Chapter 11
Yael
Present Day
I rub my eyes, vision blurring from looking at the bright screen. Now that I have Adri on board, I want to make sure that I’m pulling my weight, which is why I'm at the small community center using their old PC to try to make a flyer. It’s early and thankfully no one’s witnessing my meltdowns.
Technology is so fucking hard. With pen and paper, I could sketch this in minutes, but on the screen it looks wrong flat, lifeless.
Kinda like the plans of Altura’s mayor. I snicker at the thought, and my hand closes into a fist, while my other drags the mouse down.
Rearranging the graphic, switching between deep blue and the bright red, neither feeling right. A yawn escapes me.
It’s early as fuck. I’m not even supposed to be here, but I managed to convince Don Kiko to sneak me in, and when free food is involved, people fold.
Especially when it’s Chulo, aka me, that’s cooking it.
The janitor, Don Kico, left the door cracked for me, in exchange for a free lunch tray for a week.
Losing money isn’t ideal, but in the name of community spirit, I’ll take it..
For another ten minutes, I keep at it. Then the sounds of sirens cut through the silence, pulling my attention away from the screen and into the streets.
My pulse jumps, adrenaline surging. My body braces for an invisible fight even though there’s no reason to.
I’m a free man. I do nothing that would warrant the cops looking, and still, I feel the veins in my neck pulse and blood rushes through my ears.
The blaring noise grows distant. Inhaling a sharp breath, I close out the screen and exit the community center the same way I came in.
Altura never sleeps…
People already roam the streets, the grinding never stopping. The smell of coffee dances in the early summer breeze, with school being out the noise feels greater. A smile tugs at my lips, digging my hand into my pockets. I walk back towards the bodega.
“Chulo, papi,” Benito calls from behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I watch my neighbor walk down his front steps and lean onto the small black gate with a hot cup of coffee in hand. He’s one of the homeowners around here, renting out apartments, one the best landlords in the city.
“Benito,” I say with a grin, before turning around, moving closer to the side of his house. Stopping right before the gold iron gate. The heavy bang and clinks that come from a nearby construction, grates at my nerves but I push it away.
“Dimelo, papi*, long time no see.”
Benito chuckles, a deep rumble that makes his belly move which each cackle. He blows the steam from his coffee cup and looks up at me.
“I heard Guillermo sold.” His tone is serious, though it still carries his usual fatherly warmth he uses when he speaks to people younger than him. I sigh and shake my head in disbelief.
“When?”
“Me llamó anoche*, to tell me the news. I couldn’t sleep, all night I kept thinking about it. Like my family—his also arrived in Altura and worked for that supermarket, and now it’s going to shut down.”
“That’s not good,” I mutter softly, eyes tracking the busy Alturians hustling down the streets. Their future is so uncertain in a place we worked so hard to build into the community it is. Benito sighs, his gaze drifting towards the construction site.
“They’re building condos.” His voice is low, pain lingering in each word. “Luxury ones. Guillermo said the offer was too good to refuse.”
I nod, jaw tightening. The word luxury tastes bitter.
Around here, it means eviction notices and rent hikes disguised as progress.
Things would be so much easier if we only learned to tax the 1% and actually disperse funds how they should be.
To those politicians, this is just chess. And people like us? We keep losing.
“Altura’s changing,” Benito adds, “and is not for us. Ya no es pa la gente, mijo.”*
I don’t answer, unsure of what to say. Everyone around here knows my cousin is the one who proposed this as a campaign move to help slimebag Felix Mercado win the race.
I spit on the ground, feeling the disgust grow as I think of two of Altura’s very own turning their back on their people. On their hood. All for a golden ticket.
“Listen, I know it’s tough, but Adri came up—”
Benito's face lights up. “Ay bendito, la consentida del barrio* is back.”
I smile. “Yeah, and she has a bright idea. If we can bring people to us and monetize the domino tournament, we can raise enough money to begin doing repairs around here. Help pay some bills to the local shops and restaurants.”
“Mmm.” He scratches his chin, his eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s not a bad idea.”
“No, it’s not. It’s perfect.” Using this opportunity to network, I put it out there. “And with your connection and it being summer, we can pay some of the teens in the block to collect trash, whatever that keeps them busy and out of the streets.”
Benito sips his coffee loudly, slurping in the brown liquid. “Let me know what you need.”
And with that, he turns around just as his wife, Dona Jacinta, comes into view, with a yellow mamu and a dubi wrapped tight. Hand on her hip, she says, “Y tu vas a estar tarde, por andar chismeando.”*
I laugh under my breath and start walking away, stopping when I hear that angelic voice singing, “Amor Prohibido,” by Selena.
Warmth spreads through me when Adri comes into view.
Curls tied up in a red bandana knotted at the front, wearing a white crop top, blue shorts overalls and red Chucks.
Already setting up for the day, you know what they say, ‘the early bird gets the worm,’ and my girl was fishing for hers.
My feet move on their own. Like the sun, Adri pulls me into her orbit.
She’s cleaning, each move is focused and deliberate.
With her back turned to me, she can’t see me approaching, and since she’s also singing, she definitely can’t hear me.
Her hips begin to sway to the music, and the movement has me mesmerized.
The sunlight catches her skin, making her look like a ray of golden light.
It’s painful to interrupt such a performance.
I clear my throat, forcing myself to move and pluck the ear piece from her ear.
She jumps, the broom coming between us in a second. “Oh, it’s just you.” Her tone drips in sarcasm, one I match oh so well.
“Just me,” I parrot.
Her lips twitch, fighting a smile. “You always sneak up like that?”
“Only when I’m on the hunt.”
She swallows hard, her eyes quickly roaming over me and mine over her. The air between us hums, heavy with something neither of us names and actively ignores. “I have an idea for the flyers,” I say, offering back her ear bud. “I want to run it by you. Meet me tonight, our spot.”
Her gaze flicks from me to the ground, she’s nervous and not hiding it well.
“Alright,” she says quietly.
I nod, putting distance between us before I do something I shouldn’t, like holding her in my arms and smelling the scent of her shampoo. “Tonight at eight. Don’t be late.”
She smirks. “You know I never am.”
I start walking away, the sound of salsa following me across the street, and my heart beats hard inside my chest. Each pulse reminds me that some love never dies, por que la cenizas siempre queda*, and she burned me.
* Dimelo, Papi - Tell me, Papi.
* Me llamó anoche - He called me last night
* Ya no es pa la gente, mijo. - It’s no longer for the people, son.
* Ay bendito, la consentida del barrio - Blessing, the neighborhood’s darling is back.
* “Y tu vas a estar tarde, por andar chismeando.” - And you’re going to be late for going around gossiping.
* por que la cenizas siempre queda - because the ashes always remain