The Soup and Sorrow Digest

Finally a home.

Enrique, in a tracksuit and an athletic hairband, snarled like a washed-out cracked-out Rocky who had managed to retch up just enough venom for Ricardo only.  To his father’s right hand, Andrew stood unobtrusively, but his eyes … bloodshot, bulging so tightly that Ricardo wanted to scoop them and force feed them back to him

But Selena, matronly large in a wrap-dress and bunned hair, shuffled to the front, ignored Ricardo for Rosa’s shine.

“Your Mami doing well?” she asked gently.

It was not enough to ask about her mother, she had to ask about her Papi, the baby of the house, her nana.  She wished Rosa had not cut all her hermoso cabella for the ugly boy cut. It made her looked like a fat lesbian (Brittle laughter). And Enrique, not to be outshone in the PR department, concurred that the coiffure made her look too rough, and the Cadillac … too big, no? A bella Senorita only needed a good small car.

All the while Ricardo could not steal a moment to disappear. Between Andrew’s lupine stare and Jésus eyeing him wrathfully, he was pinned to his seat and the saccharine chatter on pleasantries.

Eventually Rosa excused herself, gathering her purse and smoothing her non-existent bangs. “Rico, remember, you should see us sometime.” As she traipsed into the golden outdoors, everyone else swung their faces onto Ricardo.

“Big heavy cojones you have eating in my shop after you take a razor to my son’s face,” Enrique accused.

“Rico, you slashed Andrew?” Alexandro shot from the counter. His eyes went dull on him, transparent to a sea of nothingness. Ricardo’s heartbeat plodded then thumped as he discovered just how much he hated to see Alexandro that perturbed.

Enrique slid Selena a punishing look. Her brows sagged by the moment. Maybe she did not breastfeed him properly, or potty-trained him too late, or gave him too many churros, or called him handsome too many times. Alas she had worked too many twelve-hour days to defend herself or her son.

Ricardo, ignoring Alexandro dead eyes, pulled to his feet, frittering wide motions to grow taller, to look more dictatorial. One needed a big voice, a big stance to admit a big sin, no?

“Andrew, I’m sorry I cut you.” It felt easy, too easy.

Andrew rolled his eyes, shrugged.

“Is that it? Sorry?” Enrique demanded, turned violently to Andrew. “Is that enough for you?”

“I told you already. I didn’t care,” Andrew said.

“Sorry isn’t enough,” Alexandro interjected. 

Enrique growled at him and he summarily boxes that needed carrying and he flitted inside.  The swinging of the double doors ebbed away as everyone fell quiet on the mathematical meaning of sorry.

Selena spoke up, “He’ll work for you during the summer. That should be make up for it—”

“Tiger balls! The tadpole jumped me him first.  He was the one who got Emilio and Diego on my case,” Ricardo cried.

Enrique glared at Andrew looking dolefully at the silvery box of paper napkins on the table. “You said nothing about Emilio. Not only are you some spineless f***, you’re part of a gang?” He whacked one off the side of his head. “Answer me!”

His demand boomeranged round the shop, nearly uprooting Ricardo from his feet, but Andrew did not budge.  Ricardo recognized a small flame burning behind Andrew’s eyes, flickering tenuously, almost whittling away to smoldering.  It terrified Ricardo just how vulnerable it seemed, but before he could fall headlong into the well of empathy, Andrew parked himself out the shop.