Happy That It's Not True (5 page)

              “Hi, is there something I can help you with?” Cara said.

              “I can’t walk into a freakin’ store without being harassed by sales people.  You people are vultures!”

              The lady gave Cara a look of contempt that absorbed all of her energy, leaving her discouraged and wanting escape from her life.  Cara didn’t say a word, but her eyes widened and brows lifted as she distanced herself from the lady.  Another customer, a woman in her late thirties, entered the store, but Cara had not been able to pull herself together to greet her.  The lady gave her a slight nod and a malevolent smile. 

              Towards the end of the day, Cara was in the stockroom gathering her things and talking to her coworker, Beth, about some of the more interesting customers, something that had become a ritual just before quitting time.  Looking out into the store, Beth became alarmed and in a staccato tone said, “Leslie-is-here.”

              “Oh, what does she want?”

              Leslie, the district manager, walked into the stockroom in a ruffled mock two-piece dress carrying a heavy leather briefcase. 

              “Can I speak to Cara in private?”  She spoke to Beth, but looked directly at Cara.  Beth left the stockroom, her mouth hanging open with disdain.  Leslie pulled her computer out of her briefcase, placed it on a gift-wrapping table and turned it on.

              “Cara, we had a shopper come by earlier today.  You know they wear tiny cameras in their clothes that you can’t see.  We’re trying to determine if our sales people are using the proper greetings and follow up questions.  Remember, no matter what a customer says—you’ve been trained to counter with another question that’ll help you close the sale.  You understand?”

              “Yes,” Cara said in a soft and defeated voice. 

              “I received the video file a little while ago.  Let me show you what our shopper saw.”

              Leslie double clicked on a file called cara.wmv which opened a video player and then enlarged to full screen.  Cara recognized the front of the store which was moving closer until, like looking in a mirror, she saw her emotionless face gazing down and away.  The camera zoomed in on her and then panned to the rest of the store.  Leslie closed the file and then the lid to her computer.

              “Not only did you not give her the official store greeting, you didn’t even look in her direction.  This is gonna go on your record.  It’ll affect your review.  I suggest you go over the training material again to maximize your sales—which could use a lot of improving.  I hope we won’t have to have this conversation again.”

...

              Alex threw left jabs at Eduardo, none of them connecting.  He maintained a quick bounce in his step, waiting to tag the face so that he would know when he was close enough to throw a right.  He had once seen a classic boxing match on the Internet and had read enough about western boxing on Wikipedia to believe that he had a distinct technological advantage.  Alex was wearing a dark shirt that said I hear voices, and they don’t like you.  Several boys sat down in the field by the school to watch.  One boy looked up at the sky to gauge the sunshine and took off his shirt to work on his tan.  The rest quickly set up their cell phones to videotape the fight.

              “I’ll go for the fat coconut that hears voices...es un coco loco,” one boy said.

              “Yeah—probably has a lot of deep-seated rage,” another boy laughed.

              “Deep seated?  Now you sound like a coconut.”

              They’re so smartaphobic, Alex thought.

              The boys chanted, “Coco gordo—coco gordo—coco gordo...”

              Eduardo could hear the loss of fan support and lunged at Alex, tackling him.  He pinned Alex down by sitting on his chest and beat the top of Alex’s head.

              “The boxer is getting his ass kicked by the wrestler!” the sun worshipper said.

              “This is hilarious,” another boy said.  “I’m going to show this video to everyone.”

              Venomous hands seemed to fall like hail.  Alex was consumed by the unfairness of boxing rules being broken, yet surprised that the beating didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would.  After Eduardo was satisfied, he smiled, stood up and walked away.  Alex looked at the clouds, embarrassed that he had failed those who thought he could win a fight.  He could hear them leaving, the sound of footsteps in the grass becoming fainter. 

              I fought today...maybe I’m not such a coward.  You can’t sit on top of someone in boxing.  Luciano... Did this really happen?  If it had been Luciano, my head would be cracked open.  Luciano... 

              When Alex got to the apartment building, he noticed kittens walking from the parking lot to a vacant field covered in weeds overlooking a canal.  John was outside his apartment on the ground floor drinking a beer.  He was a small pale man in his late forties with a red face and a severe lazy eye. 

              “Hey man,” John said.

              “How’re ya doing?”

              “I’m three months behind on my rent.  The manager is cool though—she knows I don’t have a job now.”

              “I just got beat up at school.”  Alex couldn’t help but commiserate with John about a life that seems opposed to people finding happiness.  He moved his hands across his scalp to indicate where the bruises might be, gesturing that it was only a mere annoyance.

              “Oh yeah—I’ve had my lumps too.  Look at me—you don’t think I got picked on?  Yeah—I’ve gotten my lumps.”

              John was smiling, as though he was proud of all he had been through. 

              “I’m gonna see if I can find the kittens.  I thought I saw them going to the field,” Alex said.

              He looked around the corner of the building that was facing the lot and spotted two black and white kittens.  The kittens came up to him and rubbed against his legs.  The loud purring brought a smile to his face.

              “Where’s mommy?  All by yourselves?”

              Alex heard someone coming down the stairs.  He turned to see that it was Luciano, carrying a large duffle and holding two bats.  Luciano threw his things into the back of his Oldsmobile and after he closed the trunk, he noticed Alex.  Luciano walked over to Alex and squatted to look at the kittens which now seemed timid. 

              “Gaticos,” Luciano said.  He moved closer, putting one knee on the ground, scratching one behind the ears.

              “I love los gaticos—look man, Sorry about the other night—I’m a little nuts sometimes—nobody’s perfect—I’ll make it up to you. I’m gonna go play—gonna kick ass tonight.” 

              Alex forced a closed lip smile.  Luciano in an attempt at amiability slapped the top of Alex’s head.  Alex grimaced in pain as Luciano walked away
.
 

Chapter Five

            
 
Cara and Alex were often alone, and they shared a large desk in Alex’s room, reluctant to spend time in the living room, which was Luciano’s domain.  Alex watched so much anime on his computer that he had picked up some Japanese.  In his chat window, he typed his critiques of games and manga, debating people from the four corners of the web. 

              Cara worked on her drawings.  She had perfected her phrasing of the human head.  Dozens of pages dedicated to profiles and three quarter views.  With a mechanical pencil, sometimes the details were photorealistic, yet she never erased the stray lines, because as her Tio had once said, a brave artist always shows their mistakes to the world. 

              The drawing book was about three quarters full, seventy pages filled with hundreds of renderings.  It was as personal and sacred as a diary.  Adriana wanting to destroy her treatise on imagination was unforgivable—how could a mother be so base and insensitive?   Her threats had made Cara perpetually uneasy, almost as much as Luciano’s unwanted attention made her ill.  She wanted to move out, but would have to postpone.

              “I’m quitting my job,” Cara said.

              “You’re quitting?”  Alex stopped typing for a side glimpse of his sister.

              “I’m handing in my resignation letter tomorrow.  I can’t take it there anymore—thinking of temping for an agency.”

              “But you’ve been there for a while—are you gonna make as much money?”

              “Probably not—but I don’t make that much anyway—I have to leave.”

              Alex could tell when Cara didn’t want to talk about something.  Her chin would become visibly tense and crinkle, her brows would furrow, and her eyes would look downward yet not see.

              “Guess who I found on online?”  Alex tried to sound cheerful, hoping to change his sister’s demeanor.

              “Who?”

              “Remember Matt, the guy who used to live next door to us?”  

              “Are you serious?”  Cara closed her drawing book; a smile fought and then conquered her countenance.

              “Yeah, he just finished U of M and he’s going off to law school.  They’re having a small sendoff party for him and he invited us.  He said we were probably too young—everyone there will be much older, but he doesn’t care, he wants to see us—He also got to see your profile from my friends list.” 

              Matt saw me—maybe he thought I was pretty.  Now he can’t resist wanting to see me in person.  “Oh yeah—I remember Matt—But that was such a long time ago.  You really wanna go?”

              “This is the cool part—it’s this Friday night at the marina in the Grove on someone’s boat.  You know how to get there?”

              “In the Grove?  Yeah, I know.  Remember, we went there for the art festival.”

              Alex logged into his social networking account.

              “Here’s Matt’s profile.”             

              On the top left of the page was a picture of a smiling Matt wearing a black sports coat and white dress shirt.  There was another young man wearing a shirt and tie leaning into Matt with an arm on his shoulder, half his face cut out of the picture.

              “He still sort of looks the same,” Alex said.

              “He kinda looks like a law student.”             

              Underneath his profile picture were links:  View photos of Matt (16), View videos of Matt (1).  Alex slowly scrolled down, reading comments that friends had left.  About halfway down on the news feed column there was a small picture of Matt and a girl with shoulder length red hair.  It was a dark setting, possibly a restaurant, the camera flash illuminating the couple like satellites in space. 

              “That must be his girlfriend,” Alex said.

              Has there ever been a time in Matt’s life when he didn’t have a girlfriend?  Not that it matters. 

              “She looks familiar.”

              “Want to see his video—Improv at Valentino’s Crab House?”  Alex said, wanting to click away the redhead.

              “Yeah sure.”

              Matt and four other college-aged boys were sitting in two rows of chairs on what looked to be a stage.  Audience laughter could be heard in what seemed to be a large noisy room.  Matt was holding an invisible steering wheel using his entire upper body to make turns.  The young man in the front passenger seat with a severe stutter tried to warn the driver of a tree, “Wa wa wa watch out fo fo for the t-ree.”  The two young men in the back made panicked expressions as the unintelligible warnings digressed into silliness which produced unseen roaring and hilarity as they pretended to feel the impact of a crash, leaping out of their chairs. 

              Alex and Cara giggled until they heard the door open and the clamor of Luciano’s bats being thrown across the room, the cursing, the duffle bag violently being emptied of equipment.

              “Oh God, he had a bad game,” Cara whispered. 

...

              The next day, John the alcoholic and Alex were searching for the kittens.

              “I don’t see them under any of the cars,” John said.

              “They’re not behind the building.”

              “Alex,” came Luciano’s voice from the second floor railing.

              “What,” Alex responded.

              “Come here.”

              “Give me a minute.”

              “Now.”

              Alex reluctantly climbed the stairs.  Luciano tilted his head and motioned Alex to come closer, leaning in as if to whisper a secret.

              “Quiere saber?  Want to know what I did with los gaticos?  Last night I put them in a plastic bag—I made a little hole so that water could get in—and I threw them en el canal. And let me tell you something—you’re not going to report this to anyone, or I swear—te lo juro—I’ll kill you.”

              A dazed Alex walked into the apartment.  Luciano tried to suppress his desire to smile and followed him in.