Star Witness

10

TOMÁS

Well. I got in trouble.

I should have predicted that when I laid on the couch at Jesse's to watch Netflix garbage, I would fall asleep. Covered in paint or not. Because it was late, and I go to bed early. I also should have predicted that Jesse, who has never had a parent in his life, would not have thought to wake me up or text my moms.

I sleep like the dead. It took ten calls from moms for my ringing phone to rouse me at 1AM, and I saw the paint and the red hair and the time and I said, "Oh, no," and Jesse mumbled some bleary what from next to me. Chaos proceeded, me scrambling to replace the jeans I never put back on, accepting there was no time for a shower. We must've been really something, running down the street in our socks, appearing in my doorway coated head to toe in paint.

So, Mom is calmly explaining where I went wrong, Jesse undoubtedly wishes he hadn't offered to come help me explain myself, and, Mama.

"You look like monsters. Or toddlers. I'm going to lose it." She squints at me. "Are you drunk?"

"Why do you always think I'm drunk!"

"Because I can't assume you're pregnant, so it's the next best thing!"

I exhale hard at her so she can smell my breath, and yes it is a bratty ass thing to do, but I'm fed up.

"You're going to test me right now?" she says.

"Josie," Lucia tries half-heartedly, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"And I knew I shouldn't have let you hang around this kid! I said if I didn't, you would just lie to me, but clearly you're lying to me anyway."

"I'm not lying!"

"You would seriously fall asleep without thinking about calling us?" Her eyes widen, and she whirls on Jesse. "Are you giving him drugs?"

"Mama, please--"

"No," Jesse says, eyes big.

"Is that where you were? With your dealer? Huh?"

"Mama, for fuck's sake!"

Lucia finally intervenes.

"Everyone quiet," she orders, and we all stop with utmost obedience. "You," she says, touching Jesse's shoulder, "go home. We know this is not your fault."

"Are you kidding me?" Mama rages, and Mom silences her with a look. Jesse hesitates, and I remember his question all that time ago when I fought with my mama: is it safe to go back? This looks different to him than it does to me; a potential threat, rather than an annoyance that I know will be resolved.

"I'll be okay," I tell him, touching his arm.

This seems to reassure, and he nods, glances to my moms one last time. "I'm really sorry," he says.

"We know, honey," Lucia says, and I don't blame him for how quickly he takes off after that.

"What is your problem?" I ask my mama, horrified with that whole display now that I'm standing outside of it. "Be mad at me, fine, but going after Jesse like that? In case you forgot, if I wanted to get high, I have literal Percocet in the cabinet. I don't need the two loose Ritalin that he probably found on the floor somewhere. I messed up, I get that. I'm sorry I didn't call and I'm sorry we fell asleep, but that's what happened. Not an acid trip or an orgy, and I'm tired of everyone assuming the worst of him. We were just--hanging out. Painting. And I lost track of time. It doesn't call for an air raid."