The Story of My Uncle Juan, Uncle Tony and Two-Face

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 

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 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.