The Specks of Smallness

Reagan | Five

Reagan| Five

"Nena, wake up!" were the first words I'd heard every morning during the summer.

To help me wake up, Nana would always poke the hell out of my legs. "Get out!" I would groan aloud.

But she'd just yelled in return: "¡Gorda, levantate!" And continue poking my legs. There were mornings where I couldn't feel nor hear her waking me up. During those days, Nana grabbed a broom and hit my legs with it.

Nana always called me 'Nena', which is a despective term for girl-that I knew. And 'Gorda', which is fatty. Just to avoid listening to her rotten sailor mouth, I always got up before the last warning.

I always woke up with a headache that demanded a cig and cup of coffee. I don't know, summers were just lousy for me. To this day, I can't even comprehend why people enjoy summer so much. Since I was fourteen, I hated summers. It's hell sugarcoated in ice-cream and in supposedly free time.

"Reagan, you better get that fat ass off the bed in five minutes," she used to threaten, and then, I would hear her Spanish comments decreasing when she went away.

I don't even know why the hell she spoke Spanish, honestly. Nana was raised in Manhattan, and Bentley and I are the second generation that was born and raised here. Sometimes, I didn't even understand the crap she said, but whatever she said in Spanish, it meant no good. That I knew.

Maybe I hated summers because they meant that I had to wake up early and help Nana at work. With my help, we'd usually clean three to five houses per day, which earned us a great gross, but boy did I passionately dread summers.

I used to drag my feet out of my bedroom and stop by the bathroom, but the door was always closed and locked. Which meant that I had to bang on the door and yell to the loser inside: "Bentley! Hurry up. I got to help Nana!"

On cue, Nana always emerged from Grandpa's room when I waited to occupy the bathroom. She would hold a tray filled with meds and a scowl whenever she noticed me. Nana thought I was lazy-I bet.

"Chica, avanza," she would hurry me. "Que we have to leave in fifteen minutes."

I would knock again and say: "Bentley, stop jerking off, and finish already."

And I would hear Nana yelling "Reagan! Behave like a lady, chica!" from downstairs. Nana didn't like when I said inappropriate stuff, though she said them all the time. I learned from her-we all knew that.

When Bentley opened the door, I would catch him in his worst state-his hair all disheveled and his eyes creepily swollen. He'd loudly yawn before addressing me-the loser.

"Calm down, Shamu," he'd say, "Don't pop a boob."

"Get out, loser," would likely be my response with a punch on his shoulder.

Bentley always smiled at my hostility-as if he'd enjoy it. He used to stand erect, spreading his legs across the doorway to block me-to annoy me. "Make me, Gigantor," he'd probably taunt.

And for that, I'd clench my fist and try to swing it at his crotch, but he used to see it coming and he covered himself before I hit him. "You're a bitch, Reagan," he'd say, chuckling-which pissed me off.

"Yeah, and you're a sissy ass nerd. Now get out, before I change your stupid game's password again."

That was always my threat. Boy, did Bentley love World of Warcraft. Bentley used to be very ingenious. I mean, he used to sit on my room's floor while I read a book on my bed, and he'd tell me about chicks he met online and he'd tell me his passwords, in case I wanted to play. He always wanted my money to expand his 'build'. But I enjoyed that Bentley, because it meant that he trusted me more than anything. I loved that stupid feeling of being trustworthy.