“I really don’t know how to explain it. He was a lead singer in a band and had the attention span of a gnat.”
“I think that sums it up well.” He leaned over, so our eyes locked. “Just to let you know, I fucking love that T-shirt.”
“I knew you did.”
We shared some heavy static and a smile as Paige and Reid walked out of the restaurant, heads turned and eyes trained on us.
“So, I’ll call you tomorrow?”
“Sorry, I’m not dating. But I’ll see you in six months. Thanks for the ride, Nate.”
I jumped out of the car as Paige glared into it. Nate was already making a right turn by the time I looked back at two expectant faces. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. I told you I had condoms.”
Given to Fly
Pearl Jam
I ran with the bulls in Mexico when I was five years old. It was my first real memory. My mother had taken us to Panotla to visit her family, and it was only miles outside of Tlaxcala where they held the annual bull run after The Feast of Assumption, a colorful, flower-filled parade put on by the Catholic church, dedicated to the Virgin Mary.
Somehow in the excitement and the chaos of the crowd, my mother let go of my hand. It was a split-second decision on my part. A decision I recall making. I had similar clothes on to the ones who were running, and I wanted to be a part of it. I didn’t want to miss anything. So, instead of reaching for her hand, I ran. It might have been seconds or minutes, but I remember the exhilaration of seeing one of the large animals running through the mob in the distance. I could never forget the shrieks and terror-filled screams of those around me, but I wasn’t afraid. I was whisked away from the mob and held by a large woman with a death grip. She had a set of domino teeth and was adamant about scolding me until my parents finally reached us.
I wasn’t spanked for my participation in the bull run, though I was told by my cruel Aunt Yamara that El Cucuy—the Hispanic version of the boogeyman–was coming for me. But my reception was quite the opposite. For a solid week, the story was told between my mother and her twelve sisters and trickled down through the grapevine. Before we left Panotla, I hit a pi?ata in the shape of a bull. That was all I remembered. But my mother later told me it was a party in my honor. They all thought I would grow up to be something special. My mother asked for a blessing that day from my great-grandmother for help with raising such a ni?a rebelde—wild child. Her family was superstitious to the point of being ridiculous at times, but I stuck to all those superstitions because it was as much of a part of me as it was her. It honored my mother and her family. I embraced my Latina side, while my sister did a decent job playing indifferent. Paige only indulged our mother when she had to. My father was a poster boy for the red, white, and blue conservative, while my mother showed her colors proudly, all of them.
So, while I recalled the nightmare I had the previous night to my sister, in fear it would come true—a superstition I took seriously—I made sure not to leave out the details. We were at HEB shopping for necessities, so while I waged war on my dream, she raced down the aisles in an attempt to avoid what she considered nonsense. And she’d brought her best friend along so he could get some groceries of his own. As it turned out, Reid too was car-less, an accident the reason for his broken arm and his constant presence.
“So, then I had a fight with a hanger—a wire hanger.” Reid chuckled as he plucked a family pack of Ramen Noodles from the bottom shelf. I was close to feeling sorry for him. He was pulling nothing but cheap crap to take home. Paige seemed to notice and immediately offered him an invitation to dinner. And that part of her was my mother speaking. Food is how we showed our affection.
“I’m good.”
She scorned him the way she did me. “You aren’t good, and I won’t take a no. You look like crap.”
“Thanks,” he said thoughtfully as he threw the noodles in our cart and wedged his finger between his cast and arm to get at the itch.
“The hanger morphed,” I went on, demanding my sister’s audience, “into the blob from the Terminator movies.”
“And the plot thickens,” Reid said with an amused sigh. Paige pressed her lips together to control her laugh as my eyes lit with fire. She was on thin ice when it came to Reid, and Reid was about to be trapped under that ice if I had any say. I resented his presence and his place in my sister’s life. I had looked forward to days alone where it would just be the two of us catching up, but it seemed Reid was always there, and it was obvious he didn’t like my new position as houseguest. It was petty and we both knew it, but it didn’t change the fact that neither of us liked it. And with the two of them, I always felt on the defensive. I almost wished Neil were around. Even if he was mostly mute, I could prop him up like a Mr. Potato Head and stick him on my side.
“Stella, you don’t really believe if you don’t confess your nightmares to someone they will come true?”
Reid looked between us, amused. “That’s why she’s doing it?”
“I’m standing right here, and I can speak for myself,” I said with zero patience.
Hazel eyes seared into mine. “You need to grow up a little, you know that?”
“Says the guy who just threw Trix in the cart like they were a Christmas gift.” I rolled my eyes as I followed Paige while she pushed the cart. “And it was a big friggin’ blob. The rest of the dream went Terminator!”
Paige scurried down the produce aisle and grabbed some cilantro from the shelf for Caldo de Res—my favorite soup—before she gave me a knowing glance. It was hotter than hell outside, but never too hot for that soup.
“I love you, sister,” I said with a smile. “All is forgiven.”
“Te amo también, dulce amor.” I love you, dear.
“Whoa, that’s new,” Reid commented. “I almost didn’t believe you were half-Mexican when you told me. You speak English to the cooks and the tables.”
“It’s Latina,” I corrected. “Mexicans live in Mexico. We’re Spanish speaking American women, which makes us Latina. There’s your lesson for the day. And she doesn’t speak Spanish because she thinks she sounds stupid. She hasn’t used the tongue enough, and she doesn’t like being half a beaner.”
Paige wrinkled her nose. “That’s so wrong, not to mention politically incorrect.”
“Only if you aren’t half beaner.” I smiled. “But I am, so I can make all the jokes I want.” I looked pointedly at Paige, dismissing Reid. “At the end of the dream, I get robbed.”
“Really?” Paige mused, rummaging through the spices in the international aisle as I pulled some dried peppers from the rack. “By a tarantula with a hot dog.”
“What?” Paige stood in front of me. “You were eating a hot dog?”
I kept my voice monotone to show my irritation. The cleansing of the dream only worked if the one you recalled it to was paying attention. “No, that was the spider’s weapon of choice, a hot dog.”
“This is just getting weird,” Reid said as he gestured over his shoulder. “I’ll be anywhere but hearing the rest of this dream.”
Realization struck as she looked at me with wide eyes. “There better not be any raw eggs under my couch!” Paige shrieked.
“Tonight, there will be. I can’t handle spiders.”
“No,” Paige said adamantly. “Seriously, no. Neil won’t know what to think. Putting a raw egg under the couch to ward off evil spirits? Really, Stella? That’s where I put my foot down.”
“And what Neil doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And are you sure you’re with Neil?” I glanced in the direction Reid went. “Because you two seem pretty cozy.”
“Don’t even entertain it,” she said with a hard look. “Reid is so far removed from that line of thinking, it’s not even funny. I’m telling you he’s just a good guy, and I happen to love his girlfriend. His ex—whatever she is this side of the half hour.”
“Sounds like a great guy,” I muttered.