Eduardo Taylor popped the screen door open with the back of his ass and with careful, deliberate steps maneuvered himself and two bulging trash bags through the backdoor. Once he’d gotten both bags clear of the doorframe he gave the door a bump with his backside, then bolted clear of it. Eduardo shuffled just beyond the rusty screen door’s reach; it banged against the metal doorframe in useless anger. But Eduardo didn’t hear it, he was too busy run-walking the bloated bags to the pair of steel trash cans he kept by his little red shed. The shed, like his home, was in need of a fresh coat of paint—and a weekend or two of scrubbing. But Eduardo didn’t notice this need; he was too busy stuffing the bulky bags into the cans.
It was a bit like trying to get a square peg into a round hole. There were flat, squishy sides and there were hard—sometimes sharp, angular sides to the trash bags. Figuring out which side to smash in first was always key to solving the engorged trash bag/trash can problem. Eduardo happily struggled through his chore, delighted to be outside in the cool early evening. Above him the stars peered down from their heavenly perch. The same little shimmers of light that had watched the building of the pyramids now oversaw the stuffing of garbage.
This fact was not lost on Eduardo.
He smiled and replaced the bent and dinged-up trash can lids, then crossed his arms and looked up into the night sky. There was no moon, at least, not from where he was standing. Only the little pinpricks of light set against a velvety blackness. The lights were interesting, but it was the blackness that he thought about more. Sitting by his trashcans in his backyard, Eduardo Taylor reached into the pockets of his frayed jean shorts and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. The box rattled as he took it out.
Damn, he thought, almost out—a smile forming on his lips.
He pulled out a bright yellow Bic lighter and flicked it absently. Ignoring the little shower of sparks it sent streaking between his thick fingers; Eduardo continued looking up into the sky. Then, without thinking, he balled up his fist, crumpling the little cardboard and cellophane pack. The sweet-bitter fragrance of tobacco wafted up to his nostrils, stoking the fires of nicotine craving.
Coming back down to Earth, Eduardo turned back around to his trashcans and threw away his mangled pack of cigarettes—and the remaining cigarette. He then walked back over to his little yellow house and peered into the back window. Inside he saw his wife, María, standing in front of the kitchen sink, she wore a look of fierce concentration as he scrubbed a dirty sauce pan.
“Pssst,” Eduardo hissed through his thick lips. He laughed when, startled, the greasy pan slipped from her hands and splashed into the sudsy water.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she scolded. “You tryin’ to give me a heart attack?”
“Nah,” Eduardo smiled. “I only wanted to get your attention my love.”
“Well you have it!” she said fishing the pan back out of the water.
Eduardo pressed his face against the window screen, “Listen…I’m outta smokes—I’m going to the gas station. Do you want anything?”
He watched her suspicion bloom, “I thought you bought cigarettes last night?”
“No my love,” he shook his head. “Last night we needed toilet paper…remember? It was the night before, that was when I got smokes.”
“And you need more already,” this was not a question—though Eduardo pretended it was.
“Yeah, I guess I’ve been letting Lenny bum off me too much at work…”
“I guess you have,” she said coldly. He watched her lather and scrub the pan, her dark eyes staring down at the sink. He could see the sides of them quiver from her intense determination not to look up—to stare only into the water. Eduardo knew she was fighting the urge to glance up at him. They both knew that if she did, she would smile despite herself.
This was the game they played nearly every night. After dinner she would clean up, while he took out the trash and formulated a reason to go on one last joyride. They’d been married for nearly fifteen years, and yet neither ever acknowledged what was going on. This was part of their nightly routine—it was their ritual.
“So ‘bout it?”
“How about what?” she asked, still not taking her eyes off her work in the sink.
He backed his face off the screen, “Need anything?”
“Just you,” she said flicking her eyes up at him. “Come inside, you’ll catch cold out there.”
“Nonsense,” he grinned. “It’s May, the summer is nearly here—it stays warmer after sunset…”
She flicked her eyes back down. Again, he could see the effort in her eyes—in her whole face. Her determination never ceased to amaze him. Eyeing her with a mixture of reverence and pride, he spotted the little crescent-shaped ghost just above her right eye. A pang of sadness struck his heart. It always happened whenever he saw it.
“Don’t be long,” she whispered.
“I won’t.”
He turned and stepped away from the window.
Inside, when she’d heard her husband walk away—she smiled. Eduardo, meanwhile, walked around the side of his house to the driveway where his Chevy Caprice waited for him. It was an old clunker, painted blue like the sky. But like his shed and his house, Eduardo’s car could have used a fresh coat of paint. Still, though the car was worn, it was also worn in—and fit him like a glove. The foam of the seat molded perfectly to his body. Over a million trips—and counting. He was so focused on his ritual, so excited and happy for that last ride of the day—that he forgot what he was doing and slammed the car door. The clatter it made echoed deep into the night.
Eduardo tensed and gritted his teeth. Maybe he was still alright…maybe he hadn’t heard.
“Pappi?” a little voice called out from the house. “Pappi! Wait, wait for me!”
Damn, I shouldn’t have slammed the car door. I should have been more careful. But Eduardo wasn’t really upset—this too, was part of the ritual.
The little brown-haired boy trotted out to the passenger side of the Caprice and popped the door open. He wearing an enormous faded t-shirt, one of Eduardo’s (from his college days). On the boy it looked like a dress, dipping just above the knees—and yet Eduardo was confident he would barely have been able to get it over his own head now. Such is life…
“Where are we going, Pappi?” his son asked.
“Just…out…”
“Are we goin’ on a long ride!” the boy asked.
Eduardo smiled, “Not too long…just to the gas station.”
“Can we go to the Phillips station?”
Eduardo smiled. He’d decided before dinner was over to go to the Phillips station—after all, it was the furthest of the nearby gas stations.
Like father, like son.
“Did you tell your mother you were coming?” Eduardo asked, turning the ignition key.
The boy nodded and worked the hand roller, lowering the window enough to stick his head out.
“Mom!” he yelled into the darkness. “I’m going with daddy!”
Eduardo waited until he saw his wife’s slender silhouette in the front doorframe. As soon as he saw her give a little, hesitant wave goodbye he put the car in reverse and started backing out of the sloping driveway.
“Buckle-up buddy,” Eduardo said. He shifted the Chevy into drive, but waited until he heard the soft metallic click before taking his foot of the brake. Assured that his son was safely fastened into the seat, Eduardo plopped his foot down on the gas—the Chevy lurched forward like a spooked horse.
From where he sat in the passenger’s seat, Eduardo’s boy could just barely see over the dashboard. And that was only when he leaned forward. Sitting back, like he was now, all he could see was the black sky framed by a constant blur of overhanging branches. The breezed flowed into the car as they picked up speed. A little cloud of dust mushroomed behind the Chevy. The road was old asphalt, but was coated with a thick layer of what Eduardo called “country dust.” This dust was a light brown color and trailed automobiles like a comet’s tail. He knew that: “if you see the dust/ you must/ be in the country.” That was how the rhyme went anyway.
Neither father nor son spoke as they drove. Still leaning back in his seat, Eduardo’s son closed his eyes and let the wind rush over him; it was like what he thought the inside of a tornado was like. For about five minutes that was how it went: Eduardo stared intently into the night (trying to see with only one semi-functioning headlight), and his son—eyes tightly shut wrapped in a blanket of warm air.
Eduardo took his foot off the gas and gently placed it onto the brake, slowing them down so they could safely cross the one-lane bridge up ahead. This decrease in speed killed the little tempest-swirl causing Eduardo’s boy to lazily opened his eyes and stare up at the night sky through the streaky windshield. The boy could hear the thud of the tires as they rolled across the narrow bridge, and the soft droning gurgle of the creek below. It was like faint music playing softly in the background.
“Next comes the snowflakes,” Eduardo’s son whispered to himself.
First there was only one—a pale ghost fluttering in darkness. Then there were two. Then there were three, then four, then more…the moths whizzed back and forth across the road. They were fleeting, beautiful, and oblivious to the Chevy. Though the air was thick with them (so much so that it did almost look like it was snowing), none of them smeared themselves against the glass of the speeding windshield. Eduardo witnessed this little miracle nearly every night and yet he never gave it a second thought.
“Those butterflies,” Eduardo always called them that—even though they both knew they were really moths, “they’re really thick tonight…must be havin’ a party somewhere nearby.”
Eduardo’s son laughed, even though his father said this (or something very similar) every other night—when they went driving. The outside world continued to whirl past them, they’d cleared the narrow one-lane bridge, and Eduardo was speeding back up.
“You know, those butterflies started out as little, itty-bitty worms…just like you.”
“No! Not like me!”
Eduardo nodded, not taking his eyes off the road: “Yes, just like you.”
“Worms don’t have wings,” his son told him.
“That’s because they grew wings, as they got older—as they grew up,” Eduardo put his foot back on the brake. He wanted to make sure he had enough time to tell his story. “Son, you will change as you get older…just like those butterflies.” He paused for dramatic effect, “In fact, the older you get, the more you will realize that not everything in this world has…what you call a beautiful beginning.”
Eduardo’s son wrinkled his nose at this, but said nothing. Despite his lack of understanding, this was his favorite part of their nightly ride—the story. Every night, Eduardo told his son the same story. And though some parts of it changed from night to night (like the time of year the story took place—if it was summer, for example, then the tale took place in summer), for the most part, it was consistent.
Slowing the battered Chevy to a crawl along the dark, deserted country road—Eduardo told his son this story:
* * *
It was the spring of 1976, and Eduardo Taylor was sitting in a cantina just off Interstate 35. The name of the place was La Nave Cristalina, it was a well known place of revelry and celebration—but Eduardo didn’t feel much like celebrating. He was too busy sweating bullets. Sitting across the small wooden table was a handsome couple. Their straight, white teeth and evenly tanned skinned pushed him over the edge. Both wore the polite smile of someone just coming to grips with extreme disappointment.
“So, this is your Eduardo,” the man spoke as evenly as his tan.
Eduardo could literally feel the beads of sweat rolling down his arms. This was a mistake, he could feel it—a terrible, terrible mistake. The woman sitting next to him, his fiancé, nodded and set a hand down on top of his.
“Call him Eddy,” she said. There was no nervousness in her voice.
“So,” the woman said, “what do you plan to do with your life?”
“Besides marry your daughter?” Eduardo managed to squeak.
All of them laughed, it was a timid laugh—but it was a start he supposed. A waiter wearing a giant red carnation came by and took their drink order. It was then, while his fiancé’s mother was ordering a glass of wine—that his life changed forever. The front door of the cantina flew open and a hulking brute strode in dragging a small, demure looking woman behind him. He was a dressed in black denim pants and a flaming red t-shirt. One look was all Eduardo needed of the man, but the woman—she demanded a second, even a third look. It was dark in the La Nave Cristalina, so it was difficult to tell for sure, but from where he sat Eduardo thought she was probably very beautiful. Her body was long, and slender, and despite the fact that she was being dragged by a four-hundred pound gorilla, she moved with a serene grace.
It was her face that most interested Eduardo, but there was no opportunity for anyone to catch even a glimpse of her face because her long, dark hair obscured her features. Eduardo winced as the brute flung the woman into a booth over a far corner. The commotion this caused soon settled and their waiter continued taking their drink orders.
“And for you sir?” the waiter asked turning toward him.
His fiancé tapped him on the shoulder, “Eduardo answer the man.”
“Huh? What? Oh, to drink? Just give me a beer…whatever you have on tap.”
“Yes sir, very good sir.”
The waiter turned and headed over to the shadowy area where the bar was located. Eduardo followed him with his eyes, desperate for something other than the strange couple to stare at. Underneath the gaudy yellow-and-beige checkered table cloth, he felt the warm fingers of his fiancé wrap discreetly around his thigh. He tried to smile over at her but his heart just wasn’t in it.
“Something the matter?” his future mother-in-law asked gaping at him. Eduardo thought she looked a bit like a fish at the bottom of a boat sucking endlessly for air. The corners of her mouth pinched and relaxed over and over.
This is not going well, Eduardo thought.
“So,” his future father-in-law began. “How is the job hunt going? Any promising leads this week?”
“Well I’ve been looking for a change of pace…” from across the room there was a quick, sharp crack. Everyone in the cantina turned in unison towards the back of the room where the brute and the little woman were sitting.
They all saw her, clutching the right side of her face with one hand. The other was being yanked by the big man sitting next to her. It was obvious that she was trying to get up—to get away. It was also obvious that he’d just slapped her nearly as hard as he could. The sound of her soft, controlled whimpers (controlled, no doubt through much practice) shamed everyone in the cantina to look away.
Nervously, the patrons of La Nave Cristalina pretended as though nothing had happened. After a few seconds, the dark haired woman gave up trying to leave and settled back down in the booth next to her man. Eduardo, like everyone else in the cantina found himself self-consciously staring down at his place setting.
“What about going back to school?” his mother-in-law croaked.
Eduardo nodded, “I think that is a fine idea, I’ve been considering that very thing…”
“Schooling costs money,” the older gentleman said shaking his head. “Money is one thing a newly married couple doesn’t have a lot of…you remember how it was
“Of course dear, I was simply suggesting that perhaps the two of them could start thinking about Eduardo finishing his education...”
“Maybe we could start saving?” Eduardo offered.
“Saving what? You don’t have a job.”
By this point, Eduardo was ready to crawl up under the table and die.
“What about sales? Have you ever tired…”
There was another sharp smack from the back of the room. This time everyone ignored it because the woman remained silent.
Eduardo could feel beads of sweat beginning to form on his hairline.
“Look,” her father said leaning back. “Let’s cut all the bullshit, I only have one question for you—how are you going to provide for my little girl?”
“Daddy!”
Eduardo could feel his throat closing up, as though there was a vice tightening around his neck. He flicked his eyes over to the booth in the far corner—where the girl and the brute were sitting. The brute was talking to one of the waiters, and while he was distracted his companion was looking around the room with vacant eyes. No, they weren’t quite vacant—there was a flicker of desperation in that repelled the gaze of others, which is why no one would make eye contact with her. Eduardo wasn’t any different. Instead of returning her gaze, he busied himself with studying the green floral print of her dress.
“Don’t ‘daddy!’ me young lady, it’s a valid question!”
“God you’re embarrassing…”
Eduardo shrugged his shoulders and tried to look both un-threatened and non-threatening. This turned out to be a look he was unable to pull off. Sensing his younger adversary was on the ropes, his father-in-law (to be) fired off a fresh volley of questions.
“And just where will you two be living anyway? Not in some rat’s nest I hope!”
“Daddy!”
“Just what makes you think you deserve to marry my daughter anyway?”
Eduardo ran the back of his hand through his short brown hair. He didn’t know what to say…how was he supposed to answers these types of questions? This was supposed to have been a quiet dinner, not an interrogation. Before Eduardo could think of an adequate response, he was interrupted:
“Sit down!”
The voice was rough and jagged, like a thick piece of glass. It had come from the back corner of the room. Eduardo looked and saw the dark haired woman once again trying to leave the booth. The brute’s thick neck widened as he tugged on one of her arms, pulling her back towards him. Eduardo sensed the rest of the room collectively turn away, as it had done before. This time, however, was different for him. He watched as the ogre raised his massive arm, the bulbous hand whipped back ready to strike like the head of deadly cobra.
“…I said, what makes you think you deserve my daughter?”
Eduardo felt the swollen beads of perspiration at his hairline give in to the forces of gravity, as they began to roll down the side of his face one by one. Ignoring the older man and his wife, he felt himself stand up and back away from the table. Though he was moving, it felt like he was being controlled. Like he was in someone else’s body.
“Where are you going?” the tiny voice of betrothed called out behind him.
Ignoring her as well, Eduardo found himself marching towards that back of the cantina. He felt himself brush past a small sea of chairs, like an ocean liner pushing past small hunks of ice bergs.
“Señor,” Eduardo said. “If you hit that woman one more time, I’m gonna beat the-ever-living shit out of you!”
The words had barely left his lips when he felt a wave of panic seize his heart. What was he doing? It sounded like he was about to start a fight with a stranger—a very big, very angry looking stranger. What the hell was he doing?
Eduardo couldn’t say; but he was still making his way deliberately toward the back of the cantina.
“Who the hell are you?” the great bull of a man asked. He shoved the dark haired woman out of the booth so he could climb out.
“You heard me! Quick hitting that woman…” Eduardo could feel himself regaining control of his lower body—he stopped a few feet away from the couple’s booth.
“Mind yer own business friend,” the brute hissed. “You’ll live longer.”
Still clutching the right side of her face, the dark haired woman put a small hand on the brute’s shoulder.
“Come on Sam…let’s just go…”
“Get your hands off me,” he shrugged her off. “And don’t tell me what to do!”
One of the waiters near the bar slowly began heading toward the confrontation, “Please, please…no fighting…no fighting! Not in here!”
The big man laughed, it was a gravely rattle that hurt Eduardo’s ears. The bigger man ignored the waiter’s attempt to keep the peace. Sensing that it was useless, the frightened waiter bolted for the safety of the kitchen.
“Eddy what are you doing? Come sit back down…”
“Listen to yer lady-friend pal,” the brute scoffed.
Eduardo blushed; he’d made a mistake coming over here. He wouldn’t have felt so stupid had they actually been fighting… a physical altercation would bring a clean-cut resolution to the situation. Instead they were having an awkward staring contest—with no end in sight.
“Sam, come on…”
Without taking his eyes of Eduardo, the brute swatted at the little woman, knocking her roughly into the booth.
“That’s it!” Eduardo shouted, balling up his fists. Taking a deep breath he charged the huge man, both hands up and ready to fight. He’d only taken about four steps towards the bigger man, when the brute shot a ham-sized fist at him. Eduardo was able to twist his thin frame out of the way—but it was close. Steadying himself, he prepared to send his own first punch…when the world became a darker, quieter place.
The sensation of falling backwards enveloped him, and the back of his head began to throb hotly. All the color evaporated from the world before everything was swabbed away in total, utter blackness.
* * *
“Did you hit him back?” Eduardo’s son asked.
He knew the answer, but it was part of their routine—part of the ritual, part of the story.
Eduardo shook his head, “No…I did not. That monster knocked me out cold.”
“Then the hospital…”
“Yes,” Eduardo nodded.
* * *
The thin slit of light slowly peeled back as Eduardo opened his eyes. Gray ceiling tiles were the first thing to welcome him back into the world of the living. He moaned and attempted to sit up but found he was unable.
“Hello?” he whispered through his clenched (and slightly fractured) jaw. “Is there anybody there?”
A swollen, puffy black-and-blue face leaned over him. It was the face of a horribly mangled woman—the dark-haired lady from the cantina.
The brute’s woman.
“What happened?” Eduardo winced.
“You stood up to a very bad man,” the dark-haired woman said through the side of her face that wasn’t swollen.
“And got my ass handed to me…”
“You did a brave thing tonight,” she said simply.
Eduardo extended his left hand and she grabbed it and helped him sit up. As she did this, he noticed the deep red gash over her right eye.
“What happened to your brow?”
She lowered her eyes, “It’s from one of his rings…he likes to wear a lot of rings…”
Eduardo nodded as best he could.
“Where is my fiancé?”
The dark-haired woman said nothing, but instead reached into her pocket and pulled out a brown envelope.
“I was told to give you this…”
He reached out with aching hands and took it from her—it felt lopsided. Running his fingers along its edge he felt a small circular bump.
Without having to open it, he knew what was inside.
“I’m sorry,” she said as she started to leave his room.
“Hey,” he called. “What’s your name?”
“María,” she told him, then walked out.
Eduardo wanted to call out to her; he wanted to ask her to stay. But he didn’t say a word—because he knew she’d be back.
* * *
“That’s how you met mama?” his son asked.
“Yes,” Eduardo nodded, “When I went to sleep that night, I thought that day was the worst of my life. But when I awoke the next day, and I saw your mother sitting by my bed—I realized it was actually the opposite…”
As he spoke, he put his foot back down on the gas pedal. The Chevy’s engine chugged for a moment, and then the car lurched forward. All around them was the sound of the night—the cicadas constant drone sounding like the waves of the ocean. Eduardo slowed the car as they approached the gas station, its halo of incandescent light like making a little island in the vast sea of night.
“Almost there,” Eduardo said.
His son nodded, eager to get inside and conduct their business—the sooner they were back on the road, the better.
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