The Right Side of Reckless (A Lot Like Screwed-Up)

Sample [1]

"You gotta give a boy a chance to grow some."

– J. Cole, 1985 (Intro to "The Fall Off")

GUILLERMO

Fresh off the plane and I was already making trouble.

The security guard was staring at me like I was some type of criminal. He stood across from us as we came out of the gate into the terminal at the Akron-Canton airport, and as soon as he caught eye contact with me, his brows pushed down and knitted together. His hand breezed over the Taser gun on his utility belt, while he stuck out his broad chest.

     Sizing him up, I knew I could take him. He wasn't that big. But with the way my mother was looking at me, I knew it was better to ignore him.

     He probably thought I was trouble. I was trouble...at least, I was before.

     "Keep walking, Memo," my father said, shoving his carry-on bag into my spine.

     I stole a final glance at the security guard. He was still glaring at me.

     Pendejo.

     Like the diligent son I was now trying to be, I obeyed my father and kept moving, catching my younger sister, Yesenia, shrinking beside me.

     Jostling through the airport, we made our way to the baggage claim, gathered our bags, and prepared to leave. Upon heading toward the exit, I was surprised to see Mr. Security Guard by the door. The glare was still on his face, but this time, he was shooting his dark steely gaze at some other guy.

     Guess it isn't just me. For once.

     I was used to this type of judgment.

     The car service my father had arranged was waiting outside. Our driver was standing in front of a Honda Pilot, holding up a sign with our last name stamped on it.

     My father quickly introduced our family before helping the man stow our luggage in the vehicle. At my attempt to help, my father shooed me away.

     Having no choice, I handed him my bag, and then I got in the middle row beside my mother and sister.

     "It's going to be okay, Memo, don't worry." Yesenia reached out and squeezed my hand gently.

     I averted my gaze out the window, not seeing things her way.

     "You should listen to your sister, she's right," my mother said.

     Once the driver and my father finished packing the trunk, the driver took the wheel while my father sat in the passenger seat.

     As soon as we were on the road, my father faced me with a serious look. "We're back now, Guillermo, and things aren't going to be like before. Understand?"

     "It won't happen again," I said.

     My father grimaced, as if he doubted me. With my mass of screwups, I didn't blame him. "Don't forget to call your probation officer first thing in the morning." He spoke with bitter disappointment laced in every word. "Remember, if you mess this up, it's back to jail for you."

     I gritted my teeth. Back to juvie? Fuck that. "I know."

     Two weeks in Mexico and nothing had changed.

     They still hadn't forgiven me for what happened back in March. Hadn't even mentioned it to the relatives we'd just visited. I couldn't blame them. Unlike the times before, I had fucked up royally.