From Thought & Tina
Uncle Alfred had just given them notice. They were
in Texas. In Sometown, Texas. A Texas that no longer remained Mexican, Spanish
or French. Back then, Uncle Juan and Uncle Tony continued only to speak in
Spanish. They didn’t worry. The windows to their rusty blue pick-up truck were
already cranked down by the time they stopped. A billboard in the distance held
a faded dark cowgirl winking and wearing Larry Mahan’s. Two-Face had just
farted. There was no wind. Uncle Juan, Uncle Tony and Two-Face were lost and
miles from Anytown, Texas. And Texas remained dry.
Uncle Juan kicked a
clay rock. Uncle Tony took off his glasses. He could barely see Uncle Juan’s
outline in the distance and Uncle Tony would never make out the dust bursting
off the tip of Uncle Juan’s boot. Two-Face circled the truck several times
looking for shade. Uncle Tony kept silent and adjusted himself on a large rock.
“I can’t leave you,”
Uncle Juan said, hooking his thumbs into his pockets.
“You can,” Uncle Tony
said, his weight digging into his elbow.
“Tony. Didn’t you hear
what I just said?”
“Si.”
“Jesus Christ man. Lose
the attitude.”
“What d-do you want
m-me to do?”
“Nothing.”
“Always n-nothing.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Hours passed.
They
sat not in silence, not in whipping wind, but in tumble weed thoughts.
Uncle
Juan wanted children. He knew though, that that was no longer an option for him
anymore. Out of seven, Uncle Juan was
the third oldest and the family kept producing girls. It was in Texas that
Uncle Juan believed he would find love. A love that would make him tamales and
remember the good times. He believed
that someday he would get married and that a good woman was still, out there,
looking for him too. But it would be in Texas that Uncle Juan would branch out
in every direction looking for work. Uncle Juan became a collector of odd jobs.
He did everything from boulder moving, to roofing to siding. They paid rent and
kept Two-Face downstairs. Two-Face rarely saw upstairs, let alone the sunlight.
It wasn’t enough.
Uncle Juan, Uncle Tony
and Two-Face were kicked out by Uncle Alfred, because Uncle Tony broke the
fridge— leaned his whole weight on it one too many times. Or so, Cyndi, Uncle
Alfred’s daughter, said at Uncle Juan’s welcome home party. She claimed that
Uncle Tony didn’t have the discipline to eat his own food and that Uncle Tony
was depriving her and her three children of their food, space and breath. But
Uncle Tony did have the discipline for some things in life, because he simply
had the hours to himself to do— whatever. It still wasn’t enough. Uncle Alfred folded his arms in the basement
doorway and said, “No más.” Uncle Juan, Uncle Tony, and
Two-Face packed up soon after.
Uncle Tony sat in constant
comfort, but once he started walking he’d gallop like a horse on linoleum. It
was never wise to walk behind Uncle Tony, because he would get easily spooked
and trot far too fast for his uneven legs to keep up with the momentum. He often slept with sneakers on for this
reason and kept them laced up at all times. When Uncle Tony was first born they
told me that the doctors in San Luis Potosí kept saying polio, polio, polio.
But it wasn’t polio, just some other complicated name that no one, but Uncle
Juan cared to remember. No one talked about the future.
Uncle Juan kicked
another rock. The toothpick between his teeth snapped as yet another truck flew
by. Uncle Juan turned and walked toward the billboard. He sighed. Uncle Juan
wanted to take off that dark cowgirls boots and slide his hand up her arch, past
her heel and gently up the back of her leg. Kiss her thigh and remember that he
loved someone. But, the fact of the matter was that Uncle Juan wasn’t going to
love anyone. Uncle Juan wasn’t going to have children. Uncle Juan wasn’t going
to leave Uncle Tony and Uncle Tony wasn’t going anywhere soon and no trucker
was willing to take all three of them. It was Uncle Juan’s dark Mexican skin
that kept them from stopping. It was Uncle Tony’s legs that kept them from
stopping. It was Two-Face’s accidently cropped tail that kept them from
stopping. Uncle Juan pulled out the broken toothpick, flicked the smaller half
away and began to pace.
The sun had shifted and
Two-Face started to growl. “What’s the matter Two-Face?” Uncle Juan said. “Come
here.” Uncle Juan reached out to Two-Face and his fingers were pierced with
Two-Face’s grip. A sting raced into Uncle Juan’s heart. Even with two swift
kicks to the side, Two-Face wouldn’t let go. Uncle Juan felt his forehead get
hotter and his breath clenched in his throat. His eyes bulged and his teeth
began to splinter apart. Uncle Juan and Two-Face met each other’s gaze. Uncle
Juan saw the ends of Two-Face’s mouth curve up into what looked like a smile,
but Two-Face’s teeth were still digging into his flesh. Uncle Juan spat out the
remainder of his toothpick and raised his boot again, but as Uncle Juan went in
for another kick Two-Face simply let go. Uncle Juan’s first thoughts were not
of rage or revenge, but rather the question of whether or not he believed he
had just seen Two-Face smile at him— a smile that looked almost human.
“Are you O.K m-man?”
Uncle Tony said. Uncle Juan said nothing as he pulled a handkerchief from this
back pocket and tied it around his palm. “Sorry, I couldn’t d-do anything.”
“¡Ay Dios!” Uncle Juan shouted
as Two-Face whimpered. Two-Face fled to the shade of the truck.
“Two-Face thinks we’re
going somewhere?” Uncle Juan kept staring at his plan. “Debíamos haber matado esa bestia cuando teníamos la
oportunidad.”
“¿Qué dijiste?”
“Debíamos
haberlo dejado morir en ése
sótano.”
“¿Perdón?”
“Nos echaron a patadas por causade Two-Face.”
“No
hombre. Era ti.”
“No.
Esta vez, no.”
“Si,
hombre. Era ti. Siempre ti.”
“No.
No digas eso.”
“Siempre
es ti. . .”
“¡NO!
¡NO DIGAS ESO! Esta vez, no. ¡ESTA VEZ
FUE YO!”
“Desde
que Abuela murió. La prometí. La
prometí que te cuidaría—“
“¡CÁLLATE! ¡LO SÈ!
¡LO SÈ!”
“David,
no. Ni Robert. Ni Jesús. Ni
Joey. Pero yo. Yo lo hizo—”
“No
puedo respirar. ¡Cállate! ¡CÁLLATE!”
“Ni
Dios. . .”
“¡LO
SÈ¡ No más.
”
“Siempre
era yo, luchando porti. Dedicando mi vida porti, hombre—”
“¡BASTA!
¡NO HABLAS! No más. . .”
“Y
nunca hacías un carajo. Ni una sola vez en tu vida hacías algo.” Uncle
Tony sobbed uncontrollably. Uncle Tony could taste all those years of hatred
leaking into his mouth. All those years that Uncle Juan hated him and his
uneven legs. “¡Cállate! ¡NO LLORES!” But Uncle Tony couldn’t stop crying. Uncle
Juan’s hand pulsed. Uncle Juan could
taste all those years of hatred too and the taste hurt. Nothing was going to
silence him. Uncle Juan looked down. Two-Face was sitting next to him. A rock
waited in front of Two-Face.
“No más. . .”
***
Uncle
Juan dropped the clay rock. Uncle Tony could barely see Uncle Juan’s outline in
the distance and Uncle Tony never did see the dust bursting off the tip of
Uncle Juan’s boot. Two-Face circled Uncle Tony several times. Uncle Tony laid
there in silence and watched as Two-Face smiled at him before catching up to Uncle
Juan’s side.
-Sonja
----
AN: The spacing is really off in this piece. I just copied it from a word document and then the actual layout of this blog makes the text space shorter, my apologizes if it reads weird. To date the best piece of writing I think I've done.
