Los’s Long Day in LA – By R.L. Merrill
LOS’S LONG DAY IN LA
BY R.L. MERRILL
Paramount Hotel, Beverly Hills, California
La Calavera, El Musico, and La Muerte had come for him.
They pointed toward the trees up the brush-covered hill and pushed him forward.
The path was barely visible, and he stumbled a few times before La Calavera placed a bony hand on his shoulder and called him by his given name, which no one in his waking life other than his abuela ever did.
“Esta allí. Cava aquí, Carlos.”
The three figures from the Loteria game loomed over Los in the orange light. La Muerte held out a spade. The skeleton told him to dig while the others stood and watched solemnly. Los dug for hours. Sweat ran in his eyes and his hands were blistered.
Suddenly, a gaping hole opened, and he tumbled into cold blackness?—
Los sat up with a gasp, his stomach roiling. He scrambled out of bed and onto the floor, trying not to hurl as he fought to remember where he was.
The fires.
The benefit concert.
A suite with his band.
He’d opted for the pullout couch in the shared space rather than get a room of his own. He hated being a thirty-three-year-old man who still struggled to sleep on his own, but he’d accepted his fate and worked hard every day to get better.
Currently, panic threatened to make him black out right there in the living room of the suite.
The night terrors that had plagued him since childhood had improved since he’d started therapy two years prior.
Still, his bandmates Silas and Brains never complained about him crawling into bed with them in the middle of the night.
He preferred the uncomfortable communal sleeping arrangements on the bus with his best friends to sleeping alone. Though it had been months since he’d sought comfort.
Los and their lead guitarist, Jordan, were the only straight guys in their circle, and Los appreciated the understanding and affection he’d always received from everyone.
He’d gone his first fifteen years without any, which was something he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.
Thankfully, his friends’ partners, Krish and Paul, never complained if Los needed to bunk with them.
They’d slide over and make space. Or in the case of their tech guy Kal, offer to be his pillow.
Off to the right side of the suite, Krish and Silas shared a bedroom. Paul and Brains had the other. Jordan and his brother Jake were driving up with Paul’s son Bowie—their touring drummer—from San Diego in the morning, and would meet them at the venue later.
Los hated the idea of waking anyone up, but he was seriously losing it. He went to the kitchenette for a glass of water, but in his fog, he stubbed his toe on an end table.
“Fuck.” He clapped a hand over his mouth, furious with himself for being such a mess.
The door on the left opened, and Paul stuck his head out.
“You okay, Los?” He hurried to his side, and he must have seen the panic in his eyes… or maybe Los’s heart was pounding so loud Paul could hear it. “Come on, come lay down.”
He put an arm around Los’s waist and led him into the room, where Brains was sprawled in the middle of their king-sized bed.
“I’m sorry,” Los whispered, stopping in the doorway. “I’ll go?—”
“Get in here,” Brains slurred, pulling back the blankets.
Paul squeezed his side. “It’s okay. Come get some rest.”
Los complied, crawling in next to Brains. Instead of going to the other side of the bed, Paul curled up behind Los and pulled the blankets over them.
“Need to talk about it?” He massaged Los’s neck and made a concerned sound. “You’re in knots up here.”
Los let out a sob.“It was a dream I used to have all the time. I thought I was over this.”
Brains rolled to face him and shushed him. He ran his fingers over the top of Los’s head.
“I can’t get used to your hair being short,” Brains laughed. As a tribute to Brains’s childhood cancer battles, the band donated their locks to Wigs For Kids, and when Silas cut Los’s hair off, he begged him to finally stop dying it black. “I’m glad Silas finally talked you into going natural.”
Paul chuckled. “Blonds do have more fun, Los.” He continued to work on Los’s neck, using just the right amount of pressure.
“I’m sorry I woke you.”
Paul squeezed him tight. “Some people go their whole lives being afraid of sleep. You’re getting better. It’s a process.” Los felt Paul’s warm breath on his neck as he slipped back into sleep.
“We love you,” Brains whispered. “Get some sleep, babe. You need to rest for breakfast with your abuela.”
Brains played with his hair until Los drifted off, thinking of his abuela’s house.
He grew up in Stockton, but whenever they were off school, he and his sister were sent on a bus to LA to stay with his dad’s mother.
Abuela Claudia took in all of the Morales kids from time to time, and her house was always full.
Los looked forward to those times, because there he was fed three meals a day, and though he was relegated to sleeping on the floor in a pile of blankets with his cousins, he was never left to fend for himself.
He didn’t fall asleep to the sound of fights; only music and laughter were allowed in Abuela Claudia’s home.
Los slept another two hours and woke when his Apple watch buzzed.
He untangled himself from Paul’s grip and climbed out of bed, got dressed, fixed his pinche short hair, and quietly left the hotel room.
He’d already told the guys that he’d take a Lyft out to his grandmother’s place near Elysian Park.
He was grateful Paul and Brains took care of him so he wouldn’t be a zombie this morning. Paul was the kind of father Los wished he’d had. Maybe he wouldn’t need to be held while he slept if he’d had a good man like Paul in his life.
He could have had it worse, though. His parents partied with strangers in their home, but they never beat their kids.
They were simply living proof that you could love someone too much.
In their case, they did it at the expense of their children.
They fought, made up, and disappeared for days at a time, leaving Los and his little sister, Yessenia, to fend for themselves.
Their family wasn’t a cohesive unit. Carlos Sr. and Lotte did their thing, and their kids tried to stay out of the way and survive. Los never told a soul about his childhood until he met Silas, Brains, and their deceased bandmate Gavin… but he hadn’t told them everything.
His parents were gone soon after he met the guys, and Yessenia had been sent to live with Abuela Claudia. Los latched onto his new friends and began his journey to rock stardom. He’d even managed to make something pretty spectacular of himself.
And tonight, he was going to use his talents, alongside those of his bandmates, to raise money for the folks who’d lost everything in the Eaton and Palisades fires.
It was a cause close to Los’s heart, since he’d nearly lost his life in a house fire more than once.
The fires had brought up all kinds of feelings for him, which was probably why he’d had the dream again.
Los grabbed a cup of coffee in the lobby and waited outside for his ride.
The driver was listening to KLAX La Raza, so Los asked him in Spanish if the station had advertised the benefit.
He explained that his band was playing a show at The Hollywood Bowl that night, and he hoped the word had gotten out to their Spanish-speaking fans.
The guy shot him a surprised look in the rearview mirror.
“Eres de Los Angeles?”
“No, Stockton. Pero la familia de mi papa vivido desde antes de la guerra Mexicana.”
The driver, Hector, laughed at his explanation that his father’s family had lived in the area since before the Mexican-American War.
Hector apologized for his surprise at Los’s excellent Spanish and asked about his band.
Turned out Hector was a big metal fan—he had taken his kid to see Metallica in Mexico City—and he asked if there were still tickets to the show.
Los got his contact info and said he’d try to get them passes.
Hector thanked him and told him to text if he needed a ride anywhere else.
“Mucho gusto.” Los waved as he climbed out of the car in front of Abuela Claudia’s house.
Someone had finally attacked the jungle in the front yard.
The house had a fresh coat of terra cotta paint, and the tile work that Yessenia had done while she was in college had been washed until it sparkled once more.
Los had long ago paid off the mortgage and sent his abuela money every month. He’d implored her to hire a yard crew, but she claimed no one knew what they were doing, and she didn’t want to lose her agave and aloe vera plants that had been there for generations.
As if she had a sixth sense, Abuela Claudia opened the door and asked him whether he was satisfied she’d finally had the yard work done, as if they’d been in the middle of a conversation. The tiny woman squinted up at him as he climbed the steps with a huge smile on his face.
“Que guapo, mi principé rubio,” she said. Her blond prince.
He bent to hug her and kiss her cheek, and she shooed him inside.
He greeted his cousins Chuy and José as the scent of chilaquiles filled his nose. His stomach finally settled. This was a safe place. They fell into easy conversation in Spanish and ate heartily as if no time had passed. He was no celebrity in this house.
When Abuela Claudia got up from the table to clean the kitchen, Los and Chuy protested and took over the job. Chuy pulled the kitchen door closed behind them and turned on Los.
“What time do you have to leave?” Chuy was closest to Los in age and was a bit of a goofball. He and Los had gotten into mischief quite often as kids.
“I’ve got a little time before I gotta meet my band back at the hotel. Why?”
Chuy grinned and rubbed his hands together. “I found it.”