Después | Oscar Diaz

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Claudia's changed her number enough times in  the last few years that she genuinely isn't expecting it.

It's been years since she last talked to Oscar.  She visited him as often as she could, the summer before her sophomore  year, but then she moved to San Diego and things got real rough between  them. He said some things he shouldn't have and she said some things  back, and after that she got so busy that she couldn't get back to him  to make up even though she wanted to.

For a little while she tried writing letters,  never sure if he read them. Didn't have money for a lot of things, some months, moved between sublets so often that eventually she lost more  than a few documents she should have kept, his contact information  included, and tracking it down again didn't seem worth it after so much radio silence. She works in South Central, now, with kids like her and kids that are way different, besides.

He shows up at her job on a Friday. Looks different than she's used to, the memories she has of  him. Something different about the way he holds himself, maybe. Same fucking tear tattoo she used to lick when he fucked her in the backseat of his car, though. She wouldn't want to be sixteen again for anything,  not when she remembers loving him so much it gutted her.

He grins when  he sees her, like he didn't notice her stop in the middle of the parking  lot, his car parked next to hers—same shitty model she's had since they locked him up the second time, a 2004 Nissan Altima she  bought right before she left to San Diego.

"Long time no see,  Claudia," he says, leaning against the hood of his car with a cigarette  in his hand.

She wants to smack the shit out of him. Long time no see,  huh? Like she's just some hyna he's trying to  put the moves on. But she doesn't have the energy to be mad about how  things ended between them, not now that he's back in front of her, not a  dream come true but something close.

He gives her a look, head to toe.  Makes something hot rise up inside her, against her will, even as she  comes to a stop in front of him. "You looking good, nena."

"Oscar,"  she says, raising an eyebrow. He's wearing a white tee, baggy jean  shorts with the socks pulled up like always. She hates that he still  looks good in it. "How'd you track me down? I don't even have your  number."

"Wanted to forget about me, huh?" he says. He  says it like it could be flirtatious, but Claudia knows him too well to  believe it. Knows there's something underneath it that's smarting.

She  says, voice low like she used to sound when she'd patch him up on bad  nights, "Vos sabés como estaba, Oscar. Lost a lotta my shit moving. Pictures of my mom, even." I'm sorry, she almost says.

For  giving up so easily. Not calling, not writing, not visiting. For not  coming back even though she meant to. Maybe not sorry for trying her  best, but for trying to forget him after, at least. Because she loved  him. Because she wanted to, even if she didn't end up getting  what she wanted, not with him, no matter how badly she really needed  him, those first few months away from Freeridge and him locked up in the  joint.

His expression shifts. On him, it's a big deal; lets her  know he actually feels for her. Maybe not like other people might, but  Oscar's always been a special case. She knew that the day she met him.

"Aw, nena," he says. "I'm sorry. You gone to see her lately?"

Of  course he's apologizing to her. Maybe even about their shitty breakup,  the things they both said. Oscar makes the worst kind of sense. He also  knows her too well. That's what growing up together during the hard  parts of adolescence will do; Claudia should know.