Tag: fiction
What ‘s Up with Everyone Today?
by The Cowl Editor on November 1, 2019
Halloween
by Daniel Carrero ’23
Ike was upset nobody shoveled the snow from the driveway. He had to park on the street. Walking inside the house he could hear Wonder barking from the backyard. He dropped his suitcase at the door, “Dad’s home!” No response. Ike thought the house was unusually silent this evening. Typically after a long trip he’s greeted at the door.
He walked into his bedroom and Tina, his wife, sat in front of the TV watching The Office, with a plate of burnt steak in her lap. Her brown hair looked like it was dipped in frying oil, and the bags under her eyes were purple potato skins.
Last time she looked like this was after Izzy was born, Ike thought. “Hey, babe. Um, you ok?”
Through a mouthful of food, she replied, “I’m doing great sweetie! I jus-just was feeling really sick the last few days is all.”
“Oh ok, well you’ll feel better soon,” he said, putting his arm around her. “That smells good, honey, what kinda steak is that?
“Mmm, new recipe I came up with,” she said, offering him a piece.
“Oh wow, that is good,” he said chewing. “Where are Izzy and Toni at?”
“The kids! Oh, they’re probably raiding the fridge or out in the backyard.”
“That’s weird, I didn’t hear them when I walked in.”
Tina giggled, “Maybe they’re hiding”
In the backyard, Ike watched Wonder in the snow, at the far end of the yard chewing a thick bone. Ike called Wonder over, but Wonder ignored him. He’s usually more excited to see me, Ike thought. Everyone’s usually excited to see me, what’s up with everyone today?
In the kitchen with Tina, Ike asked, “You know when the kids are coming home?
Preparing some vegetables, she said, “I’m making spaghetti tonight”
Ike narrowed his eyes at Tina, “Ok, but what about the kids?
“I’m sure they’re already here, babe, don’t worry.”
“Do you not know where they are?”
Tina barked, “Of course I do! I told you where they are! Will you stop pressing me? I’m cooking. Shut up and grab a beer or something. Leave me alone.”
Ike flinched, surprised at Tina’s outburst. Ike decided Tina must be going through her woman time—men, right, always assuming.
Opening the fridge for a beer, his stomach churned. He stood frozen, horrified by the two pale, mutilated faces staring back at him next to pools of blood
“Oh babe! While you’re in the fridge, pass me Izzy and Toni’s heads. I was defrosting them so we could have spaghetti and eyeballs tonight.”
Who’s There?
by The Cowl Editor on November 1, 2019
Halloween
by Sam Pellman ’20
Today was a success! I found everything I needed and was finally heading to the car. I had been at the mall for two hours now just by myself, popping into different stores, leaving with lots of bags. There is no better feeling than going to the mall for a purpose and leaving with that purpose. It’s dark now. The sun was out when I arrived but seems to have completely vanished. I begin to walk through the parking garage, forgetting where I parked my car. Was I even on the right level? I could not remember for the life of me. I always hated parking garages, they freaked me out. This one was cold and dark. It was somewhat empty but I remember it being packed; I could barely find a spot earlier. There was not a soul in sight, even though the garage was massive. I began to breathe faster. Should I go back into the mall and collect my thoughts? It certainly isn’t a good idea to roam around a creepy parking garage alone. I clicked my keys hoping the lights on my car would go off. It was nowhere to be seen. I must be on the wrong floor. My heart was pounding and I felt goosebumps starting to form. What was that noise? I swore I heard distant footsteps.
The steps got closer and I began to walk faster. Where the heck was my car? I felt my skin turn white. I heard a laughter echoing through the garage.
“Who’s there?” I said aloud.
The laughing continued. I began to run frantically, trying to open my phone and call someone. As I ran I dropped my keys. But when I attempted to grab them they were gone. I looked up and saw my car a few hundred feet away, running, keys in the ignition: but no one inside. I dropped my bags and headed back to the mall. My heart was jumping out of my chest. I pushed at the door but it was locked shut. Tears started to form in my eyes.
“Please who’s there?” I mumbled, half to myself.
I closed my eyes. I heard the laugh again.
“It’s me,” they said. But I kept my eyes shut. I
I didn’t want to see who it was.
Welcome to the Neighborhood
by The Cowl Editor on October 25, 2019
Portfolio
by Daniel Carrero ’23
I wonder if I walked like you when I was your age. There was an innocent bounce to your step.
You probably thought me and Coz pulled up on you by surprise. You probably thought you walked onto the wrong block on the wrong day and ran into the wrong people.
Your legs were shaking and your voice was cracking, “I don’t want n-n-no problem, yo. I’m just walking home,” you said.
Coz smiled with all his teeth, “Where you from kid?” he asked.
You felt so small to me then, so insignificant. Your trembling was disgusting to me.
“I-I-I I-live–”
My stomach churned at the sound of your voice, “I-I-I what kid?!” I shouted, “You don’t know how to talk or something?!”
The only word you managed to squeak out, “Pine!”
Coz looked at me, “Oh, he’s up on Pine, huh. Wild ’cause I ain’t ever seen you before.”
I never took my eyes off you—I never blinked.
“So who told you you could walk on Maple?” I asked.
The more I stared you down the more I wanted you to make a move—needed you to. Curse at me, scream at me, or hit me, do anything but not run away. If you ran away then things would be worse. Those are the rules. “I asked you a question!”
Say something—anything, I thought.
“N-no one,” you whimpered.
Finally! Coz nodded and stepped back.
Grabbing you by the collar, I let it all out. I felt your teeth cut my knuckles. Another swing and your nose poured; blood smeared onto my hand. I shoved you onto the sidewalk and you begged me to stop. At that moment you made me hate you so much.
What the hell is wrong with you? I thought, Get up, do something! I kicked and I stomped and you did nothing. You cried. You pleaded for me to stop but you refused to make me. How dare you, I thought.
Coz grabbed my shoulder, “You can stop, Nigel.” I looked up at him but I couldn’t see his face. I only heard his voice. “That was good,” he said.
…
We knew where you lived. You stepped out your gate and tried to run when you saw us—you didn’t get far. Your eye was black and your nose swollen and crooked. Something in your eyes was different than before. Even though you knew you didn’t stand a chance, you didn’t stutter when you said, “Leave me alone!”
You stared me down and I remembered being you once. I knew how much you hated me—how much you wanted to bury me. That was good, it’s what we wanted from you.
Coz put his hand on your shoulder. “Welcome to the neighborhood,” he said. “Come with us.”
Trey and Christina: A Modern Retelling of Chaucer’s Epic Poem, Troilus and Criseyde
by The Cowl Editor on October 10, 2019
Portfolio
by Erin Venuti ’20
“Okay, but I’m warning you right now, before I start, I might start crying.”
“Seriously, Jeff, stop being so dramatic.”
“Shut up, would you Alison? I’m trying to tell a story.”
“But you haven’t even started yet!”
“All right. Here goes it — the story of Trey, his first love, and how it all just went downhill from there…”
* * *
Our story starts on the first day of college, when Trey and I moved into our room in St. Joe’s hall. We didn’t talk much before school started, but thankfully, he seemed nice enough when we finally met. I have to admit, too, I was a bit worried he’d be one of those obnoxious Chad-types once I found out that his dad was this big-shot alumni on some board of the school. But he was cool.
Once we were all moved in and our parents had cleared out, we both slumped down on our beds in exhaustion.
“So…” I started, without much idea of where I was going to end.
“What time do we have to meet for orientation?” Trey asked.
“Three.”
“Sweet, so we have some time to kill. Wanna grab a coffee?”
“Yeah, sure.”
As we walked to Dunkin’, I asked Trey about his older brother, who was already a senior here.
“Oh yeah, Hector? He’s a good guy, one of my best friends. Actually, he’s one of the OL’s,” he said, excitedly. “Made some questionable decisions, though.”
“Huh?” Couldn’t have been too questionable, if he managed to get a leadership position.
“Yeah, he met his girlfriend during OL training over the summer. They’re disgusting.”
Still confused, I asked, “What do you mean?”
Trey rolled his eyes. “I just think it’s a waste, the whole college relationship thing. I mean, seriously, college is supposed to be this awesome, freeing thing, but then you just attach yourself to another person? It’s foolish is what it is. Really, truly foolish.”
To be honest, I was a bit shocked. “Well, you…definitely feel passionate about relationships.”
Trey laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those hopeless romantics.”
“Nah. I just think you might feel differently one of these days.” We’d reached Slavin at this point. Opening the door, I turned back and added, “You never know.”
We descended the stairs towards Dunkin’ and once we got lost in the sea of other freshmen attempting to do the same thing as us we forgot all about our conversation.
That is, Trey may have forgotten about it. I remembered it, especially after what happened next.
After our caffeine boost, it was just about time to go to Peterson to start orientation. Don’t worry — I’ll skip all that stuff about icebreakers and info sessions (I’m sure you remember how it was for you). Anyway, at lunch, I ended up sitting across the table in Ray from this girl, Christina, who ended up being my orientation buddy. You know, the person that you sit next to during all the circles and talking with while you’re walking from session to session? That’s who we were.
She was quiet, but when she talked she said a lot. After the session where the dean of students (or maybe it was somebody else…I don’t remember) made a comment that a lot of people at PC meet their husband or wife here, we ended up having the same conversation about relationships that I’d had with Trey earlier that day. Turns out she was going through a break up, after her high school boyfriend cut it off over the summer.
“So, I’m not really looking for a relationship right now. I think I need to focus on myself. Maybe sometime in the future,” Christina added, taking a bite of a chicken nugget. Then we both burst into laughter. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to throw out so many cliches…but anyway, what about you? Have anyone back home?”
Oof. Almost as if she knew. “Well, sorta.” So, I told her — but you know all of that, of course.
“Wow,” she said, letting out a breath and collapsing against the back of her chair. “Well, here’s hoping college is at least slightly less dramatic than that.”
“Here’s hoping.”
And in a show of finality and irony, we picked up our plastic cups of pink lemonade and clinked them against each other.
* * *
Back in our room during one of our breaks, Trey told me about this party his brother Hector was throwing at his house later on that night and said I could come.
“Yeah, I’ll come.”
“Nice,” said Trey. “Oh, but I’m going over early to help him set up, so I’ll just text you the address.”
“Um, okay.”
“Nice,” he said again. “Feel free to bring people, too.”
Obviously, my mind went to Christina. “Yeah, sure.”
A few hours later, I found myself walking down Eaton Street with Christina. It was definitely weird, going out for the first time in college, but with a girl. I’d just thrown on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, but Christina had clearly tried hard to make herself look a certain way. Clearly, she didn’t want to look like all the other freshmen girls we’d seen pouring out of Meagher, McVinney, and Ray. She was dressed in all black — black jacket, black jeans, and black boots — and her dark, shiny hair was slicked back in the cleanest ponytail I’d ever seen. Like I said, she was quiet, but she stood out.
At Hector’s house, we found ourselves a relatively empty corner to stand and talk. I was surprised no one was offering us drinks, even though neither of us was holding a cup or a bottle. It was almost as if it had something to do with the way Christina was standing, like she’d already ended every conversation with a stranger before it even started.
Christina was in the middle of telling me a story about her dog when I got a text from Trey: You here?
Yeah, I replied. Looks like the living room. Corner by the window.
Nice. I’ll come find you.
“Sorry,” I said, looking up at Christina. “That was my roommate. He’s coming to find us.”
“Okay,” she said, and continued her story about her dog.
About a minute later, I looked up at the room and scanned the crowd to see if I could find Trey. Just then, I saw him walk into the room and do the same. I waved when I thought he saw me, but he didn’t move towards us or wave back. Instead, he just stood there, staring at something to my right. I glanced over and realized he was looking at Christina, who was completely oblivious to what seemed to be going on with my roommate. I looked back at Trey, who looked like his insides were doing a gymnastics routine.
I did tell him he might feel differently someday. Still, even I didn’t think that day would come so soon.
To Be Continued…
Confiscated Dreams
by The Cowl Editor on September 26, 2019
Portfolio
by Jessica Polanco ’20
Laying down and looking at the stars. This was all they dreamt about. The feeling of the prickly grass on the back of their heads and chatting about their dreams. They created plans that night about how to bring all of their ideas into fruition. They traced the sky with the blueprint of their dreams, how it will begin, and how they dreamt it’ll end. And they smiled and giggled through it all. At one moment they traced each other’s faces, while staring into each other’s eyes. They didn’t want the moment to absorb all of their love so it didn’t last that long. No one could match the frequency felt between their hearts that night, not even the stars above them. They missed each other, terribly. Two and a half years of talking through a glass, begging to be touched by one another. They couldn’t hold on to each other and so they held on to the hope that drew the line in front of them. After two and a half years, they ended up here. In the biggest park in their city, they begged whoever was above them to not confiscate the night because the morning promised pain. The morning hadn’t come yet but it was already dressed like a thief, ready to take him away like he didn’t belong to what God had promised him, which was life.
The next morning, they found each other, at the steps of a dark prison. The building was probably built by innocent souls who had no intentions of swallowing the innocence of a soul. But here they were, kissing each other goodbye. Promising each other it’ll end soon. Ignoring the fact that it was only true in the next life time.
The Circus
by The Cowl Editor on September 19, 2019
Portfolio
by Sarah Kirchner ’21
The smell of popcorn filled the tent. The entire tent smelt of sweets and peanuts. All sorts of smells spread through the high top, and I stood at the entrance taking it all in. Everything seemed so small underneath the tent, as the walls went up for what seemed like forever.
My mother never let me go to the circus. She said it was for low-lifes who had nothing better to do. It was fake entertainment, she always told me. But I never believed that. It always had a pull on me. Every Friday when the curtains were drawn I wished I was walking through them, but I never could. Until tonight.
“Come on quickly, before the show starts!” Lila tugged at my hand, and I was suddenly thrown through the crowd. I was so engulfed in the magic of it all that I had completely forgotten about Lila. She was the only reason I was able to be here tonight, but the whimsies of it all had me mesmerized.
“Jack. Focus.” Lila called back to me and continued to pull at me. As she pulled, my body bumped into everyone and everything around me. I could see why Lila needed me to pay a little more attention. One man gave me an especially dirty look, and I sucked in my breath. I couldn’t have too many people see my face, or else my parents were bound to find out. But in my small town there was never anything to do, and with the circus here all summer I had to go at least one night. It was worth my parents’ wrath. But still, I was hoping to avoid that.
Lila led the way up the bleachers and down a middle row. She sat down dead center and stared at the open tent.
“Amazing, right?”
“Amazing,” I agreed. I wasn’t even able to describe the joy I felt. The sandy arena in front of me with the crowd filling in around made me gasp. There were so many people, so many different people, all gathering in this one place. I could hear the chatter of people, the talk of everyone’s favorite acts and the costumes they were expecting to see. It was all giving me the jitters.
“I can’t wait to see the acrobats,” Lila squealed next to me. “They’re my favorite. What are you excited to see?” She smiled at me, enthusiasm radiating off of her. I was so happy she agreed to sneak me out tonight.
I had to tell my parents that I wasn’t feeling well and went to bed early. Lila waited outside my window with the tickets and I shimmied down the tree to meet her. My mom was bound to check on me at some point in the night, but it was worth the risk to be here tonight. The circus ended just after eleven, so if Lila and I ran back right at the end I could be back without anyone noticing. But to be completely honest, it wasn’t my biggest concern to get back. I needed to witness the magic that I heard went on in this tent. I needed to see it all for myself.
“So? Which one?” Lila nudged me.
I looked at her and gave a small smile.
“All of it.” The animals. The performers. The costumes.
“It is pretty amazing. I remember when my parents took me here for the first time. We sat front row and my mom bought me cotton candy.”
“I wish my parents took me,” I said, but I didn’t know if I meant that. Neither of them would have had fun, and they would have complained the whole time about every detail of the event. They were too pretentious for this.
“They would ruin the experience. They’re anti-fun, let’s be real,” she joked.
“That’s for sure,” I laughed with her. Lila squeezed my hand while the rows filled in around us. “I’m gonna grab popcorn.” I tried my best to tell her, but the tent was filled with noises and our voices couldn’t really be distinguished.
I think Lila heard me. She only nodded so I quickly scooted down the row towards the aisle. It was nearly nine, and I knew the show was starting soon. I was not certain, but there was something about the feeling in the air. The voices and the cheers and the dancing lights released the feeling of greatness about to happen, and I was ready to finally see it all.
As I ran back to the front of the tent to buy a snack, I lost my footing and hit into someone’s shoulder. I mumbled a curse to myself and turned back to apologize.
“Sorry about –“ I stopped myself mid-sentence. “Nate?” I stared at my brother, shocked to see him. We weren’t allowed at the circus, and my brother seemed to have always understood that rule. He was older than me, so I didn’t think the desire would have been as strong for him to go.
Nate didn’t say anything. He gave me a nod, which said it all. He understood. He wouldn’t tell Mom or Dad. I nodded back. I wouldn’t tell them either.
“Enjoy,” he finally said after we stared for long enough. He gave a crooked smile and turned back, to be swallowed by the crowd. I turned away too, back on my mission for popcorn. I smiled to myself, though. Nate understood. We both felt the magic, and we had to come for ourselves. And suddenly, I was relieved.
Layered White Bricks
by The Cowl Editor on September 19, 2019
Portfolio
by Jessica Polanco ’20
I haven’t spoken to him in years but he called me over the other day. I had the time so I flew in. As I arrive at his house, I realize a piece of his land has been swallowed by a big square that resembles a foundation. “Can you guess what I’m building, chiquita?” I turn around and look at him with my eyes wide open, waiting for him to answer. “A home, I’m building a home.” The foundation that sits on his field of land reflects a strong base, something that could have taken some time to perfect. “How long have you been working on it?” He says three years, just on the foundation. I ask him, “Is it possible to build a home all by yourself?” Jokingly, he says, “Only if his name is Sebastian Manuel De Leon,” pointing to himself and smiling as if it is far from a joke and the person he is pointing to has something to prove.
Ahead of us stands nothing but his dream. Growing up it was all that he talked about. His vision of returning to his homeland, La Republica Dominicana, and building una casa para su familia. I remember seeing his lips curl and his eyes twinkle every time he expressed his desire. I see that same smile today as Papi and I face everything he has worked for. He explains that it will take him only a couple more years to build the rest. El baño, la cocina, la sala, a couple cuartos for all of us. “Like five more years mi niña and it’ll be all built,” he touches my nose, smiles, and says, “And your room is going to be the first room we furnish.” I laugh with hope and ask him, “How about all of las tormentas, los huracánes y los vientos fuertes de la noche. Would it stand to protect us from all of that?” Without turning his body towards me and standing with his arms crossed, he gives me a stare and confesses, “Only time will tell.”
Internal Beauty
by The Cowl Editor on September 16, 2019
Portfolio
by Grace O’Connor ’22
She looked down at the picture longingly as she walked down the beach. Her fingers wiped off the thin layer of dust as they brushed over the creases on the photo. Her smile was big and bright and her eyes had this twinkle of hope. Looking at the photo of when she was in college gave her nostalgia. A smile streched across her face and her eyes slowly filled up with tears as she remembered the day it was taken. She would give up anything to be back in that moment of liberation and pure contentment.
Her three kids were mostly grown up and battling the real world on their own, while her husband seemed to spend more time in the office than paying attention to her. She’s remarkable to say the least but doesn’t see it herself. She’s an incredible mother, and the most gregarious person, but she carries around a burden that weighs her down. Even with her family she sometimes feels all alone. She feels as if the walls are closing in on her, slowly but surely. She does not completely understand the world around her because of its absence of authenticity compared to when she grew up. Growing up, her life was simple and it made sense to her. She had always liked the seemingly insignificant aspects of life, which she approached with her big heart. The man she married was completely different; he was a man who did not prefer a simple life but one that was fast-paced and regular. He had a big personality, and an unforgettable sense of humor. When they got married, they bought a small house in the town he grew up in and had their three children. Having these three children made the woman choose family over her over job so she could raise them.
This decision came to her easily because it would never cross her mind to ask her husband to give up his father’s legacy. Any parent would say raising children is not easy but this woman did it effortlessly, with a smile on her face. Her children all grew up to be determined, hardworking individuals who got to the places they did with many bumps along the way. They became who they are because of her. Through every bump, she was there to alleviate the drop. Through every track meet, math exam, spelling bee, her encouragement was tangible. She made you feel as if you could do anything that you set your mind to no matter the circumstance. Although every mother is special in her own way, this woman put every ounce of energy into putting everyone else’s needs above her own. Her selflessness is palpable and moving.
The warmth of the sun started to sink into her skin as she closed her eyes and wished to stay in that moment on the beach. The moment when she had no worries, did not have to think about the future. She was about to lose an integral part of her identity and she still did not know how to cope with this loss. Her youngest child is headed off to college tomorrow. Her daughter is her rock, her best friend. The woman felt she had lost her worth. She would no longer be a full-time mother, she would not have her children to explain all the things she did not understand, and most importantly, she felt that she would not get the love she needed to keep living everyday anymore.
She watched as the wave in front of her was sucked back into the never-ending water. As much as she wanted to go back to the past, she understood that every day has a purpose. Her unconditional love for the people around her is what keeps her going even if she does not get the same love in return. Her internal beauty illuminates far beyond what her eye can see. She gives her heart to the world with no expectations and no limitations.
The Other World
by The Cowl Editor on September 15, 2019
Portfolio
by Erin Venuti ’20
In the third grade, your world is very small. There’s the house, the grocery store, the dance studio. Most importantly, there’s that brick building with the linoleum floors and the bright fluorescent lights to which you’re transported each morning in your mom’s trusted minivan. This is the elementary school.
This was Fay’s world. But unlike most, Fay wasn’t satisfied with the size of her world. Fay wanted her world to be bigger. So, she discovered the fairies.
Well, she wanted to believe that she discovered the fairies, though she was sure the fairies had been the ones to discover her — fairies had a very distinctive ability to hide.
Their first encounter was during recess, after a particularly grueling math class. While most of her class took off towards the soccer field, Fay made her way towards the playground, claiming one of the metal swings by the edge of the woods.
She began to pump her feet, smiling in satisfaction as she rose, as if by magic. The field in the distance, populated by her screeching peers, zoomed in and out of view. When her feet could reach no higher, Fay let go of the swing and launched herself into flight.
Too soon, her feet connected with the ground. Then her knees and her hands. Dust clouded her vision. When she regained herself, she rolled over, so she was sitting on the ground, and inspected herself for injuries which, thankfully, she seemed to be lacking.
Everything was quiet, as if the playground had been transported to someplace miles away. The only sound, aside from Fay’s steadying heartbeat, was of the whisper of wind drifting lazily towards the woods, towards the opening of the path she hadn’t noticed earlier.
Fay stood, without struggle, and stepped cautiously towards the entrance. She did not hear the sound of the bell, or of her peers stampeding the door, or of the teacher shouting her name, half an hour later, when it was discovered she had not returned to class…
But if she had heard, Fay wouldn’t have cared. Her world was bigger now.
You Want It, You Got It
by The Cowl Editor on May 2, 2019
Portfolio
by Dawyn Henriquez ’19
She was never the quiet type. Her voice was always the one booming through the jams at parties, the one to say hello as though you were a football field away when you were only a couple feet from her, the one who needed to be told that she was yelling in the middle of class (when she was still enrolled at Parkton High).
That morning was no different. The sun had barely shed the sleep out of its rays to climb over the horizon. But hearing her, one would think it was the middle of the day. The landline was pulled most of the way into the kitchen by its curly cord. She spoke as though each word was being chased by the last and as though her jet engine of a voice couldn’t wake anyone, but it did.
“Angelita mamaguebo, I have to go,” she said into the phone as she finished off the last of the groceries on a sandwich.
“Muchacha gimme 10 minutes. I have a son too, you know?” Angel said from the other side through the muffling sounds of getting a shirt on a sleepy 7 year-old.
“He’s already waiting for me outside, yo no tengo diez minutos.”
She wrapped the sandwich in plastic wrap and scrawled “morenito” with a heart over it and placed the would-be breakfast on the counter.
“Don’t be a b-i-t-c-h…aunque sea dile bye al niño. Just wait for me, I’ll be there soon.”
Click.
She placed the phone back on the wall in the dining/living room and went back towards the bed on the other side of the ratty studio. A packed suitcase sat beside the nightstand. She looked over at him, guilt trying to push itself into her esophagus. He lay there as though lifeless, the black tee he wore to sleep once hers, but now his since the moths took a liking to making holes in it. In the semidarkness she could see him lying there, the blanket still halfway on his small body, resting on his side with his hands tucked under the pillow, his eyes alert as though they’d been open for an hour.
He looked just like her, right down to the high cheekbones and the dark skin that made people call her Haitian on the island as though it were an insult (of course that is how she took it). All he got from her were her looks; who he was came out of the ether fully formed and nothing like her. He was quiet, cried for less than five minutes at birth, cried only when he was hungry or needed to be changed (and never for too long), and as he grew older, he cried less. At that point she hadn’t seen him shed a tear for almost a year. His almost black eyes took the world in and let none of it out. His great aunt used to say “él nació críado;” he was born raised.
“Go back to sleep, morenito, I’ll be back soon,” she soothed.
He didn’t say a word, just kept staring into her as though he was the parent and she the child feeding him bullshit they both knew wasn’t true. She knew he wasn’t buying it; she could feel it as she stooped down and got eye level with him.
“Your auntie is gonna be here soon to pick you up and take care of you for a bit,” she said as she knelt.
Silence.
“I love you, morenito. Tu eres mi alma…you’re my soul,” her eyes began to water.
She reached over into her suitcase and pulled out her Discman and the CDs she knew he liked: Ice Cube’s AmeriKKKa’s Most Wanted (that she’d just recently bought) and ATCQ’s debut.
“Here, hold these until I get back,” she said.
She placed the black saucer and headphones in his small outstretched hands, leaving the CDs beside him on the bed, and placed one kiss on his forehead before getting up and hurrying out. He listened to her footsteps run down the three flights of stairs and got up once he heard the door slam on the first floor.
In quick succession, he threw on his thong sandals and a pair of shorts that were lying around and ran after her. He wasn’t sure what he was doing. He just knew that he didn’t want her to be gone. Didn’t want her to leave him forever. He ran out of the heavy white door of Fort Knox, what the two of them had taken to calling the heavily surveilled building they lived in, and saw her getting into an all-white semi with the slogan “You Want It, You Got It” in a yellow bubble plastered across the length of its haul. Its wheels were as big as him and the engine roared louder than her voice ever could.
“Mom!” He yelled, the loudest he’s ever spoken.
The passenger door to the haul gave an audible thunk in response. The semi growled and hissed as the driver, some white guy in his late thirties from the look of it, put it into drive and started to take off. He ran behind it, yelling for the first time in his life, tearing his vocal chords raw, flexing an inheritance he had not yet learned to control. He could see her face in the side mirror, her angular features making her look mean even when she didn’t mean to be. Her high cheekbones, that made her big eyes small when she laughed, took some of the threat out of her look though. She was radiant. He could see her looking at him in the side mirror. The same blackened brown eyes she had given him, staring at him in the reflection, seeing him run after her, but not saying a single word to stop the truck’s movement.
He couldn’t catch up. His legs much too short and his lungs too empty. He could all but stare as the semi turned out of Saratoga Lane. His voice was shot, his throat stripped and throbbing, and the thong of one sandal torn out. His dark eyes were wet but stayed focused on the slogan “You Want It, You Got It” emblazoning the black script and yellow circle into his memory. Before long, tears streaked down his cheeks.
