3volve (4 page)

Chapter 4

I cook
migas
in the morning, which next to grilled cheese and frozen burritos are my specialty. Except the boys hardly touch the food. After they finish ignoring each other and me, I drop them off at school, making sure to wait for the first bell, so we have privacy in the attendance office.

Jeremy and Jeremiah haven’t talked too much since I’ve been here and I’m starting to get worried. I keep telling myself its normal, but is it? I know I shouldn’t be worrying myself because how often do teenage boys talk about their feelings. But I can’t shake the feeling something else is bothering them.

I look at their solemn faces, and I wish their annoying twinness would come back.

“What time should I pick you up?” I ask them, fixing their shirts.

“We get out of practice at six,” Jeremy answers without picking up his head.

“Right, practice, okay. I can do that.” I smile.

“Yeah whatever,” Jeremy says, walking off.

I stand there stunned for a minute before composing myself. “So I guess I’ll see you after practice,” I tell Jeremiah, grateful he didn’t walk off too.

“Don’t forget about us,” he shrugs and walks off.

When I get home, I really attempt to put what happened at the school behind me. They need time. So I spend the few hours I have applying online for jobs. Jobs I know I'll hate. Jobs that will pay me measly change for dealing with customers all day. At least I'll be paid.

I’m starting to get a migraine from worrying about how I’m going to do all of it. Mom always had it so together. She would know what to do in this moment—how to take care of them. I let out a sigh.

How do parents work and take their children to school? What if I have to get two jobs? Can they take the bus? Should they take the bus?
Ay dios mío
. My head is going to explode. I slap myself a few times to become alert, when Vanessa comes back in the room.

“How’s it hanging chica?” she asks, sitting across from me.

“I’m losing it already and it hasn’t even been a week.” I feel my chest tightening.

“Okay, breathe.” She rubs my back. “You’ll figure this out. The boys at school?”

“Uh huh,” I reply.

“Did you apply to jobs?”

“Uh huh,” I say again.

“Well aren’t you a bevy of information today. Why don’t you go do a walk around the neighborhood to see if anyone is looking for help? I’ll make dinner.” She gently pats my back.

Her usual red hair looks bristly from the hard water in the bath. Nessa’s staying one more day but has to leave in the morning. Then I won’t have anyone to help me or anywhere to hide from my newfound responsibilities.

I groan aloud. “I’ll be back then.” I try my best to pick up my slouched shoulders.

Downtown may have improved, but the city didn’t bother fixing up the west side. I kind of like it like this though—except the roads, those are dreadful. The shops and restaurants on the other hand are vibrant colors, decorated with murals. The street smells faintly of beer, weed, and probably pee. Man it’s good to be home.

I’ve been to all the shops in the surrounding blocks. My feet are throbbing, and I can feel disappointment starting to set in. Oh no, the river of tears is about to come when I remember my parents and the
michoacana
.

I drive a few blocks and park my car, then roam around until I stop in front of an old shop my parents would take us to when we were younger. My dad was friends with the owner; surely he would take pity on God’s cruel joke.

I open the door and scan behind the counter for the gentle man I knew growing up. Instead I see some kid who should be in school behind the counter.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for Maldonado,” I tell him.

“He died. His brother is owner,” he nods and I turn around to follow his gaze.

The new owner is a portly man. His skin looks like aged leather. He must be adopted because he doesn’t look like a gentle soul like his brother.

“So you looking for job
sí
?” he asks, wiping his dirty hands with a rag.

“Yes, I’ll do anything. I’m flexible during the day, but I have boys in school,” I tell him, awkwardly avoiding his heated gaze. I don’t like it. His eyes are sizing me up, and I want to gouge them out. I have a bad feeling.

“Follow me. We talk about job,” he walks to the back. “Anything,” he says slyly. I can hear the click of the door in the background. “You’ve grown up well
chiquita
,” he says, moving closer.

“You know, I totally forgot my boyfriend was picking me up. I didn’t know I would take so long, he must be worried,” I say, trying to maneuver around him.

“Nah, chiquita no worry,” he steps in front.

I should trust my gut every time I have a bad feeling—even if I eat a bad burrito. I step back to go around. “He really has a temper that one,” I laugh nervously.

“I feel like we should hug,” he says, stepping closer.

“Then you should fight the urge,” I tell him, putting my hand up to stop him.

“Such a shame. I thought you wanted the job,” he snarls between his crooked, disgusting teeth.

“I would rather lick the pavement out front than hug an urchin like you. Actually, you give urchins a bad name.” I back away.

“A pretty thing like you shouldn’t have to work so hard, eh,” he grabs my arms and backs me up. Then puts his grimy stubs on my shirt.

I’m going to be blocked into a corner. In a moment like this, would Dirty Dancing be an inappropriate response? Nobody backs baby in a corner—yeah probably.

Without hesitating, I pick up my right foot and bring it down hard on his foot. I kick his shin and then elbow him in the chest. Pushing myself off him, I grab the stapler, rushing it towards his face. It collides with his already crooked nose, blood dripping down the side of his face. He screams out in response. I don’t stick around; I get the hell out of the room.

I don’t look back. I run until I stop in front of a
taquería
near my car. I sit down on the curb, but instead of crying, I laugh. Now I’m the maniac laughing on the curb.

Sure, others would be in shock, but this is the west side. Women learn to live with much worse. Cops tend to ignore us on this side; hell, they ignore us globally. Ignore the ‘did not’s’ and ‘what was,’ because if there’s no evidence, there’s no crime.

It’s a sad reality. But why cloud my thoughts with ‘what ifs’ and ‘should haves’? I was lucky. I won’t spoil that by ignoring my gut in the future.

I look at the time inside; it’s blinking
6:30
.
Shit. The boys.
I run to my parked car. By the time I get to school, it’s almost seven o’clock and they aren’t there. Jeremy and Jeremiah aren’t standing in their usual spot by the front.

I drive around the school, hoping they walked somewhere else, but I don’t see them. Panicking, I drive around the neighborhood, then double back to drive the path they would take home.

My phone starts ringing, and I lunge across the passenger seat to reach in my purse. “Hello,” I say, still looking around the street.

“I thought you should know I picked up the twins.” Charlie’s voice is stern. I’ve never been the recipient of his stern voice, even in my dumbest moments.

“Oh thank you! I was so worried,” I let a sigh of relief out.

“Apparently, so worried you forgot to pick them up.”

I ignore his chide remarks and tell him, “I’ll be there soon,” before throwing my phone down.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I pull the car up to the house knowing what I have to do: tell him. I open the door and all I see are extended limbs and open containers. Everyone is watching some reality show.

I sit down between Jeremy and Jeremiah and pull them into a hug. Charlie looks over at me and I see his features relaxing.

“What happened?” he asks, concerned.

My hair is disheveled with mangled strings going in every direction. I smell meat and sweat clinging to every hair and thread; my shirt is stained with blood splatter. But hey, silver lining, I’ve looked worse.

“Not right now. Right now this is nice.” I soak up the warmth of their laughter. They are actually laughing. I’m sure it’s only because I wasn’t here.

Vanessa excuses herself to start packing up. Soon they are both going to leave me and I’m going to have to power through it all.

When the show is over, I walk the boys upstairs. They don’t get mad at me for not picking them up or have any quick retorts for me tonight. They just hug me and kiss a cheek before fighting off the bottom bunk. I quickly change my shirt and put my hair in a bun before going back downstairs.

I take a deep breath and ready myself for telling Charlie.

“Are you doing okay?” Charlie asks, pushing food trays towards me.

“Yeah, I mean, I think the shock has worn off for now.” I pick at the food.

“All packed!” Vanessa says happily, coming into the room, “No luck finding any jobs huh?” she asks, sipping wine.

“Not really,” I shrug, disappointed.

“It’ll get better.” Charlie hands me a glass of wine. I hold the glass in my hand and stare into the red, oaky liquid. The smell of alcohol is wafting upward, making me feel nauseous. I put the glass on the table and sit back, holding my stomach. “You need to eat something before you get sick,” he says, prodding food in my face.

“I deserve to get sick. How could I just not get them?”

“Are
you
okay?” he asks, concern filling in his features.

“What if something happened to them?” I throw my hands to cover my face.

“Oh honey you got wrapped up in the job search. They’re fine,” Nessa tells me, waving off my worry.

Charlie comes to sit next to me, lightly tapping my wrist. “It’s easy to blame yourself, but the twins are fine.”

“I try and fail, every time.”

He laughs and places his hand on my knee. “You’ve only been doing this for a few days, which is hardly something to beat yourself up about. Your parents had a decade worth of parental mistakes before the twins showed up. And look at how you turned out,” he smiles jokingly.

“But—” I begin to disagree, but Charlie interrupts.

“Relax and have some food.” He waves pita in front of my mouth. I begrudgingly eat because I am way too hungry to resist my favorite restaurant.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he asks, reaching for more pita.

I tell them both everything that happened. Charlie sat there nodding his head listening intently. He doesn’t say much, just reassures me and apologizes, doing all the things a best friend does when they hear a story like mine. Then he excuses himself, saying he has to make a call.

“Cris, are you really okay? He really didn’t hurt you? You need to report it,” Vanessa says in hushed tones so Charlie doesn’t overhear us.

“No. I’m fine. You can’t report an almost crime. I wish I could or I would be on that phone so fast.” I finish off the wine.

Charlie hangs up the phone. When he comes back into the room, he picks up my hand and kisses it. Gently enough I can feel his lips brush along my skin. And I think back to what Nessa told me. Does he really love me like she’s sure he does?

He doesn’t need to tell me. I already know he did something about it. He always takes care of me and feels my needs before I even know I want anything.

“I need to leave soon. I have an early meeting at the office,” his mouth tells me, but his eyes say a different story.

“Okay. Do you want to grab lunch tomorrow?” I turn around and cross my knees on the couch.

“I wish I could, but I’m going to the home office,” he pokes at the butter chicken, averting my gaze.

“Home office? Oh,” I say with more disappointment than what I was going for.
Why am I so disappointed he’s leaving?
I knew he had to leave sooner or later. He doesn’t live here anymore.

“I’ll try to be back as soon as I can.” He puts his fork down and turns to me.

I shake my head, “You don’t have to do that. We’ll be fine.” I follow suit.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he says softer.

I walk him out, and his strong frame fills my doorway. “Be safe,” I say, not wanting him to leave.

“Be safe.” Charlie touches my cheek, and without hesitating, I kiss his palm. Why did I do that?! The crazy is going to my head.

He smiles nervously—probably wondering why the heck I just did that. I can see it in his face; he wants to say something else but he doesn’t. He waves and gets in his car to leave.

Vanessa jabs me from behind. “Destiny,” she reminds me with bags in hand. “Wake up and smell the
comal
chica. I’ll start packing your things.” she kisses my cheek.

Chapter 5

I spent the night, as I have for the past two weeks, sleeping in my parents’ old room. I wrap myself in their comforting smell and push all the hurtful thoughts out. I knew this was going to be hard, I just didn’t realize how hard.

I walk to my room. As I stand in front of the closet, I feel the too-empty feeling in the pit of my stomach—an endless reminder of my childhood.

I open up my closet, surveying the next piece of teenage angst I’m going to wear. I don’t know what’s more depressing, leaving on short notice or having to wear clothes from high school on laundry day. I throw on a black dress and a sweater. On the plus side, I’m still the same size.

I knock on the boys’ door, “Fifteen minutes, guys,” I tell them through the opening in the door. I wait for them to answer me or acknowledge me in any way, but they don’t. I nod my head and walk downstairs to start cooking.

Jeremy and Jeremiah hardly talk to me. They haven’t been themselves since it happened. I always knew we weren’t close because of our age difference, but I don’t know, I always thought family was stronger than time—a stronger bond that is able to break any self-bondage—but every day I’m reminded how I really don’t know them at all.

I don’t know any of their favorites. What do they like to eat? Why do they love basketball so much? I don’t know who their friends are.

All we have in common are the few holidays Mom dragged me to and when we played hide-and-seek. They were so small when I left for college, and now they tower over me. They didn’t grow up with all the damage on the street that I had to. Everything was so easy for them when they came along.

I push any lingering resentment and guilt away as I begin breakfast. Sure, I may not know how to cook anything but chicken for dinner, but I sure as hell got breakfast down—now all I have to do is have them down here to eat it before we’re late again.

In the two weeks since Vanessa and Charlie left, I have the whole cooking thing down. I can make great breakfast now. I drink my coffee at the kitchen table while I wait for them to come down.

“I cooked breakfast!” I say, excitedly sipping my coffee as they come clambering down from the stairs to the table.

“Cool,” Jeremiah says, sitting down to eat. His arm is curled around the plate to fit his large frame in such a small space—maybe I should think about getting a larger table.

Jeremy leans against the entryway, crossing his arms. I can feel his attitude swelling every day. He hasn’t eaten my breakfast and I’m getting annoyed. At least I’m not letting them fend for themselves. Who the hell does he think he is getting off on treating me like some stranger? I made one wrong move not picking them up early,
one day
, and suddenly I started global warming!

“Aren’t you going to try it?” I ask him, upset, but he just shakes his head. “It’s good, I promise. I’m getting totally better at this.” I pile food on a plate, waving it around in front of him, hoping the smell registers something.

Jeremy shrugs. “I’m not hungry,” he says, pushing it away.

“Okay…. Well, here’s lunch money,” I hand them each three dollars.

“Thanks Cris,” Jeremiah says with a mouthful of eggs. He smiles and it makes me feel better. At least Jeremiah isn’t mad at me.

Jeremy shoves the money in his pocket. “You’re not going to forget us again, right?”

I sigh, disgusted, “I didn’t forget you. I had an accident. Jeez, that was weeks ago! You really need to let it go.”

“Not to me.” He grabs his backpack and slaps Jeremiah on the back of his head. “Let’s go, before we’re late.”

I rush to school, trying to make up time we lost with breakfast. My timing is still off. I hit the dash annoyed we’re late again. But what’s the point of telling them I’m sorry when they probably think I don’t mean it.

I sign them in at the office and adjust their shirts before they leave. I smile, hoping they can see I’m not deliberately trying to make them late to homeroom.

The attendance clerk waits for Jeremy and Jeremiah to leave the room before she perks her head up. “Three tardies will mean an absence, Ms. Escobedo,” the clerk tells me, closing the binder firmly.

“Yes, I know. I’m trying, I swear,” I tell her, putting my driver’s license back into my wallet.

“Perhaps leaving earlier?” she offers, clasping the binder to her chest. Her demeanor quickly changes with her stance, from firm to pity. “I know it must be hard, but if you don’t start applying yourself, then they are the ones who will suffer. We all have to be on the same page about their education.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask, hurt with such an accusation.

“If students are consistently late, then they will fall behind in school. You are responsible for getting them here on time. Otherwise we will have to take interventions to assure their education,” she says, handing me a yellow sheet of paper. “Consider this a warning. You don’t want them to fail in life, right?”

I scoff, buildings may have gotten nicer, but school attitudes sure remain the same. I grab the sheet of paper:
Attendance Policy, Parents/Guardians have been notified of the seriousness of regular, on time attendance of their student(s). Attendance is mandatory every day, please work with us to ensure the education of our students, so they may achieve success.

She lays down another sheet of paper. “If you can sign that you have been given this notice.”

I nod, signing the paper. She staples it to another sheet and files it away behind her in their school folder.

I hang my head in resignation. “I’m sorry. You are totally right. I will try harder, I will,” I nod, turning around towards the now empty parking lot.

              “Another wonderful freakin’ day,” I whisper under my breath, kicking my tire.

              I throw the notice on my dash and then rest my head on my steering wheel, screaming all the frustration out of my system. When I pick my head up, there are a few concerned looking kids and a parent staring at me, eyes popping out like I’m in a wild cartoon—when is the anvil going to hit me? I shake my head at them, like “What, you’ve never seen a frustrated person before.”
Ugh.

             
I grab my phone and call Vanessa because I know she’ll know what to say to make me feel better.

              She answers on the first ring. “Chica, I’m going into work,” she tells me in a rushed tone. Yeah, she’s exactly who I should’ve called.

“Nessa, I don’t know what I’m doing. They hate me,” I whine into the phone, abusing my steering wheel some more.

              “They do not hate you, you’re their sister.”

              “Ha. Maybe they need a reminder,” I roll my eyes, knowing very well she can’t see.

              “They need time.”

              “It’s been like three weeks and they still don’t want to talk to me. I can barely get a groan to register.”

              “They’re teenage boys, Cris. That sounds like an accomplishment for them.”

              I laugh, throwing my head back against my seat. “It’s hard.”

              “Suck it up and get a job!” she says facetiously.

“I’m trying!” I cry out.

“Sorry, tough love,” she says softer. “Look, I have to go. I packed all your stuff. So you don’t have to worry about it,” Vanessa tells me, talking over the large crowd in the lobby.

“Thanks,” I tell her, closing my eyes to calm down.

“You’re doing fine. Call me later, k?”

“Okay. Thanks, Nessa.”

“Sure. Bye!” she says enthusiastically, hanging up.

            
 
I open my eyes. “I can do this. I got this,” I tell myself like it’s a mantra in my rearview mirror. I fasten my seatbelt, when my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number but answer, hoping it’s not a bill collector.

              “Hello?” I ask cautiously. Answering phones lately hasn’t exactly brought me luck.

              “Hello, I’m calling for Cristal Escobedo. This is Mr. Rydel from Grocer’s calling about the application you submitted. Are you free to come in for an interview?”

              “Of course! Yes, thank you for calling me.”

              “Wonderful. I know this is short notice, but are you available to come now?” he asks gingerly.

              “Yes, I can,” I answer, looking down at my outfit. It’s not the best thing to wear to an interview, but it looks conservative and professional.

              “Okay, good. Do you know where we are located?” he asks.

              “I do.”

              “Good, good. So I will see you soon?”

“Yes. Thank you, sir. See you soon.” I hang up the phone, squealing with delight that something good is finally happening.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

              I enter Grocer’s into my GPS and drive to the supermarket. Nervous, I pat down the wrinkles forming on my dress and pull back my hair into a tight bun. Walking into the store, I see the flies buzzing around the fruit stands. The line is long for a
raspa
. If everything goes well maybe I’ll treat myself with one. I smile, hopeful everything will finally go well for us.

The interview goes absolutely perfect. Mr. Rydel provides me with two uniform shirts to wear and tells me I need to get some black pants, which won’t be hard considering the high school wardrobe filling my closet. He was very flexible with my work schedule, allowing me to work while the boys are in school.

I walk out feeling relieved. Sitting in my car outside, I just know that my parents are looking down on me, gracing me with a little good luck.

My phone buzzes and I pull it from my pocket. Charlie sent me a text:
I’m in town. See U Soon! :].

I reply:
I have great news! See you soon :).

              I still have a bunch of time before I have to pick them up, so I decide to pay my parents a visit before heading home. I pick up a nice flower arrangement across the street from the cemetery. I haven’t been here since the funeral. I drive into the archway, slowly driving through the winding pathway to their burial plot.

I park my car along the edge of the tree line. Grabbing the flowers, I walk over to them, sitting down in front of their fresh graves. The plaque I ordered hasn’t been placed on their plot yet, so the cardboard name boards are still on a small piece of wood standing up in the ground.

The wood looks like a toothpick. It’s too small to hold such important names as my parents. How can they just leave these sticks here? Can’t they afford more suitable name holders? I mean they charge more than enough for it.

I start to feel the tears well up. Reaching out to touch their names, I see they are fading to yellow from being in the sun all day.

              I lay down the flowers between them, crossing my legs. “So I got a job today,” my voice croaks out, sounding weaker than I meant it to. I clear my throat and try again. “This is new to me, the whole talking to you thing. I uh…I feel like you both are looking over me, I guess to make sure I don’t screw anything up. But if you are, looking after me, thank you.”

I place my palms over their spots. “I’m really trying here. I know the school looks at me and sees the delinquent, no-nonsense student who is stuck raising two burgeoning teenage boys. They must be so afraid I’ll turn them into me.” I laugh, trying to conceal my pain from them even though they probably see right through me.

“But I do care about their education and I’m trying not to let you down, Mama. I
just
don’t think I have it in me,” I say, wiping my tears and leaning back against the grass. I stare up at the sparkling blue sky.

As I lay here thinking of them both, the clouds decide to merge together—a melding of bodies and shapes. A cloud shaped like a seahorse is inching its way closer to a smaller looking flower. It swallows it whole.
I know how you feel flower cloud.
I turn my head to concentrate on the crisp blades of grass.
Wouldn’t life be simpler being the morning dew on a blade of grass?

Remembering I still have to greet Charlie at home, biting my lip, I stand back up and shake the dirt off my dress. Comforted that I finally saw them, even for a brief moment, I drive home.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Charlie is already there waiting for me on the stoop when I drive up. He’s wearing a nice gray and blue suit, so he must have come from the office. I’m happy he’s here but at the same time I feel so guilty. There are bags under his eyes that weren’t there a few weeks ago. I know he’s here because he’s just looking out for us, but the drive looks like it’s taking its toll.

              I stop in front of him, taking in his languish appearance. “You look like crap,” I finally say, sitting down next to him.

              He covers his heart. “Ooh the anguish,” he smirks. And I can see the light in his eyes flicker briefly before they wash over with exhaustion again.

              “You look tired.” I rest my hand on his knee.