke, he had to roll onto his stomach and push himself upright. He took half a Valium and put heat lotion on his back.

  Pedro still hadn’t woken. Mr Reese fed the dogs and started a small fire. From inside a nylon cooler he took two steaks. He washed two pans and looked through Pedro’s supplies and found potatoes, onions and garlic. He chopped them and set them in a frying pan on the Coleman stove. Night came and Mr Reese again called out to Pedro, and finally his worker rolled over and sat up. His eyes were wet and bloodshot. He saw Mr Reese, nodded and then stood up, unsteady, and found his clothes.

  They ate, watching the small fire. Wally sat next to Pedro and Tiny and Little Roy next to Mr Reese. They didn’t speak and the fire died and they went to sleep. When dawn came, Mr Reese opened his eyes to see a fire again going in the pit. Pedro was up and coffee was brewing on the stove. The old man opened his sleeping bag and rolled onto his stomach. He was so tight it was difficult to stand. In his underwear he put heat lotion on his lower back. He stretched as Pedro watched from where he sat on his sleeping bag.

  Pedro didn’t eat breakfast. He only drank coffee and sat next to the fire.

  ‘We need to talk,’ Mr Reese said as he finished a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

  Pedro nodded.

  ‘Do you still have your phone?’

  ‘Sí.’

  ‘Do you have minutes left?’

  ‘Sí.’

  ‘When you’ve finished your coffee, show me where I can get reception and I’ll call Louise and tell her I’m staying. We’ll have Ander meet us with supplies. If we head down Corral Canyon, we’ll save two weeks. We’ll get the sheep to my place from there. We’ll be a month early but I have the hay. I’m not going to leave you alone up here anymore.’

  Pedro kept his eyes on the fire.

  ‘In your head, what’s happening?’

  Pedro just shrugged.

  ‘You won’t tell me?’

  Pedro kept still.

  ‘I think it’s time you went back to your wife and family.’

  Tears leaked down Pedro’s face.

  Mr Reese took a drink of coffee. ‘You’ve been alone up here for more than twenty years. Ten with the McGill ranch and ten more with me. That’s a long time in the mountains.’

  Pedro nodded.

  ‘Either way, I’m done,’ said Mr Reese and sighed. ‘I can’t ride anymore and Horace is gone. I’m having a hard time finding help. I have to face the fact that it’s over.’ He paused and looked at Pedro. ‘Can you make it a couple more weeks?’

  Pedro nodded.

  ‘Is there anything you want to talk about? Is there anything I can help you with?’

  Pedro shook his head and looked at the ground. Mr Reese took a last drink of coffee and threw the rest on the fire.

  20

  For weeks Horace was too hurt to do anything but go to work and walk home. He didn’t see Ruiz, and spent his nights alone watching TV and taking walks through the city. He tried to save money by eating at home but he grew to hate the food he cooked and he was tired of making it. He began going to Lucky Wishbone four nights a week and Mariana continued to flirt with him, even when his face was so visibly beat up.

  ‘Does it hurt bad getting hit?’ she asked him.

  ‘Not exactly,’ Horace told her. ‘Not when it’s happening. It does later on, though.’

  ‘It looks like it hurts now.’

  ‘It does hurt now,’ he said, and smiled.

  ‘I’ve never been to Tijuana,’ the girl said. ‘What’s it like?’

  ‘It’s crazy there,’ he said.

  ‘And dangerous?’

  ‘I guess so. It seemed like it was.’

  ‘Were there a lot of people at the fight?’

  ‘Thousands,’ he replied.

  ‘And you won?’ she said, excited.

  Horace nodded and, as hard as he tried, he couldn’t make himself tell her that he had only fought in a preliminary bout. That the people weren’t there to see him or cheer for him.

  ‘My older brother’s in the Marines,’ she said. ‘He used to box, but not professionally.’

  A customer came in and stood behind Horace.

  Mariana rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. ‘Don’t worry about paying,’ she whispered and then said, ‘Do you like movies?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said.

  She went to the register and pushed a button and a blank receipt came from it. She tore it off and had him write down his number. ‘I still have a boyfriend, but I’ll go see a movie with you if you can go during the day.’

  ‘Which day?’

  ‘I see a movie every Wednesday,’ she replied. ‘And I always see the twelve thirty or one o’clock showing.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said.

  *

  He met her the next week at the movie theatre, dressed in his newest jeans and newest long-sleeved shirt. He even bought new running shoes and wore them. His right eye was no longer swollen but the skin around it was discoloured and it often blurred and watered for no reason at all. His ribs, on the other hand, still hurt in everything he did. It was hard for him just to sit and painful to even roll over in bed.

  He paid for his ticket and went inside to find her looking at framed movie posters on a wall. She wore a black dress with thin straps and white tennis shoes. Her hair, which he’d only seen held back in a ponytail, was down.

  She wore red lipstick and mascara.

  ‘I thought about it and realized you’d never seen me without my uniform. I was thinking you wouldn’t recognize me.’

  ‘I’d recognize you no matter how you were dressed,’ said Horace.

  ‘And I don’t smell like that place,’ she said, and laughed.

  Horace smiled. ‘Do you see a lot of movies?’

  ‘Wednesday is one of my days off so I see movies on Wednesdays if I can. It’s too hot to do anything else and there’s always too many people at my house anyway. Is your boss okay with you taking the afternoon off?’

  He nodded.

  ‘When are you boxing next?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘My dad’s favourite sport is boxing.’

  ‘And you live at home?’

  ‘Yeah, but I’m gonna move out soon. You know the girl I work with, Camila?’

  Horace nodded.

  ‘She and I might get a place. My two younger brothers and two younger sisters, my grandma and my mom and dad and me all live in a two-bedroom house. It’s super-crowded. You have to wait an hour just to get five minutes alone in the bathroom.’ She rolled her eyes and smiled. ‘Your face looks better.’

  ‘It’s mostly just my ribs that hurt now,’ he said.

  ‘You must be really tough. I don’t like it even when I get a cold or cut my finger.’

  ‘I’m not that tough.’

  ‘You’re probably even tougher than my brother and he’s in the Marines. Have you seen the other Hunger Games movies?’

  ‘I don’t know anything about them.’

  Mariana smiled and then, like she’d done it a million times, took his hand and they went inside the theatre. Only three other seats were taken and she led them to the back corner. She gave him a piece of gum, took one herself, and ten minutes into the movie she reached over and kissed him. By a half-hour into the film all they did was kiss. When Horace stopped her to ask about her boyfriend, she only whispered, ‘I don’t want to talk about him. He’s really boring and lives in Texas. I don’t like him anymore anyway.’ They kissed more and, when the credits ended and the lights came up, she whispered, ‘I wish it was just starting.’

  They walked out together into the lobby.

  ‘Just so you know, I’m gonna leave by myself in case one of my relatives drives by. I’m related to everybody in this town so it’s easy to get
in trouble. But I had a nice time, Hector. I’m not going to give you my number ’cause it’s my home number and if you call my mom will think something’s up, and she likes my boyfriend. I had a cell phone but I dropped it in the toilet, of all places, and I have to wait until I get paid to get a new one. But come into the Wishbone and I’ll give you a free dinner tomorrow night. Okay?’

  He nodded and watched her walk out of the theatre and he felt better than he had since he could remember. He walked to the counter, got a Coke and a package of Red Vines, and bought a ticket to the same movie. He went back in and sat in the seat she had been sitting in. He began to watch the film but even alone he couldn’t concentrate. He’d been given a gift, a chance to make up for Tijuana. Make up for failing, for drinking beer and tequila, for the girl, for always being scared in Mexico, and for being depressed and lazy afterward. He would be different now. He would be the best man she’d ever met. He’d make her life easier and he’d make her laugh every day. He’d kiss her better than she’d ever been kissed, and he’d take her to the movies as often as she wanted. And when he wasn’t with her he would train harder than he ever had. He would make real money as a boxer and move out of his aunt’s place. He’d get his life back on track. He’d right his boat.

  *

  Each Wednesday after that, Horace met Mariana at the movies. They kissed in the back and by the third time, and all the times after, she took his hand and put it between her legs and inside her underwear. When the movie ended, they would walk out to the lobby and she would leave by herself, and he would again watch the movie alone.

  She began to write him love letters and gave him free dinners with extra sides each time he came to Lucky Wishbone. She would call him on the work phone sporadically during the week. But she never let him call her, they never met outside of the movie theatre, and she never broke up with her boyfriend.