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◢◤◢◤◢◤ Circuit 01 ◢◤◢◤◢◤
[ DJ ] ♪ One day we'll all agree and have peace up under a big chronic tree
If I had my way at 4:20 every day
you could blaze a J
And not have to answer to nobody
Snoop Dogg blares right through my cranky 80s boombox as I emerge from beneath the car I'm currently working on for my upcoming race this weekend.
I skitter my boot-covered legs across the garage floor, easily gliding with the assistance of my skateboard.
My phone dings on my way up, indicating a new message. I pull it from my device and swipe up with my clean elbow, revealing a message from a boy I met at my previous race in Rockford. He was attractive, but not my type. However, I don't think he understands what the word "no" means. I like men and women who knew what boundaries were. I consider myself vocal when it comes to my feelings; I say what I like and don't like.
But it can be so straightforward at times that I end up hurting someone else.
An unattractive snort escapes me once I read his text.
Let's meet again. This Friday, if you're down.
I leave him on read, too exhausted to think of a response. Just then, Mom emerges from the door that leads to our small kitchen.
"Honey?" She shouts over the music. "Are you in here again?" At the sound of her sweet voice, I leap to my feet and wipe the sweat from my brow, having spent nearly half of the afternoon adding finishing touches and tweaks to the new engine I've installed. It was all I could think about all week at school, daydreaming about winning the grand prize in Math class.
Twenty-thousand dollars. I would be able to afford a car, disassemble it, and customize it to my liking.
Just last week, I almost fell in the third place when suddenly the engine overheated due to a cooling system leak. The only thing I had to be concerned about now was the tires. I needed new ones, which meant working extra shifts at the café, and that would take weeks, if not months, or I could simply take the easier route and ask dad for money, which he had plenty of. The old man was generous and he would never say no to me. Not while they're still fighting over my custody.
I'd just have to wait until I'm legally able to do whatever I want.
I admit that when the announcement of their separation broke out, I was heartbroken. But not heartbroken enough compared to when I lost my childhood dog, Nola, on my thirteenth birthday — lucky 13 — this race would also mark my 13th time, and I am calling out to my dead chihuahua to help me get the word through the mighty heavens. Hook me up or something like that.
It took a year of back-and-forth arguing over who was fit to care for me. My dad, a tough-minded Spaniard, eventually had enough and relocated to one of Maryland's wealthy neighborhoods after getting his dream job promotion. He asked me to choose between leaving with him or staying with my mom in our small Chicago neighborhood.
Of course, I went with the latter. I don't just abandon people and hope for things to be better. I would rather get better together. I didn't want to leave my life here, my childhood. It's where, at the age of twelve, I first learned to drive in and out of alleyways with an ex-boyfriend. Even though neither of my parents was born American, I considered this city to be my home. I mean, where else do you see people cutting their pizza into squares?
Chicago, like the rest of the world, is exemplary on its own — with or without all the violence and systemic failures. I don't want ever want to stop racing. The thrill, the adrenaline that pumps through my veins every time I put a foot down on the gas. The skylines in the city at night are a sight to see.
Mom completely pulls the wire from the plug attached to the wall just as I'm about to turn down the volume on my boombox. She's still dressed in a plain white shirt tucked into bleached mom jeans. She's a psychologist by day, and an alcoholic by night. Yeah, it sure sounds convincing.
These days, it's gotten worse, and it'd be a miracle if she even stays sober after seven p.m. How else am I able to race freely out on the streets of Chicago past midnight? I don't even have to cross the seven seas or endure cold winters to climb over my window. I enter and exit through the door, return to my room and sleep for at least four hours until school starts. Then I do it all over again, more diligently than before.
I don't complain when I have a roof over my head and food on the table. I don't give myself the right to. Not when I have friends who have been passed around from different families that are worse than the last. It's unfair. The system is unfair.
"I didn't know you were home," I said as I pulled the straps of my filthy jumpsuit back in its place. My shoulders were too small for these things, but the oversized fit made me look taller than I actually am.
Mom looks around and struts towards the unfamiliar tools strewn behind me. I turn away and walk past her to begin cleaning up. I didn't even have to look at her face to tell she was irritated.
"Well, maybe if you weren't so preoccupied with all this junk, you'd be able to hear me." She scoffed, her hands on her hips to appear intimidating.
Junk? This junk helps pay the rent when her job wasn't enough for both of our daily needs. She doesn't have to know that, though.
When I don't say anything, she continues. "We need to talk."
I remove my protective gloves and hang them on a rack next to my jumpsuit. Now, I'm left with denim shorts and a grey Calvin Klein sports bra. I sweep the messy braid over my shoulder and continue with my task, still not keeping my eyes on where she's standing. "We are talking, Mom."
"Look at me when I'm talking, Young Lady." She demanded, her tone becoming sterner. A second passes and I'm dropping everything and snapping my head in her direction. One thing about my Hispanic mother was that she doesn't take any form of disrespect.
"Sorry," I mumbled, sincerely. "What's this about?"
Her gaze pans on me as she sighed. "Your grandmother called."
That's never a good idea.
"Okay..." I wait for her to continue. She pauses for a while before saying. "She sent plane tickets."
I relax at her words. That's a good thing, right?
"Ooo, where are you going for the summer?" I sound more thrilled than she does. "Wait, why don't you look happy?"
"To California."
"Oh, that's cool. You'll finally get to see grandma-"
"We." She corrected. "We're going together for the summer."
Suddenly, I don't feel good.
"What?" I deadpanned, my brows furrowing. "Why do I have to go? I never go-"
"Well, you have no other choice," she says, clearly not caring about how I would feel leaving. How does she expect me to pack my bags and go?
"I can't leave you here by yourself. It's either you come with me or fly over to your Dad."
"Mom, I don't want to go to California or live with dad's new family for two months. I have school!" I exclaimed frustratedly. I couldn't stop myself from getting worked up. The race is this weekend. I should be focusing on that rather than worrying about where I'd be for the summer.
"Don't raise your tone with me, Olaria." She warned angrily. "We won't be waiting for summer break. You'll continue the rest of your school year there." I'm barely letting her words sink in. It's all too sudden. My eyes are watery, and I feel a sudden wrench in my stomach. My fists clench at my sides and I have to stop myself from saying something I'll regret.
"Mom, this is all too sudden. I can't just leave. I have a job-"
"You'll find a better paying job in California. They have better schools there."
"Are you serious?" I can't believe what I'm hearing. Until now, I've never regretted my decision to stay with her. "You can't do this, Mom. Please-"
She's already turning her back to me when she mumbles something under her breath. "We leave tomorrow morning whether you like it or not."
"Mom—" My words are cut short when the door slams shut. Then I'm crying like a fucking baby, my back against the car's hood. The reflection of my unrecognizable state can be seen in the full-body mirror hanging by the door.
As I stare back at my car, my vision is clouded by salty tears. The fiery orange neon rims I worked on for weeks, and the new bumper I successfully installed after spending a month's salary at a part-time job. I almost laughed at how pitiful I looked; I can't believe I even considered selling pot at one point.
Amari, a friend from sophomore year, mentioned it once, and I said I'd think about it if I couldn't save a thousand dollars by the end of the month. Then, I did it — even saved up more than expected. It was all made possible by racing. Eight of the twelve races I've completed, were gold medals.
L O S A N G E L E S ,
C A L I F O R N I A
Six and a half hours later, we finally make it to my grandparents' two-story home right outside Los Angeles.
My first impression of the slightly crowded city? The weather. God, was it so bipolar that in an hour, I was forced to change my comfortable sweatpants into thin leggings.
And now I'm tapping my feet on the cobblestones that line the front lawn. Mom was already irritated, despite the fact that she hadn't even seen Grandma.
I bit back a laugh as I turned my head to see a young gardener trimming the loose ends of what appeared to be bushes aligning the red-brick fence.
I don't see this very often back home - usually neighborhoods where I pass by daily had barb wires and aggressive bulldogs for protection - but when I do, it's only because I purposefully pass by the really nice houses. With kids riding their bikes and all.
It was interesting to see because I never had that growing up. We had enough. Dad started as a construction worker. Mom doing her studies. We were the average immigrant family living in a one-bedroom duplex.
I wish we had been like one of those families in rich neighborhoods. The ones who have tacos on Tuesdays, barbecues on Friday nights, and family day on Sundays. If we could have afforded swimming lessons, I'd go for a swim out back. And maybe even get a German Shepherd to sell the story.
I'd like to have a house like that, too. One near a lake and small local shops, where I could sit and relax in the sun, swim, and drive around with my windows down without worrying about anything.
My short trance is short-lived when the front doors open widely. I was ready to drop my things and greet grandma, instead, we were greeted by a short lady. She smiled as she wiped her hands on the apron around her small frame.
"Hola, debes ser la hija y la nieta de la señora." The lovely woman chirped as she welcomed us in. My comprehension is far more reliable than my speaking abilities, so I remain silent and wait for mom to speak.
The inside is just as colorful, spacious, and welcoming as the outside. I've only seen pictures of my this house. Grandma remarried three times, and my mom was the fruit of the second. Grandfather died when I was four years old, so I had little to no memory of him. Ricardo, Grandma's current husband, is some kind of head physician in a hospital, who previously remarried twice. It's such a long story that it might take me a while to explain it to someone I'd just met.
"Yes, hello. That's us." My mother returns her greeting with a small smile. She was the opposite of me; never really liked people. It doesn't make sense when her job requires her to interact, observe, and advise.
I can't help but get excited about meeting new people. I'm hoping that the people here are much more outgoing and friendly than I am.
The polite woman extends a hand out. "My name is Violetta."
Mom goes to follow Violetta through a narrow hallway. At the end of it, is an open space and my eyes almost spring out of their sockets once I take notice of the large infinity pool. Sunbeds are lined along the sides and a big gazebo sits at the far right corner where a big garden blooms beautifully.
"Oh, wow." I gasped, trying not to lose my cool. I've never been inside a home with a pool. This must've cost them a fortune, given that California isn't known for being the most affordable place to live. "Grandma lives here with Ricardo?" I ask no one in particular, seeing that my mom has wandered over to the sunbeds, where another person is lying with a huge ass hat on top of their head. Great. No one was even listening to me.
"Olaria, come here!" Mom signals with her pointer finger. I glance one more time at the clear, blue water and quickly approach them. "Grandma?" To my chagrin, my tone screeches. Gross. I probably sounded like a knife on a metal cutting board.
At my voice, Grandma sweeps her cover-up to the side and gleams at me. She throws her latest magazine and springs up to her poor knees. Instinctively, I crouch a bit to see her. "Oh my...You look so grown, Mija," She whispered, and with the way her tone nearly cracks, I can tell she was getting emotional. She caresses my face before pressing a kiss on top of my head. "You're so beautiful. You even have my long, dark hair and my curvy bod—"
"Mamá, that's enough. We just got off a five-hour flight and haven't eaten anything. To your request." Mom says beside me, causing Grandma to glare at her.
"Lunch is served in the garden, Señora," Violetta informs us before scurrying off inside. Grandma grabs my hand and leads us down a path of different plants, weeds, and greens. "Come, we have a lot to catch up on."
In response, I smiled and took out my phone, angling it so that Grandma's face was visible. "Smile, Grandma." I can't help but smile when I see her perplexed expression. "I'm gon' frame this when I get back."
"Oh?" She giggled, placing her huge sunglasses on top of her nose.
"Uhuh. I'll show everyone where I got my good genes from." I playfully tell her as I link my left arm with hers. She laughs, her tone a bit raspy.
"I can't wait for you to finally meet Ricardo." She gushes as we come to a halt at a long picnic table piled high with delicious food - the good, pricey kind.
On a wooden cutting board, various types of ham and cheese are displayed. The side closest to me appeared to be more appealing to me, possibly because it was familiar.
"He'll be coming home tomorrow from his business trip."
"Are you sure he's okay with all of this?" I asked. "I mean, with me and mom staying for a really long time."
"You don't have to worry about Ricardo, Mija. He was the one who insisted. Trust me, he's just happy to have more people around the house."
I nodded. "Yeah, I can cook and clean pretty well—" Grandma nearly chokes on a crab leg. I quickly pass her a glass of water. "Oh my God. Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine," she coughed and wiped the side of her mouth with a clean cloth. I breathe a sigh of relief as I notice my mother continuing to eat her heart out. She didn't even bother asking Grandma if she was okay.
I'm not sure what's up with her lately. I just wish she would talk to me about it. If it's about the divorce, I can put my own feelings aside and try to be there for her, but I can't do much when she barely speaks to me. The only time she says something is before she leaves for work, to remind me to lock the door. The other time is when she gets home from work and lets me know dinner is served.
I think I'm spoiled, but not in the way I want.
But it's more pathetic when I have to be the one who encourages her to talk about it. She's the adult, she should be able to approach someone, even if it isn't me. The feeling isn't mutual, though. She has no idea what her daughter is going through. She may be helping others with their problems, but at home, the roles are reversed.
I can't possibly be of help if she doesn't even seek it.
"I didn't fly you guys out here to help with chores," Grandma explains. "I just want to spend more time with the both of you. And who knows, you might end up liking it more than Chicago."
Her speech was convincing up until the last sentence.
"Okay, Grandma," I chuckled. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I got my whole life back there."
Grandma smirked as she shoved a piece of meat into her mouth. "Mhm. Let's see how that goes, Mija. There's a lot to see and do in California," she nudges her cutlery. "Take, for example, fine men-"
"Mamá!" Mom, who has remained silent throughout our conversation, finally butts in. "Stop putting ideas into my daughter's head. She's only seventeen. What does she know about those things?"
Ohhhh. A lot. I press my lips tight and swallow down a glass of Raspberry juice. Or is it the blueberry. All I know is that it's one of the berries. It is said to be beneficial to the vag-
"Right," Grandma interrupts my thoughts. "What does she know about all of those things when you haven't spent much time teaching her?"
Here we go. I hold my breath, not wanting to be the target of their anger or argument. Mom's entire face transforms into something I've only seen happen once or twice in my entire life. To be honest, I was more afraid of her than dad.
Mom is the calm before the storm, and he was the aftershock of an earthquake. It's less damaging, and more expected. It was difficult to tell with Mom. It's like playing hide and seek in the dark. You walk right through it without any thoughts. Then you come out of it full of regrets.
"You don't get to tell me how I raise my daughter, Mamá. There's nothing wrong with how I've raised her," She argued. "She's fine to me. Olaria grew up to be a responsible and intelligent young lady. Just because we didn't end up in a white neighborhood, doesn't mean we're not living well." Mom grabs a can of beer. She pops the lid and downs half of it before placing it back on the table. "And trust me, we're living just fine without anyone else's help."
"You need to listen to yourself, Adriana." Grandma clarifies. "After the divorce with Nicolás, you haven't been yourself—"
"Oh, bullshit!" Mom snaps and pushes herself out of her seat. Grandma is surprised, and we both look at her with concern. Grandma is thinking that maybe she's just tired from the flight.
But I knew there had to be a deeper source.
Just a disclaimer, I have never been to Illinois or Chicago and I have little knowledge about the lifestyle and places there, but I've done some research to help me and it might still be inaccurate so please bare with me. Let me know in the comments (pls don't drag me I might cry) thanks!!
how did you guys like this so far?? let me know ;)
I can't wait to introduce everyone else. See ya!
~vee