The Soup and Sorrow Digest

Stand up and fight

Andrew was panting before the green-clad back of Rosa who was stooped into the driver seat of the car.  The outline of her Annie Lennox boy cut was unmistakable, and so was the paradox it wove through his mind.  Her allure could be amplified by a thousand percent. It could similarly vacate her attractiveness by two thousand percent.  His breaths become more staggered and forcefully thin as he waited on a verdict. Then she closed the car door and turned fully to him. The warm flame of her lips and the dark penciled eyes decided it.

Her eyes dimpled. “Oh hi, Andrew, did you want something?” 

Did I want something? Yes, an odd question ... understandable … I see you drive. No cars for me. Dad says I have to buy my own. I know, sad, sad. But I can drive in New York when I get to Columbia.  Do you want to come Columbia with me? Perhaps not. How about Debate club?

 “Andrew, you all right?  You look pale.”

Pale, useless, a hopeless dolt. Andrew saw then behind her the car, a Cadillac, intruding rudely like the oversized catamaran of an ostentatious blow-hard. And then Enrique hoarse pronouncements resounded hotly in his ears.  And then her face faded from beauty to the purulence of an epicene deviant.

Gladly, to her left, Emilio, Miguel and Diego were striding to Maria’s house.  The men marched like the old guard with one-size-fit-all jerseys and parachute pants. A wave of relief broke over Andrew as well his awkwardness before his idol. He twisted his fists and mumbled, “Sorry, I mistook you for someone else,” and fled away from her, running to oncoming cars and cursing motorists.

“Emilio!” Andrew beat on his chest to catch his breath.

“Don’t you have Gloria Estefan to beat off to?” Miguel said

Looking back tensely to front door for Enrique’s unlucky presence, Andrew forced himself to ignore Miguel’s squeaky jeers. 

“I think Ricardo is working for Carlos.  I saw him with Carlos and then with Felipe the other day,”  Andrew said.

“No way. Didn’t the f*** give Carlos a black eye?” Diego scratched noisily his broad shoulder.

“Si, Renacaujo.  You’re making th up,” Miguel said

Andrew hardened but avoided Miguel unsympathetic eyes for the pacifying view of a black ant crawling over his sneakers. The brute was incorrigible, even after Andrew had bared his Gloria-Estefan-inspired soul, and him baring his soul on his fondness for stray cats. Andrew looked up to Emilio’s bearded dispassionate gaze.  He shriveled.

“Maybe not, Miguel,” Emilio said, “Where’s he staying anyway? I thought his parents kicked him out.”

“He told Alexandro he was staying with someone, Elena,” Andrew replied with a renewed liveliness.

“Elena, the flighty puta?” Diego looked to Emilio for assurance. “That’s Carlos’ primo, no?”

Miguel burst out laughing. “I remember now. Carlos wanted talk to Ricardo in your Papi’s restaurant.  That’s like a month ago.” His laughter diminished in volume as the others distinctively did not join in.

“Now you say something about that?” Emilio blurted.

“What? I didn’t think Carlos would actually do anything with the f***.  Seriously, I was there when Ricardo jumped on him all because the stupid betty. It was not pretty.”

Andrew did not like Miguel calling Rosa a stupid betty. He also did not like thinking Miguel and Ricardo were bosom friends once upon a time.  And how come they had liked each anyway? Hmm … what to do?