Chapter Nine
? Jackson ?
Lying on my bed, hands intertwined behind my head and facing the ceiling, I thought about the future.
Which, to be honest, wasn’t something I did often.
Another day, same routine—me and the guys trailing after long tan legs and Maria’s new waddle.
Holly’s sway? Damn near lethal. I groaned.
Focus, dumbass. I couldn’t stay in this shit hole forever.
I tried to envision what my future might look like, but in between the mess of my thoughts was a distinctive pair of hazel eyes that danced in and out of view.
I rolled out of bed and walked as quietly as I could to the kitchen.
If I was lucky, there just might be something edible in the fridge.
I didn’t pay much mind to my mother, who was passed out on the couch drunk.
Again. Dodging the soft spots on the floor of our beat-up trailer, I managed to make it to the fridge.
Grimacing at the contents, sour milk and moldy mystery meat, I glanced over my shoulder at Mom before heading out the door and down the rickety stairs.
The blessing and the curse of living in a trailer park, I could walk right over to my best friend’s house.
The faded green siding was still a shit ton nicer than ours, and the flowers lining the sides said someone actually gave a damn.
I had met Diego ages ago, when we were both barely big enough to walk up the steps on our own.
Now, I just walked through his door without knocking.
His mom worked nights at the nursing home, which was where I assumed she was now.
Diego was chilling in front of the TV, playing some video game.
He glanced over his shoulder when he heard someone come in but went back to his game when he saw it was just me.
“There’s pizza in the fridge, and Mom left some arroz con pollo on the stove. Have at it.”
He knew why I had come, fully aware of what was going on at home.
I had stopped being embarrassed a long time ago.
Grabbing a chipped plate out of the cabinet, I took a massive scoop of the rice dish and a soda out of the fridge before sitting by Diego.
I watched him play for a minute, until he died and hollered obscenities in Spanish at the TV.
Then he put his controller down and turned to me. “Mom sleeping?”
“Yuppers.”
“What the fuck, man.”
I shrugged. “She was breathing when I left.” He shook his head, disappearing into the kitchen and reappearing a minute later with a plate and drink of his own. “Your mom is a damn good cook.”
He nodded around a mouthful of food and we sat there in comfortable silence until we had both finished eating.
“So, what’s up?”
I glanced at him. “What do you mean?”
“Come on, man. We’ve known each other since forever. I can tell something is on your mind.”
I rolled my neck, relishing the pop, before picking up the remote and scrolling through the channels. “I dunno. It’s almost time for prom.”
“Thinking of asking her out?”
I gave him a droll look, not bothering to ask who he was referring to. “You gonna ask Maria?”
“God, I want to. But Holly scares me a little.”
“Meh, she’s harmless.”
He blinked at me. “Harmless? Are we talking about the same girl?” I laughed and he smirked before getting serious again. “Ok, but seriously. What’s on your mind?”
I settled on a channel playing Hacksaw Ridge before putting the remote down and saying, “I was just thinking. After prom, that’s it. We’re pretty much done. So, what’s next?”
He scratched at the stubble on his cheek. “Shit, man. I ain’t got a clue. I mean, Dalton is going to UGA. He’s got that scholarship. Pretty sure Mac is staying here, helping his old man. Me? To be honest…”
“Maria.”
“Yeah. It may be corny as fuck but that’s all I want. She’s all I want. What about you?”
I frowned at the TV and watched Desmond go back for yet another soldier, the wheels spinning in my head. “That’s the thing, man. I haven’t a damn clue.” On the screen, Desmond lowered himself on that fraying rope. I nodded towards the screen. “Maybe that?”
Diego looked between me and the TV in confusion. “Acting?”
I rolled my eyes. “No, dumbass. Enlisting.”
He raised his eyebrows, “Enlisting? In what? The military?”
“Dude, you are not that slow.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s just…I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Could be good for me.”
“I guess?”
“Making a difference and shit.”
“If you say so.”
“Plus, I would get all the girls.”
“Right, that’s a great reason to risk your life.”
I threw a throw pillow at him. “It’s just a thought.”
“What branch?”
I shrugged. “No idea.”
He studied me. “Trying to imagine you with a buzz cut. Hate to tell you, but you would look weird as fuck.” I flipped him off and he smirked but then he tilted his head to the side before squinting at me. “What about Holly?”
“What ‘bout her?”
“I mean, I’m no Cupid. And we all know Dalton’s the resident player. But even I can see there’s something there.”
I frowned at him, “There’s nothing between me and Malibu.”
“Uh-huh.”
“She hates me.”
“Rinen a menudo los amantes, por el gusto de hacer las paces.”
“The hell does that mean?”
“Something Mom says. Google it.” Silence filled the room yet again, before he stood and made his way to the kitchen. “Mom made tres leches. Want a piece?” I nodded and when he came back with two pieces, we finished the movie and watched the next one that came on.
Eventually, I went home. My Mom was still passed the fuck out on the couch.
I frowned at her, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. She had been like this since my dad left when I was like eleven.
The bottle on the table caught the light from the TV.
Half empty. Or half full. Depends how you look at it.
I stared at it longer than I meant to. Not seeing the amber glass but the future everyone swore I’d end up in. Especially the damn school counselor who looked at me like I was already a lost cause.
But, once upon a time, my Mom had been the kind to make cake.
Like Diego’s mom. The house had smelled like sugar and vanilla instead of sour wine and regret.
Then she lost herself in the bottle. I swore I’d never be the guy staring at the bottom of one, looking for answers that weren’t there.
Sighing, I pulled a faded afghan over her shoulder before going to my room.
Right before I fell asleep, I googled what Diego had said to me before shutting my phone off.
Malibu and I just weren’t happening. That wasn’t how these kinds of stories went.