Thanks for your interest in my novel, Creatures of Habit. Below are the opening pages of Creatures of Habit. I hope you find them compelling, riveting, and impossible to put down. You’ll be among the first to know when the full story becomes available. It starts here…
The Day Before – April 24, 2016
The church was an archaic structure wedged between the modern high rises of Miami and the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean. Colored glass depicting Jesus Christ on the windows decorated the interior of the nave. The nave led down to the gold arches where the altar stood. On the gold arches were portraits of saints and apostles alongside the Lord and Savior. The church had the appearance of a modest thirteenth-century church, back when Catholicism and faith reigned supreme throughout Europe. At the third row was Yovanni, looking at his son rise to a standing position once again. They were dressed identically in grey slacks and a long, white buttoned-up sleeve. He enjoyed watching his son: his hands clasped tightly together, sitting, kneeling, and standing for Mass with the concentration he had—praying intently. Yovanni had disliked going to church and everything that came with it when he was younger, but it appeared that his son, Andy, did not mind it as much. He appreciated that fact. It gave him hope.
They proceeded down the row and up the nave of the church, patiently waiting step by step to receive the Bread of Life and the blood of Christ from the priest. Nicole grabbed a hold of her husband’s arm and smiled at him. She was dressed all in white, wearing a veil that was recently bought for this occasion. Attendance at this church was a first for the Guerra family, and photos at the scenic location were planned to follow the service—content intended for social media, publicly displaying their renewed faith, a sentiment that had taken root over the past year.
Nicole glanced at Yovanni, held him tighter, and whispered, “Not so rough around the edges anymore.”
Yovanni smiled. In the past, this comment would have irked him; however, throughout the years, a certain wisdom had found him, one that knew certain arguments were not worthy—a slight maturing from yesteryear.
They walked down the aisle and received the Bread of Life from the priest. Yovanni stared at the crucifix, his head held high, and made the sign of the cross before consuming the bread and drinking the sacramental wine. He returned to his pew and knelt beside his family, praying silently—for their health, for the well-being of his extended family, and for protection and forgiveness for the sin he was planning to commit the following night.
Mass proceeded until the priest passed their row. Yovanni led his family outside, behind the church and near the ocean, anticipating exactly where his wife would want to take pictures. Once again, he would’ve hated this act in years past. Not for the vanity of it all but his own slothfulness—a delaying of a schedule that kept him away from where he most wanted to be, the comfort of his home. Instead, he gladly took pictures, finding all the angles and locations his wife might want. Then, he found someone to capture them all together—a family, framed in sunlight.
Once his wife was satisfied, they proceeded to their car. Yovanni played The Jungle Book soundtrack at his son’s request and drove away. He weaved through the traffic that was always synonymous with Downtown Miami. They merged onto the highway before his phone suddenly began to vibrate. He turned on his blinker and switched to the far-left lane, the toll road, as he reached into his pocket and answered his phone. It was his friend Fernando calling.
“Hello?”
“Hey man, can we link up tonight? There’s a slight change of plans. My—”
Yovanni turned to his wife and gave her a wink before subtly interrupting, “Manny, what’s up, man? Yeah, I have to check my schedule before committing to anything, but I’ll let you know sooner rather than later.”
“Nikki’s right next to you?”
“Cool, cool, yeah, everything is good with the family. We actually just left church, so I’ll give you a call when I get home if anything.”
“Dale, give me a call later. It’s urgent.”
“Dale, Manny, talk to you soon, brother.” He hung up the phone and placed it back in his pocket. He looked at the rearview and passenger side mirror, peeking behind, before switching to the right lane.
“You need to set up the Bluetooth to your phone, baby. I don’t know why you haven’t yet.” Nicole said.
He cut through another lane as he responded, “Yeah, I don’t know. I’d rather just keep it connected to your phone. Anyway, you know I’m not good with the technology bullshit.”
“Language.”
Yovanni looked at his son through the rearview mirror, “Sorry, papo.” He continued switching into the right lane and got off the exit just in time.
“You’re so stubborn. It’s safer if you—Babe, why are you getting off on this exit?” Nicole had angled her back to the window to face Yovanni directly.
At a quick glance, he noticed her posture and the general demeanor her face was wearing. He chose his next words carefully. “Oh, I just thought, since it’s on the way, that we’d stop by the house first and—”
“Yeah, don’t play games, sweetie. It’s been how many years? I think you should know better by now.”
“Can you not interrupt me? I’m not trying to skip out on the barbecue. I just thought we could change and get comfortable. Didn’t we talk about this last night?”
“But that was only if we went to the early Mass. We’re already late. No, we have to go straight over there.”
“You act as if we’re not going to be there for hours, and you know that this little guy over here is going to get his nice clothes completely dirty. He’s going to end up running around with his cousins and—”
“Why are you such a pain?”
“Me?”
“You know that Dani is coming this time, and I took tomorrow off, and you heard me tell my parents that—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, baby. I got it. I’m going to stop for gas. Is that okay?”
She nodded her head. “Obviously, yeah.”
He turned into a gas station and parked. As Yovanni was going through the payment process, the screen on the gas pump read Error. See a cashier inside. He walked into the gas station and checked his phone, noticing a text message from Fernando. It read, “Don’t worry about calling me back. Just pass by tonight.” Yovanni placed the phone back in his pocket and grabbed the first pack of beer he saw. He paid for the beer and the gas and walked outside to his car. Placing the case of beer on his driver’s seat, he began fueling.
“What’s with the beer?” Nicole asked.
“To avoid hearing your dad’s same old speech about how I steal all of his food and drink all his liquor. It gets old.”
“But why Presidente? He hates that one. You didn’t buy it for yourself did you?”
Yovanni sighed. “No, tonight’s your night.” He paused for a moment, smirked, and said, “I won’t have more than two. I promise.”
“You’re such a pain in the ass.”
“Language.”
There was a snickering in the back.
Nicole responded, “No laughing at mami.”
“Sorry, Mami,” Andy said.
Yovanni looked at his son through the rearview mirror and smiled.
They parked Nicole’s 2015 Lexus NX 200t on the front lawn. A couple of feet in front of them was the porch, and next to the driver’s side of the car was the walkway. Throughout the years, Nicole’s father had made it clear to everyone else in the family—every Sunday, no one but her was allowed to park there. The other cars surrounded the house, hiding nearly every inch of grass with some moving as far up as the backyard gate. Neighbors would often join the party, allowing family members to park on their driveway. Yovanni stepped out of his car and into the smell of charcoal smoke emanating from the backyard. Che Che Cole could be heard clearly from where he stood. When the grill had started and the music was this loud, it meant most of the guests were already there. They were late.
Yovanni helped Andy from the back seat, who sprinted to the house upon his two feet touching the ground. The front door, as per usual, was unlocked. His son swung the door completely wide open and ran inside. He shouted Andy’s name, but to no avail as his son had already made it through the next set of doors, sprinting into the backyard to be with his cousins. Nicole was making her way around the car when Yovanni glanced at her as if to say, “I told you so.” She only smiled in response. He grabbed the case of Presidente, and walked into the house, carrying the case of beers in one hand, and holding his wife’s hand with the other. She closed the front door for him as they entered.
The house was a three-bedroom, two-bathroom space. To the left were two steps that sunk into a living room furnished with a large brown sectional. There was a glass table with tan legs where a dozen framed pictures of the extended family were layered so each could be seen. On the wall of this area hung what appeared to be brown vinyl lattice with fake vines weaving through it. Copious photos of the family through the many decades and generations overlapped each other on this fixture, from great-great grandparents to current distant relatives. Past the living room, to the right, was the master bedroom. To the left was a hall that led to two bedrooms and a shared bathroom: the space where Nicole and her older sister had learned to coexist. Ahead of this hallway was the kitchen where Andy’s baby pictures could be found on the refrigerator amongst a slew of other baby pictures. Each grandchild and nibling were placed on a magnetic school bus frame. There were ten spots to the frame, and each were filled. Past wedding invitations, holiday cards, and so forth were magnetized to the refrigerator as well.
Yovanni had placed the beer on the counter of the kitchen when he heard the door open.
“Giovanni, mira el tiempo!” It was Nicole’s father, Gustavo.
“Que pesado, that’s why I can’t tell you anything.” She playfully slapped her father’s shoulder and then gave him a kiss on the cheek to greet him.
“Yeah, yeah, I know we’re late.” Yovanni lifted the case of beer and said, “Here, I got you your favorite.” Over the years, whenever Gustavo’s humor turned into obnoxious teasing, Yovanni learned that it was best to reciprocate the playful harassment.
“Coño, you really shouldn’t have.”
“You don’t like these?” Yovanni laughed and gave his father-in-law a hug before asking, “Is German here? I know your brother likes these.”
“Yeah, he’s in his usual spot. By the way, Andy,” Gustavo tilted his head after his comment, gesturing concern as he walked to the refrigerator.
“What?”
“Did he not say hi again?” Nicole interjected.
“Did he say hi? He nearly threw out my back, jumping on me. Then he ran to your mother.”
“Did he say hi to everyone else? Also, do we still have clothes here for Andy? We forgot to bring a change of clothes for him.”
Gustavo opened the fridge and spoke as he searched for the sausages amongst all the other food packed tightly in his refrigerator. “We have to ask Ana, but I think so.”
“You think he said hi to everyone or that you have clothes for Andy?”
“Eh? Vamos, ask your mother. I have to start con el chorizo.” Gustavo looked at Yovanni and said, “Put the beers in the cooler outside. German brought his today.”
Yovanni nodded his head before leading the way. He opened the white-framed French doors to the backyard, allowing Nicole and her father to go in front of him.
Gustavo stepped outside and made a right, squeezing between his brother, German, who was reclining back on a swivel chair at the head of the backyard table, and the two large coolers that were pressed against the wall. He passed his concrete canopy and made a right down the side yard where his grill was.
Nicole took the one step down into the backyard and greeted her Tio German among the many other relatives that were near the area. After half a dozen kisses on the cheek, she made it past the canopy and to her mother who was holding court in front of the pool with Tia Isabella, Tia Laura, and her first cousins Paola and Priscilla. Adjacent to the pool were children running chaotically around the grass, weaving through the bushes of the miniature garden— arguing and chortling all the same as they played tag. After greeting the bevy of women, Nicole asked her mother if she had a change of clothes that still fit Andy. They both excused themselves from the group and went inside to check.
Yovanni waved hello from the door as his wife greeted German. Some family members shouted his name from a distance, waving, as he stepped outside and closed the door behind him. Others approached Yovanni after greeting Nicole, hugging him. He turned right and walked toward the coolers where German was at the head of the table. It was widely known that this was German’s favorite place to sit. During many of these barbecues or family parties, he’d sit at arm’s length of the cooler, open it, and grab all the refreshments he wanted, particularly beer.
Yovanni greeted him, before crouching forward to check the cooler closest to him. It was filled. He began to squeeze past German when he remarked, “German, coño, pero hecha p’alante.”
“Eh, pero que pasa contigo?” He slid his chair forward slightly as he spoke.
“German, if someone is trying to get through, you should obviously move forward.” Yovanni crouched down and started to place the beers into the second cooler.
“Is Nicole not letting you drink again?”
“I can drink if I want to. It’s that I choose not to.”
“Ahhh, now I can see what the problem is.”
Yovanni chuckled, “Do you want a beer?”
“Of course.” German grabbed the canned beer in front of him and shook it, signaling that it was empty. He then patted his belly a couple of times and said, “Hey, who was that guy you brought last weekend? The cousin that came late, the muscular one.”
“Papi, no!” His youngest daughter, Paloma, shouted in protest.
Yovanni laughed. “I think you’re talking about Camilo.”
“That’s the one. Paloma can’t stop talking about him.”
“No, that’s playing with fire right there. You don’t want that.”
Mortified, Paloma stormed away as she shouted, “You’re so embarrassing.”
“Mama, where are you going? We were just playing.” German said.
Yovanni laughed as he took a seat, opening his beer and taking a sip before exhaling deeply. His gaze became fixed toward the garden where his son ran around freely in utter bliss with his other cousins. He smiled. This was happiness. The thought wrapped around him wholly like a blanket on a cold night.
The French doors opened once again as Ana and Nicole stepped outside. Nicole shouted for Andy by the door, waiting a few seconds before calling his name again. Tia Isabella heard this and walked towards him while calling his name as well, only grabbing his attention once she made it to an arm’s distance. Andy then sprinted by Isabella, passed his grandmother, and ran inside toward his mother who had already started walking to one of the rooms.
Once Andy passed her, Ana fixed her gaze to the right where Yovanni was sitting. She flared her arms out in question before walking toward him. Ana contorted her body to pass German as she spoke, “Estoy bravo contigo. No me saludaste.”
She patted German on the back, asking him to move forward. He was leaning back purposefully this time, preventing her from getting through. They shared quips, teasing each other before he finally let her pass through. Like most of the older crowd at the party, Ana preferred to speak in Spanish. The only person who actively spoke English with Yovanni was Gustavo. He had the best English of the older crowd, partly due to his job as a salesman in building supplies.
Yovanni chuckled as he stood, leaning forward to hug her and give the customary kiss on the cheek. “Como esta todo?”
“Ahi, I spoke with Vivian last night. Dominic and David asked about Andy.”
“Oh yeah? How’s the family over there?”
“They’re doing well. I always forget about the time change because they had just woken up when I called. How I miss them.”
“We should plan a family trip down there. All these years and I’ve never been.”
Ana placed her hand on his shoulder and said, “Maybe—”
“Oye, Yovanni, get your hands off of my wife.” Gustavo said as he passed by with a tray of sausages in his hands. He entered the house leaving the door ajar.
“Tan celoso,” Ana laughed and then continued with the previous subject. “The trip is not a bad idea but talk to Gustavo. You know he likes to plan all of that. I was going to say, I got to talk with my nephews, and can you believe they lost all the Spanish I taught them from the last time they were here? But at least they have an excuse, living in Australia. Andy can barely speak Spanish, and he lives right here in Miami.”
“Ana, give him time. He’s only five. He can barely speak English either.”
She laughed.
Gustavo came back out with a plate of sausages with toothpicks stuck in them. “They leave fast, so make sure to get some.” He placed them on the table and then directed his next comment to Yovanni. “Are you driving tonight?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Just making sure. Nicole is taking a lot of shots con Daniela y Ramon in there.”
“They’re here already? All right, let me go and say hi. I’ll slow them down.” Yovanni walked into the house and saw them pouring up another shot of tequila. The limes were cut, and the salt was about to be distributed.
“Real typical,” Yovanni said, “get a couple of gators around some alcohol and they don’t know how to act.”
“Don’t start, Yovi, don’t start,” Daniela said with a laugh.
“What number beer are you on?” Nicole interjected.
Yovanni mouthed the word “one” as he raised his index finger. He placed his hand on her lower back and said, “Hey, your mom wants us to get the dancing started already.”
“It’s too early.”
“You don’t want to dance with me?” He looked into her eyes as he asked.
She stared back and smiled suggestively. “Not yet.”
Yovanni could tell she was already feeling the liquor.
“Take a shot with us,” commanded Daniela.
“I can’t, not allowed to. Fidel over here is not letting me drink today.” Nicole gave a playful slap on Yovanni’s arm. Daniela and her husband appealed to Nicole before Yovanni continued. “No, it’s fine. I really don’t want to. Just slow it down a bit. I don’t want to have to carry Andy and her into the car.”
Nicole slapped his arm again.
Yovanni laughed as he backed away from the group. “You would think we’re in an abusive relationship the way she slaps my arm all the time.”
She bit her bottom lip and raised her hand again playfully as if she were about to hit him again. Yovanni mouthed the words “I love you.” She mouthed them back.
He walked back outside, stopping for a moment at the sight of his son. Andy was now wearing basketball shorts and a white T-shirt with dark brown dirt stained across his back. He was on his knees searching through the garden with his other cousins, presumably searching for caterpillars and cocoons. Yovanni chuckled to himself as he continued walking toward the barbecue where Gustavo was placing some of the strips of churrasco onto the top rack. Yovanni placed his hand on his shoulder.
Gustavo closed the lid before placing his arm around him as well. “Gio, dimelo, how’s everything?”
Yovanni shrugged his arm off. “Gus, I love you, but you’re better than that. Come on.”
Gustavo let out a breathy, hoarse laugh and said, “What? I can’t call you that?”
“As a matter of fact, no. Only my wife can, but also you made that same joke all last weekend. Change it up, man. You’re overdoing it.”
“Okay, okay. How’s work?”
“Ah, the kids are kids, and the parents are parents. Nothing new to report.”
“You know speaking of kids . . .”
“I don’t know why you’re bringing that up with me.”
Gustavo’s raspy laugh commenced once again.
“Talk to Nikki. She’s the boss. Also, do you know what you’re asking for? If we have another, that kid is spending every weekend here. You know that, right? We already have our hands full with Andy. The little guy keeps running into our bed and—”
“Still?”
“Well, not at night. Now it’s the morning. At first, he’d crawl in at around six or seven in the morning, so at one point we started locking the doors so he wouldn’t come in. Then we made an agreement with him that he couldn’t come in before eight, but now he literally runs in at eight in the morning and jumps on the bed. Do you have any tips? Because I’m all out of ideas. I’ll tell you.”
Gustavo laughed throughout, understanding the frustration and the lack of sleep. “Look, just enjoy it while you can, pipo. You’ll miss it. It’s funny. Hearing you right now, I miss it. Once they get older, kids don’t want to run into their parents’ room anymore. You blink, and suddenly they’re leaving for college.”
“Yeah, I know. I know. I’ve heard.”
Gustavo opened the barbecue pit again and began placing the steaks into an aluminum tray as he spoke. “Enjoy it. Family, it’s a beautiful thing. It can be hard, but once it’s over you start thinking ‘Where did all the time go?’ Me entiendes?”
Yovanni nodded his head. As he was about to speak, Gustavo placed his hand on his shoulder and said, “Do me a favor and grab the churrasco. I’m going to clean the grill.”
“Of course.” He grabbed the tray and walked to the table, announcing to everyone that the food was ready as he placed it down next to the plates and utensils.
Ana and her sister Isabella placed the side dishes next to the steaks as everyone lined up to serve themselves. Nicole fixed a plate for both herself and Andy, serving enough congri and plantains for two. She went to the far end of the table along with Daniela and Ramon, cutting pieces of steak into manageable bites for Andy to eat while speaking to her best friend.
Yovanni walked to the cooler before fixing himself a plate, grabbing the final beer he was permitted to have as well as water for his wife. He finished his plate first, devouring his food with little resistance. Yovanni then put his focus on Andy, ensuring that he ate an adequate amount before allowing him to run right back into that garden with his cousins.
He had another gulp of his beer before the volume of the music increased. This was his cue. He finished his beer and then stood from his chair, grabbing his wife’s hand and waving for her friends to join as they found an open space to dance. The song in the background was Marc Anthony’s Nadie Como Ella. Nicole loved this song. Yovanni smiled and shared flirtatious glances as they danced salsa together. Others began to join the dance floor as Ana smiled, rubbing the back of Gustavo, hurrying him to finish his plate of food and join the dance floor.
November 15, 1999
I had a dream about my dad. He was looking down at me, staring at me with this long brown hair and a thick brown beard. I couldn’t see anything else but him. There was a haze around him like bright lights. I couldn’t recognize anything else. He didn’t say anything. He just stared at me with these large, expressive eyes, and the more I looked at them, the more I realized that I looked exactly like him, almost like a mirror. It was almost as if his eyes were telling me how much he cared about me, like it was saying that I was destined to do something, like I was on a path to greatness. It was as if they were saying that he was proud of me and that he loved me. That I was going to be more than he ever could be. His mouth didn’t move, but I swear that I could hear all this in the background in a calm, monotone voice. He kept repeating the same phrases over and over again until I woke up.
I sat up only to find that it was the middle of the night, and it was silent and cold. I wrapped my arms around my pillow and squeezed it as I cried until the morning, wondering on and on about it. Did it have any meaning or was it just some random thought from the deep subconscious? Did I even see him or was I just looking at myself? It gave me chills.
That dream was the most love I’ve ever felt from him. Feels weird to write it, but I’ve never met my father. I’m not exactly sure what he even looks like. I’ve only seen a couple of pictures of him, and even then, they weren’t very focused. I don’t really know anything about him. If he’s alive or dead, but going off of this, it’s like he’s been watching over me all of my life. I like the idea of it at least.
Abuela told me that he was a strange man and that she didn’t understand why her daughter did the things she did. I thought about calling Mom in the morning, but I knew better. She’s never told me much about him. He was older than her, fought over in Vietnam when he was just about eighteen. When I was younger, my mom would say some stuff about him here and there. “Your father always liked this,” or “you know your father fought in a war,” things of that nature. I’d say it was in middle school when I started asking a lot, but she always stood firm on her stance of not telling me more about him. She usually said, “I’m all you need” or “have I not done enough?” She has done enough, and in truth, she’s really all I need. She’s done everything for me, so I stopped asking about him when I was fifteen.
It’s natural for a young boy to wonder about his father. I mean, why couldn’t I at least know about him. I’d cry silently about it at night sometimes. There were even a few times where I would scream about how it was unfair that she wouldn’t tell me and that she was a bad mother, but she beat that out of me pretty quickly. The worst part was after when she’d make me feel bad about it too. I remember at fifteen we finally had this deep talk about why she wouldn’t tell me. She basically just said that it made her sad and that he had all the potential in the world to be what he wanted but that he took a different path. She went on about how I needed to be strong and virtuous and so on. It was more about me than anything. Even with a heart to heart, I still couldn’t get much information about him, so I decided to stop asking after that. I had other friends that didn’t have a father around, like Fern, and all their mothers did was complain about them, so I figured maybe this was better. Maybe he was a good person, and he died tragically. So, maybe this dream was just the closure I needed. I don’t know.
I want to write more, but I’m not sure what to write about. If Tomas saw me journaling right now, he’d talk a house of shit to me. He doesn’t like anyone calling him that because it’s his dad’s and grandpa’s name. Apparently, he’s like Tomas the 9th or something.
Tommy is actually a good guy though. He’s from Miami too. I met him during the summer program, and we got along so well, we figured why not make sure we’re roommates for the fall. I actually got the idea about journaling and all that from one of his classmates. We went to this guy’s dorm over at Wildwood with a pack of High Lifes, just to hang out. The Marching Chiefs had just stopped, and this guy asked if we wanted to watch a movie. Apparently, he had just rented a couple of movies from Blockbuster. Tommy and I didn’t have anything better to do, so we said sure.
We ended up watching Dances with Wolves. I’d never seen it before, but it was a hell of a movie. There was a scene where the main character goes back into trouble just to get his diary. I wondered to myself why on earth did he go back? I understand that it could’ve led these other people to where his tribe was, but I don’t think that’s really why he went back to get his diary at all. His life was in that book, every detail and experience that made him who he was. To lose that journal would be to lose your identity. I’m sure there was things in that book that he never wanted to forget, good or bad. It’s like a time machine. You can relive memories and then those memories could lead to other memories you didn’t even think to write about. I think there’s a lot of good that can come from journaling.
I saw how much it meant to him, and it made me want to start one of my own. I wish my dad had left a journal behind. I’m sure that I would’ve gotten my hands on it eventually if he had written one. It’d be nice to know who he was. I guess I’ll end it on that note.
– Yovanni Guerra
January 1, 2000
It’s almost midnight, and I can’t go to sleep, so I’m writing on here. Everybody has been saying we survived over and over again, and it’s really fucking annoying. I never thought there was going to be some sort of disaster or civilization ending calamity to begin with, but I don’t know. Maybe, the concerns were legitimate. Maybe, there’s more to it than I know. I doubt it though, sounds like people being stupid just to be stupid. Whatever, I’m fucking stupid. Still haven’t told my mom that I dropped my astronomy class this past semester, and I don’t think I will. Dropping a class for too many absences might be a worse reason than the curriculum being too hard. I still took four classes, so I’m not in trouble with this damn program but I might be found dead if my mom ever finds out.
She keeps telling me that I should be an engineer or an accountant, but I’m really not mathematically inclined like that. All she says is that there’s no money in being a teacher, and she’s not wrong. It just seems chill to me. I like the idea of being a teacher, coaching football, continuing to get winter break, summer, spring break, and so on. There’ll also be a job waiting for me upon graduation, so I’ll be making decent money right from the start. Some jobs start you off as an hourly worker or worse, as an intern. It’s not as bad as people make it out to be but what do I know.
Winter break has been cool. I’ve been linking up with Courtney for the last week or so. She wears these tight jeans that show off her curves just nice. She’s been rocking a fro, which I don’t like that much. Senior year, her hair was straight. I used to wink at her back when she cheered at our games, and she’d blush and laugh while the other cheerleaders would say something to her. Her coach would yell posture or some shit and then they’d all straighten out and get back into position. She tells me that her dad would disown her if he knew that she liked Hispanic boys. I told her my mom wouldn’t care, but that my grandma would think there was something wrong with me for hooking up with a black girl. She’d call me something random like piolo or some shit.
Courtney drives to the park, where I’m usually already waiting for her, and then she hops into the back seat of my car. I rip her jeans off, stick my fingers where she likes it, and then we go at it all night. We’ll say some crazy shit to each other about how much we like each other, but I doubt she means it. I know I don’t. It’s just nice to say all that in the moment and heat of it all. Makes it feel special, like we’re not in a car, fucking around outside of a public park. She’s told me to transfer down, so we could see each other more often. I tell her that she’s out of her mind. We laugh after.
I’d rather be in that car with her than at some random party, drinking too much and fighting for girls. It used to always be the same shit back in high school. I’m fucking over it. I like this better.
I’m going back to Tally in a couple of days. I might try to link up with Courtney one more time but maybe not. Let’s see.
What else should I talk about? I had tio’s famous lenteja today. He’s not really my uncle though. I don’t have one, but I wish I did. He’s actually my Tia-Abuela’s son, so technically just my cousin. She died a couple of years living in the states. Her husband died not too long after. Abuela says that she died from a broken heart, but I’m sure the autopsy says something different. Her name was Leticia, and by the pictures, it seemed like she used to be pretty overweight. She owned a restaurant in Cuba before the government took it away from her, fucking criminals. Mami y Abuela left for Miami before the revolution took over back in 58’, but Leticia didn’t get the chance until 1983. She came legally though, not on one of the Mariel boats. Her son had to work in the camps for three years to get his family over. Abuela had to vouch for them and house them in. My uncle had to cut sugar cane for three long years just so he could one day share lenteja with his extended family.
I say extended but it was only me, my mom, Tio Alain’s wife, and his son, Camilo. His other sons didn’t come, but it was cool hanging out with Camilo. We don’t really hang out like that since he’s younger, but he’s a decent kid.
My mom was only a few months old before having to move to the states. She was named after a boat, La Graciela. I always found that weird, but I guess the guy had his boat first so it makes sense. Her dad fought for Bautista’s army, so he had to stay in Cuba. He ended up dying during the revolution. It’s strange. Neither of us knew our fathers, me and Gracielita. She hates it when I call her that. I’m only allowed to call her mami, but I still like to mess around with her. I’ll call her yegua sometimes too. She laughs that one off and calls me a comemierda afterwards. We like to have fun.
But I wonder how she felt growing up without a dad. She never talks about it or him in general but that could also be because she didn’t know him very well. I can tell she was always to herself growing up, reserved and quiet. She had to work during high school, so she never had time to be much of a kid. She made sure I never worked during my time in high school. Though, I’ll need to get a job once I get back up there. I’m dead broke whenever I’m in Tallahassee.
I used to go running with her when I was younger. She always wanted to run track, and I can tell it hurts a bit that she never got the chance to do stuff like that. Abuela is old fashioned, and she’s just about the meanest woman I’ve ever met—never has anything nice to say about anyone. That, you need to lose weight type of comments are her specialty. It couldn’t have been easy growing up with someone like that. Whenever she gets started with me, I just snap back at her and make a joke out of it. She laughs at it sometimes but rarely. Mami was a good runner. Back when she ran, she used to look graceful with her stride. That’s funny, graceful. I’m done. Looks like I’m finally getting tired.
– Yovanni Guerra
March 3, 2000
We’re having a pregame at the house in a few. Tommy went to his room for a power nap, so I figured I’d get some writing in before the weekend really starts. I feel off whenever I have these long periods without writing. The plan is to pregame here, meet some people over at Pot’s, and then head downtown. There’s a couple of girls that I invited over the house. Tommy asked how I could invite two girls that I’m talking to. I told him that it was a necessity. Girls always back out, so you need to invite at least two or three of them if you want one to come. They have so many different guys reaching out to them and plans with friends who want to go to different places. You never know where you fall in the pecking order. I haven’t had an instance where two of the girls I’ve been trying to go out with appeared in the same spot. Let’s see how it works out this time.
I need a good night out. This spring semester hasn’t been the best for me. I’ve been working in the back of this second-rate retail store carrying boxes of clothes, unpacking them, and throwing away trash. Fall semester was the best. Girls were hopping from dorm to dorm, looking for trouble and there always seemed to be beer around. If you hang out in the dorms long enough, plans will find you. The main issue this semester is that I’ve been working nearly every day, so the plans haven’t found me as much lately. The pay is complete shit too. Although, whenever we go out, I end up having a better time since I actually have money to spend.
Fern should be getting here pretty soon with his brother and Taco. I told Tommy about them. He laughed at their nicknames. Fern’s short and he used to rock this mustache around, so the coaches started calling him Gerbil. He embraced the name, and it actually got him halfway popular around the school. The nickname ended up getting shortened to Gerb, bringing about an onslaught of other nicknames: Gerbus Christ, Gerbzilla, etc. I always called him Fern or Fernando. I knew the guy for years before that nickname stuck. I’m not suddenly going to call him something different. Now, Taco is a different story. I only met the guy when he joined the team Sophomore year. I always thought of him as an asshole before he joined the team. We’re obviously a lot closer now. He played Soccer, and his real name is actually Angel. Ironic. He lived walking distance from the high school, so we’d skip to his house sometimes. When he was in middle school, all his neighbors saw him and started calling him Taco because of his dark skin. He’s got that South American Indian color thing going on. He’s originally from Colombia. Anyway, the coaches changed his nickname from Taco to Kicker.
The coaches used to call me Gio. They saw my name Yovanni and started pronouncing it as Giovanni. The few Hispanic kids at the school would call me Yovi though. I liked it. I’m glad that stuck till today. I tell people to call me that. The white kids, here, at this school butcher the pronunciation, but that’s fine. I prefer that than to being called a different name.
Fern and Young Johnny are bringing up a lot of bud with them. Some of it will be recreational, some of it will be for them to sell, but there will be an ounce reserved specifically for me. The weed here is absolutely God awful. I’m here busting my ass in this job when I can make just as much money selling good weed from the dorm with literally no effort. It’ll sell itself. Gerb said that he’ll front me the O at two hundred which is supposed to be cheap. Come spring break, I’ll give him the money and re-up. He says I should profit enough for the next O as long as I only sell dimes and dubs. I’ll give him some money when he gets up here so I can have my own little personal stash. I’ll probably buy an eighter. I have a bowl now, so I should be able to conserve a lot. I won’t roll up this semester. He says if this goes really well, he’ll front me a couple of ounces during spring break. The goal will be to build enough clientele for the next school year, so I can buy a QP without being fronted. I’ll keep my job for the rest of this semester and see how it goes from there. I just heard a knock at the door. I’m going to answer it and then wake Tommy’s ass up to get ready for the weekend.
– Yovanni Guerra
The Night Before – April 24, 2016
It was nearly nine at night as Nicole walked blithely down her parents’ yard while laughing and stumbling. Yovanni held her arm firmly as he guided her around the car and eventually helped her into the passenger seat. She put on her seat belt, reclined her seat, and fell asleep almost immediately. Yovanni then walked back into the house and picked up his son, who was wearing an old set of Sonic the Hedgehog pajamas that didn’t quite fit him. He carried Andy to the back seat where he too would sleep throughout the entire car ride.
With the car window down, Yovanni said goodbye to Nicole’s parents for the fifth time, waving as he thanked them again before finally driving off. He looked to his right as he changed the radio station to Hot 105. Nicole’s mouth was agape as she lightly snored. Yovanni chuckled and continued to drive with Luther Vandross playing in the background.
The drive home was approximately fifteen minutes. As soon as they arrived and entered the house, Nicole went to the bathroom as Yovanni placed his son on the bed, kissing him on the forehead and wishing him a good night. He walked back to the living room to find Nicole completely reposed on the couch.
“Baby, you don’t want to go to our bed?” Yovanni said.
“Mm-mm” She then patted the armrest of the couch, signaling Yovanni to sit.
As Yovanni walked over, he explained that, in a couple of minutes, he needed to go see Manny about taking some pictures for his next CrossFit event. She didn’t need much of an explanation. Yovanni helped lift her head slightly as he squeezed in to sit near the armrest. She rested her head on his lap and closed her eyes. He waited for her to be fully asleep before getting up, checking for the gradual change in breathing. Once she fell asleep, he slowly lifted her head and stood up from the couch. He gently placed a throw pillow under her head and spread a Miami Dolphins’ Plush Raschel Throw over her as he quietly stepped away from the couch and into their room.
He opened the bottom cabinet next to his side of the bed, grabbing a flip phone—a burner phone—from under a pile of his clothes. Yovanni closed the cabinet, walked out of his room, and eventually out of the house, locking the door behind him. After he entered his minivan, a 2012 silver Chrysler Town and Country, Yovanni sat in silence with his key still inches away from the ignition. He took a few exaggerated breaths, exhaling deeply with each. What was Fernando going to say? It was the question that lingered at the forefront of his mind as he inserted the key and turned the ignition. He changed the radio station to 105.9, the official classic rock station of Miami, and drove onto the Palmetto Highway Northbound to Fernando’s house in Hialeah. Fernando lived down Red Road in a duplex where his neighbors were nearly ninety years old. He’d arranged an all-cash deal with the landlord beforehand.
Yovanni sent a couple of text messages from his main phone upon arriving. One was to Manny, to insure his alibi, and the other to Fernando. He turned off his car, stepped out, and walked to the front porch, waiting only for a moment before Fernando opened the door. Yovanni stuck out his hand and dapped up Fernando, clasping palms before hugging briefly in a quick embrace.
The house greeted its guest with a large white couch that Fernando had inherited from its previous owner. On the couch was Fernando’s mother, Ximena.
“Ay mi niño. Hace tiempo que no te veo, Yovanni. Como estas?” Ximena spoke no English. In the two decades that Yovanni knew her, he’d only heard her speaking English when she was mocking her sons, repeating the curse words she’d hear them say. Yovanni was never fully sure how much English she comprehended. She often made it seem that she was completely oblivious, but then there’d be moments when it seemed that she understood more than she would let on.
“Estoy bien. Todo tranquilo.” Yovanni responded.
“Good, and your family? Do you have any photos for me to see? I keep telling these kids to settle down, but they don’t listen.”
“Okay, I’m going out back. Just meet me out there when you’re done, Yovi.” Fernando interjected, speaking directly in English to Yovanni.
Yovanni nodded. His phone was drawn out, opening his camera as he continued to speak with Ximena. “The family is great. Andy is getting really good at soccer now. He loves it. Here, this is us after a game.” He leaned toward her, extending his arms so that she could see it. “This was after their championship game. We won 3-2.”
“How precious and you’re still a teacher?”
“Yes, for now. I might leave the classroom soon, but I’ll still be in education.”
“Ah, okay. I remember when you first told your mom that you were going to be a teacher. We were sitting in those rocking chairs at your house. Your grandma was asleep. Graciela had told me that she had wanted you to get into something that made more money, working with the bank or something like that.”
“Finance.”
“Exactly, and I told her this is a good career. You’re a very nice boy and you’d make a good teacher. . . I was just thinking about her the other day. It’s so sad that the best people are the ones who leave too soon. . .. It’s not right. . .. It’s not just. I’ve never met anyone like her. She, she was the strongest person I knew. Better than me, better than anyone I ever knew. I remember when she first started letting you come over our house. All morning, I would clean up the house. I used to tell Elio to leave before you two got here. I’d yell at Fernando to clean their room . . . like a crazy person. I was so concerned with how she thought of me. She was a good person.” Ximena sighed, looking beyond the TV in front of her. “And all she ever did was think of you. You know that, right?”
“I know. I know.”
“Good. . . You’re not going to smoke that shit, the marijuana that these kids smoke?”
“No, no, I was just in the neighborhood. I finished up with some pictures for a gym nearby, so I called Fernando just to say hi. That’s all, but Fernando doesn’t smoke either.”
“Only because the court makes him. If not, forget about it. He’d do it just as much as Jonathan.”
“You’re too hard on Fernando. He’s a good person.”
“You think?”
“Of course.”
“But he’s leaving me. You know that right?”
“Sometimes you have to leave to grow as a person. I left for Tallahassee to study, and it was great for me. No?”
“I hope you’re right. Go ahead. I know my kids are waiting for you.”
Yovanni leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek and proceeded toward the kitchen where the door to the backyard was. The house was small with the kitchen and the living room being in close succession. It took Yovanni about ten steps to reach the door to the backyard. The only other part of the house was a hallway that led to two confined rooms and a cramped bathroom to share.
Yovanni walked outside, closing the door behind him. To the right of him was a picket fence that cut the backyard in half. Originally, the fence was at waist length, but now it appeared that it was crudely added onto until it reached the patio awning—rendering the landlord’s half of the backyard completely out of sight.
“What the hell happened here?”
“Why don’t you ask Johnny?” Fernando said.
Yovanni looked at Jonathan and nodded his head. “What’s up, Johnny?”
“Yo.” The younger brother took a drag from his joint, inhaling deeply. His arm then reached out as he held the smoke in, pointing the butt of the joint at Yovanni.
Before Yovanni could refuse, Jonathan started coughing violently and reached toward the glass of water on the white plastic table in front of him from his foldable chair. In front of the table was a standing fan that blew the smoke back into his face.
Fernando shook his head in disappointment. “Jesus Christ, Johnny, it took you one week to fuck this up.” He looked to Yovanni and continued, “I’ll tell you what happened. So while I’m out at work, serving, this guy decides to hop the fence and do some laundry. After the wash cycle, he puts them in the dryer, not realizing this guy had already come back home. The dryer sounds off once it’s done, so not so Young Johnny here went to grab the clothes not expecting anything. Except halfway through putting his clothes in the basket, the old man calls him out. So what does this retard do? Ignore him. He just walks inside the house with a basket of clothes in his hands and doesn’t think to respond. Next fucking day, this old ass guajiro builds this fucking barrier. I go and talk to him about it. Tell him I’m sorry about my brother. He’s only staying here for now until his car is fixed, he was in a rush, etcetera, etcetera. The guy says it’s not a problem, but that it’s better this way, more privacy—”
“Aight but Yovi, back me up. Isn’t it kind of fucking crazy that he expects us to go to a laundromat—” Jonathan interjected.
“What do you mean? I’ve been doing that for over a year now—”
“Nigga, don’t act like you didn’t call mom up to do laundry half the time. I can’t do that.”
“It wasn’t half the fucking time you pussy ass bitch. Tell me I wouldn’t Uber to the damn laundromat whenever I didn’t have one of your cars. . ..”
The two brothers continued to speak over each other as the conversation quickly devolved into personal affronts. Yovanni chuckled as he took a seat next to Fernando. To the left of him was the newly constructed fence that made the backyard seem more constricted than it already was. Past the awning was a bed of white rocks that led to a chain link fence with a black privacy screen. At the corner of the backyard was a bare tree with brown leaves by its base. The only contrast to the lifeless color scheme was the pink playhouse and the accompanying toy set behind them.
Ahead of them was a fifty-inch flat-screen TV hanging on the wall. Jonathan’s Xbox console was sitting on top of a stool they placed near the TV and outlet. They were playing Madden NFL 16. The game was paused, which Yovanni knew was delaying another argument between them. Some things never change. As this thought crossed his mind, Jonathan addressed him. “Yovi, back me up on this.”
“I mean, Johnny, what do you want me to say?” Yovanni’s response incited a groan of disappointment from Jonathan and a laugh from Fernando. Yovanni continued, “Is it not right that this guy won’t let you use his personal property? Maybe, but if that’s the rule then that’s the rule. You can’t be going on to his side for that.”
Jonathan sucked his teeth and said, “Whatever, fuck it. You always take his side.” He took another drag from his joint after his comment.
“Fuck off, you know that’s not true.” Yovanni looked to Fernando. “Yo, so is your mom staying here now?”
“Yeah, Elio helped us move her in yesterday. With me leaving soon, it just didn’t make any sense to keep paying for the other one. So, she’ll be staying in Mia’s room until I leave, and then it’ll just be her place.”
“Makes sense. I’m surprised Elio helped out at all.”
“Don’t even get me started.”
“Yeah, I know. All right, so what’s up? Why’d you bring me over here? What’s the change?”
“Not much. Like we talked about, you drive us to the spot. You’ll stay in the car as we make the swap. You drive us back. We break it and mix it. Give you your end, and then you do what you have planned from there so no changes up to that point. Now, the only thing is we had a last-minute call from Laz. He needs us to make a drop in the morning. It’ll be right before the bus arrives. We need you to help us deliver it and then drop us off over at the Mall of The Americas.”
“Yeah, I can’t do that. I’m not calling off of work.”
“It’s before work, and it’s quick. You’ll keep the car running. We make the drop, run back into the car, and then you’ll take us to the mall, and that’s it. I’m not asking you to help me clean the money or anything. This is a quick favor. After the morning, you go through the day like normal. Johnny and I get on the bus to Gainesville. Our sister picks us up and drives us to Williston and in a couple of days, we’ll be back. That’s it.”
“Look, you make it sound perfectly simple, but it doesn’t change the fact that I still can’t do it. What the hell am I going to tell Nikki? I already have a bullshit excuse for the night. Now, I need one for the morning too? No, why don’t you guys just drop it off earlier? Call this guy up and tell him you can’t do it in the morning.”
“Yovi, we don’t know this fucking guy. Laz called me last night and said he needed me to do this. I told him the same thing. ‘We need to do it earlier.’ Then he said that it can only be in the morning, so I said, ‘All right, I’ll figure it out.’ Here . . .” Fernando reached into his pocket and took out one of his phones. “Do you want to talk to Laz and explain it to him?”
“I don’t, but it’s also not my fucking problem, Fern. You talk to him. Don’t forget that I said no to helping you with the first pick-up. What convinced me was not the money, but that you’re going to work with Pierre up in Detroit and go straight once this shit is all done. I’ve known you for over two fucking decades, so I want to help you with that. But I didn’t sign up for this shit. Don’t get me wrong the payout is a plus, but now you keep adding on to the shit. I’m taking a big enough risk as it is.”
“Yovi, I appreciate that, but I have no other options. The state of Florida rejected my privilege of driving. Johnny doesn’t have a car. We can’t drive my mother’s car and leave it at the mall either. And I obviously can’t fucking Uber. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I had any other options.”
“Then you’re going to have to bite the bullet and hit up Elio—”
“No—”
“Look, I know he’s a wild card, but he’s also your God damn big brother. I think he—”
“No, you don’t understand. That’s not an option. I don’t want that. Laz doesn’t want that. He cannot be trusted.”
“Why not?”
“Because he fucked up. A couple of months ago we tried—” Fernando shook his head in frustration, interrupting himself. “Just know that he can’t do it. He’s going to fuck up everything. Just trust me on this. I need you to do this for me.”
“I’m not adding any more risk.”
“Yovi, what the fuck are we talking about here? What risk? Are you trying to help me out or not? And let’s not forget you called me to let you hold some weight. That’s the riskiest fucking part. I would’ve been fine just paying you to drive me, so let’s not pretend this is one-sided.”
“I never said that.”
“I know, but let’s not get it twisted. You’re in your car both times, and in the morning I’m not even dealing with anyone. I’m literally dropping it off.”
“I’ll be honest. I don’t like this position you’re putting me in. I don’t like it. Everything feels different, dealing with coke and—”
“Yovi, put it in your mind that this is like any other deal because it is. I can’t have you all paranoid. You’re grabbing work from me. You are selling to people that you have sold to before. You’re already in this, so be all the way in. I’m not Nikki. Stop pretending like you don’t do this. This is not the craziest shit we’ve ever done. You know what I’m saying? Make your money and help me be done with this. We’ll both be done with it, for good this time. So stop this wishy-washy bullshit. I need you to step up for me here. I don’t want to involve anyone else. It’s better this way. Just trust me on this.”
Jonathan chimed in. “Yovi, Yovi, you know me, dog. Do you think I’m in for some crazy shit? I’m happy right here. Playing games, smoking weed, I don’t want to be doing any dangerous ass shit. If anything even comes close to popping off you’ll know because I’ll be running like a motherfucker. I’ll be all the way at I-75 before you even put the car in drive.”
Yovanni chuckled. Fernando’s eyes darted to Yovanni before reciprocating his laugh. Jonathan inhaled from his joint and continued, “I’ll be here, rolling up, playing Rainbow. Asking y’all how it went.” Smoke emanated from his mouth as he spoke.
Fernando butted into his brother’s ramblings and said, “So what you thinking? It’s just a quick drive in the morning, and we’re done—for good.”
There was a hesitation, a moment of contemplation before Yovanni spoke. He battled internally until he finally acquiesced and said, “Yeah, I guess. I’ll figure out something to say to Nikki.”
“Thank you. I won’t forget this. You can bank on that.” Fernando stuck his hand out after his statement.
“Yeah, yeah.” Yovanni reached over and gave Fernando a quick dap, sliding their fingers until they locked briefly at the end making the sound of a snap as they released.
For the moment, Yovanni felt better about the situation.
The subject would change from the previous topic as the conversation continued tangentially. His unease subsided as they spiraled into new topics, each exponentially sillier than the last. He was able to laugh and smile again without worrying about the next day, living in the moment with his childhood friends as if he was a teenager again, reliving old memories and rehashing familiar jokes from their youth, and teasing each other while laughing seemingly just to laugh.
Between fits of laughter, Jonathan asked, “You sure you don’t want to smoke?”
Yovanni replied, “Nah, I wish. I have a drug test for this new job. I haven’t smoked in a fat ass minute.”
“Damn, I gotta smoke all by myself?”
“You don’t have to, jit. Now, are we going to finish playing or what?” Fernando interjected.
“Yeah, go ahead, unpause it, let me finish fucking you up.” The trash-talking commenced as they resumed with three minutes left in the fourth quarter of their game. Fernando was down by seven points. Precious seconds ticked away under the two-minute warning as he continued into the red zone for a first down. On the next play, Fernando threw an interception into the endzone and what followed was a sharp decry of the game’s programming. Jonathan laughed with his face wearing that overall satisfied glow that most victors hold in the moments after. He sat in his victory and relished each word of his brother’s recurrent complaints.
While this was happening, Yovanni got a text from his second phone. He took the burner phone from his pocket and checked the text message. It was a question mark. Fifteen minutes before there had been a text asking for a quarter ounce of marijuana. He shut his phone immediately, ignoring the text, but after a moment’s thought, he opted to follow through with the transaction.
“Can one of y’all front me a quarter? I have a custy hitting me up. Need to check in on this guy and make sure he’s good for tomorrow.”
“Is this that kid you can’t stand, Dougie’s cousin?” Fernando said.
“Yeah, Sean, but he’s not Dougie’s cousin. Friend of a friend type of thing.”
“Check on him. That’s smart. Johnny, you got any work on you?”
“Yeah, I got you, Yovi. I’ll give you some of my personal shit.”
Yovanni stood as a signal that he was leaving. He said goodbye to Fernando with a quick embrace as they muttered reminders to each other about the next day, affirming a recognition of the plans. Yovanni walked inside with Jonathan and into Fernando’s room. They went into his closet where his brother twisted and pulled on the lid of a black wide-mouthed plastic jar. Once opened, the smell permeated the room.
“What type of work is this?” Yovanni asked.
“Jack Herer,” Jonathan replied as he grabbed a scale from the closet. He weighed out approximately seven grams worth of weed and placed it into a plastic bag, handing it to Yovanni.
“Dale, I appreciate it. I got you with the money tomorrow.”
“Fasho.”
Yovanni dapped him up before walking outside toward his car. Once outside, Yovanni paused and wondered to himself if this was worth it. Not the current deal, but the one that was happening tomorrow. Without Fernando and his brother coaxing him, his stomach became uneasy again. Dread turned into agitation as his feeling of regret intensified. It was a feeling that told him he did not want to do this. A feeling that told him he had been lured into doing a favor that he was not comfortable with.
Yovanni swung his car door open and sat inside before slamming the door shut.
Be all the way in. As much as he hated to admit it, Fernando’s words were cogent and true to him. He took a deep breath, clearing his mind, as he put on his seat belt. Going to this customer’s house was a step toward accepting what he was going to do in twenty-four hours. He turned the car on and reversed out of the driveway. Gerry Rafferty’s “Baker Street” played on Big 105 as he drove down Red Road. He merged onto the empty highway, the Gratigny, and let his foot drop, speeding down the road as he raised the volume of the radio. He put the windows down and gripped the wheel as tight as he could. His SunPass, the transponder on the top of his glass windshield, blinked green as he passed under the gantry labeled 1B. He remembered back when he could drive down this road for free, about five years ago, but now there was always news of another toll road, another express lane, another construction site, and so on. His mind continued on about all the changes in traffic when it suddenly occurred to him that he should avoid all toll roads tomorrow—just in case.
Yovanni parked in front of the apartment. Sean lived on the first floor, so in theory, the deals should have been handled quickly, but with him that was never the case. He walked up to the front door and knocked. Normally, for a deal this small, Yovanni wouldn’t leave the car; but he knew Sean well enough to know that he was not prepared.
He knocked on the door again. Yovanni fidgeted side to side, waiting, when he looked back and noticed a different car in Sean’s second parking space.
Sean finally answered. A cat started to walk through his leg when he suddenly bent down to pick it up. “My bad, Yovi, come in bruh.”
Yovanni walked in and said, “Where’s the Mustang?”
“Getting a paint job at the shop. Shit finna be clean.”
“All right, well, let’s make this quick, man. I have another spot to get to. It’s gonna be eighty.”
“Fuck you mean eighty?” Sean tossed the cat onto the couch. It ran off in a hurry behind the TV stand. “I usually get that for sixty-five.”
Yovanni took a step toward the door as he spoke, “Then grab that shit for sixty-five, kid. I’m out.”
“Chill, chill, take a seat. Let me look at it.”
“Go get your Goddamn money. I’ve got places to be.”
“Aight, aight, chill. I’ll get the money.” Sean left for a room to get the money he owed.
Yovanni remained standing. He didn’t want to get comfortable. Over the counter, he could see a pot over a stove; however, he couldn’t smell whatever was cooking from the stench of cat litter and marijuana. He looked around and noticed a cracked flat-screen TV. He wondered what that could have been about.
Sean returned with a wad of cash in a rubber band and tossed it to Yovanni. He continued walking to the couch next to them and said, “Take a seat, Yovi. You’re making me nervous.”
Yovanni took off the rubber band from the tightly rolled wad of cash. “Damn, Sean, all ones? You ain’t got any big bills?”
“Don’t hate. Been getting busy, bruh. Know what I mean?”
Yovanni laughed out as he walked around to take a seat on the couch. “Yeah, I know. They’re loving the man bun, huh?”
As he laughed, Sean stuck his hand out for Yovanni to dap him up. He obliged. Sean’s hair was trimmed on the sides while the rest of his hair was wrapped into a bun. He had golds on the bottom row of his teeth and had tattoos rolling down his arms—full sleeves.
“Let me see the bud.”
Yovanni handed it to him. He fixed his gaze on the stack of ones, licked his thumb, and began to count.
“Smells dank, what is it?”
“Jack Herer, indoor.”
“Fire . . . you trying to smoke some?”
“Can’t, man, got another delivery to make.” Yovanni stopped counting for a moment. He forgot what number he was on. “Fuck,” he licked his thumb and started counting from one again. “You all set for tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I got the money in the next room if you want to see it.”
“Nah, it’s good. I believe you.”
“AutoZone right?”
“Yeah, the one by sixty-seventh.”
“All right,” Sean looked around for a moment. His cat was still behind the TV stand but darted off as he began to lean forward from his couch. He slid his table toward them and picked up a small plastic tray. He grabbed the weed Yovanni gave him and began crumbling it. He looked up for a brief moment at his TV and said, “You know, I got so heated the other day, and I fucked up that day too cuz’ I was wearing some new jays that I was gonna touch up, but I wanted to show out the business, show them like abundance you know. . . I do my thing, show them the business, and this one fucking guy starts giving me problems, starts saying some crazy shit that I’m trying to take his money, that I’m scheming. So I’m like quiet down, kid, it’s not that serious. You either part of the business and make some money or you’re not. This fool starts telling the others that they’d be dumb to do this, so I tell him he has to ride out. He’s causing a scene and shit. He starts giving me the eye, sizing me up as he walked out. I lost my shit, man. I slapped him right in his face and squared up. I—”
“I’m done counting. We’re good.” Yovanni stood as he wrapped the rubber band around the wad of cash and placed it in his pocket.
“Oh, aight, well I fucked his ass up, ended up breaking my TV and shit.”
Yovanni walked to the front of the apartment and said, “That’s crazy.” He dapped him up and put his hand on the doorknob. “You gotta be careful about who you bring to your house. If you’re presenting your business to someone shady, do it in public. You can’t be fucking up your house. That’s money.” He turned the doorknob and opened the door slightly to not let the cat out.
“That’s why I like you, Yovi. You a man of business.”
“You know me. I don’t fuck around.”
Yovanni dapped him up one more time and made his way to the car. He backed up his car and made the long drive back to Kendall.
Once he arrived home, he found Nicole sleeping just where he had left her—on the couch. He picked her up and carried her to their room. Yovanni placed her gently onto her side of the bed. As he put the blanket over her, he became disgusted by the smell of his shirt. The stench of a dirty cat and marijuana. He took off his clothes, changed into new boxers, and went to the washer to put in a load. Yovanni made himself a Rum and Coke and sat in front of the TV while watching ESPN, waiting to change the clothes from the washer to the dryer. He set the alarm on his phone for seven a.m. It was almost midnight.
Alexander C. Brito 