Hijo Del Corazón
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DOMINIC
Can I really say he's back when he was never here at all?
- 2015 -
"So what colleges have you applied too?"
The atmosphere of dinner had recently been tense between us all, but today was different- the tension only seemed to be between myself and father.
Mama had prepared Carne Salada for the special event that day; I did graduate after all.
"A couple," I lied- poking at my still untouched meal. He made me lose my appetite, even for Mama's Carne Salada. ".. St. John's, Fordham, Baruch- some out of state."
Mama set down Father's plate of his second serving as he took a sip of water. Father seemed too relaxed- was it because I could finally fufill my purpose? Or was it simply he missed them- missed Mama's cooking?
".. Not Columbia or New York?" He said as he set down the glass. He had more facial hair, and his usually gelled hair was loose and shaggy.
"Wouldn't have got in," I told him simply. ".. I have a 4.0 GPA- neither would bother to consider me."
"New York's a nice campus- I went there-"
"- Are you staying?" I questioned; finally talking a bite.
Father stared before he sighed, "Yes."
Mama only managed a bullshit half smile while Valerie got up to go hug Father- I just simply chewed my food. Expected. But I had this already figured out for me.
"What about the house, Dad," Valerie asked while I continued to eat in my own silence. ".. are we going back to Malba?"
"I'm going to sell the house and use the money to buy us a condo," Father told us before a took a sip of his water. "I'm sure you've all built a new life in Manhatten. I think it'd better to stay here."
Valerie nodded, "..Yeah— I'd like to stay here. The colleges are way closer, the school is way better, and I have way more friends."
"Mhm," His focus was never on her— no matter how much I wished it was; he was looking at me. ".. that's great, Valerie."
I couldn't deal with that; with him— with dinners like this for the rest of my life.
"I'm moving out."
Right after I said it— I stuffed my face with food. My appetite seemed to return with a rushing wave of hunger.
".. Huh?" Mama muttered— her voice rising in pitch.
"I've been savin' up for a while— found a small apartment," I sighed after a moment. ".. maybe next week? Sometime soon."
"You've started working?" Father then asked with a raised brow— giving Mama a glance.
"I needed to for this— it builds experience, Father. I want to focus on myself and my career." I explained and it wasn't a lie; it just wasn't the career Father was thinking of.
"But Dominic you just turned 18," Mama pipped in— I could see the tremble in her bottom lip and it killed me. ".. it is okay to stay here with us."
I stared at my plate— us. It hadn't been us in years, and I couldn't handle us now. I didn't have a job anymore, and I wasn't going back to Matteo's Place.
"I have it figured out Mama— don't worry." I reassured her.
I knew I was always welcomed, but I wouldn't be able to focus on boxing if I went back— I could only afford my apartment if I worked full-time there.
But there was someone else— I hadn't seen him in years, but I knew he was around in Manhatten. I never deleted his number— if he changed it then I'd figure something else out.
I was an adult now, and I needed quick money— a lot of it to keep up with Manhatten rent.
"Who the fuck is this 'nd why are ya callin' me?"
So calling Simon Parker after dinner had to be done.
"It's Pierce.." I muttered into the phone while I sat on the edge my bed.
"Pierce-boy? Ya still workin' for Matteo? I heard about your lil boxin' thing goin' on.." Simon questioned with an exhale— he was probably smoking.
"I quit to focus on boxing, but shit.. Simon, I need a lot of quick money." I told under my breath.
"Why?" Simon huffed.
"I'm moving out and I need money for rent," I paused and chewed on my inner cheek. "I know you can put me on a job. I'm not a kid anymore, Simon."
"Kid, ya know the kind of shit I do—"
"— Of course I do.. just.. c'mon Simon." I sighed— rubbing my hand over my face.
There was a pause.
"Ya know how to use a gun?" It was a sudden question.
I admitted, "I don't."
"Mmm," Simon whistled for a moment before he said. "I only got.. fuck.. this weekend to teach ya— if ya don't figure it out I don't know what tell ya 'cause I could have a gig for ya Monday."
"Really?" I asked.
"Text me times when you wake up, alright?"
"Yeah okay," I then asked. ".. will I uh have to kill anybody?"
"Would ya?"
"No, I don't.. need money that bad." I said.
"Then if shit works out," Simon hummed. ".. I'll make sure ya won't."
If I had to compare, for me, learning how to use a gun was like learning how to box.
I caught on concerningly quickly— though the difference between my skill with a gun, and my skill with boxing was that I didn't like it.
Simon found it funny though; that a rich boy like me could handle a gun so much like a gangster like him.
"Never shoot with one hand, kid," He told me as aimed for the target in the warehouse he took me too. ".. people who handle with one hand are either, one, desperate, or two, ya shot somebody before— ya never done two, and we definitely don't want ya as one; that's how you get shot."
"Should I even ask you if you one hand it?" I scoffed as I pulled the trigger— hitting dead center.
"Only if ya enjoy askin' stupid questions," Simon chuckled as he wiped down his gun, while he observed my work. ".. I'll call up Graves— see if that bodygaurd position of his is still open."
Monday came easy— all I had to do was shut up and stand next to some drug lord named Graves while he handled his 'business' trades.
I got paid five grand for that alone— Simon delivered it to me, all cash.
I never struggled financially, so it wasn't a jaw dropping revelation to a briefcase willed with money. But the fact it came so easy— five hours of simple, silent standing equated to five thousand dollars.
I counted every stack, and with that?
I payed my down payment and immeadiately began to pack my shit.
Box during the day— get money at night.
A simple routine I could follow.
And Father wasn't even a question, breaking the news that I wasn't going to be what he wanted wasn't a thought.
I was doing what I wanted— with no interruptions.
"I brought you tres leches, Domi, it will help you feel more at home."
Mama visted me often after I moved out, I mean, I wasn't far.
"Thank you, Mama," I took the container and stared at her for a moment. Her hair— that afro of hers seemed unkept. Unlike her. ".. is it just you?" I questioned.
She nodded, and I gestured for ger to come in. A one bedroom and one bathroom with a small but decent living room and kitchen. Perfect for one person.
"It's only been a week," I locked the door behind her before I set the container of tres leches on the kitchen counter. ".. you miss me that much, Mama?" I joked as she took a seat on the couch.
Mama straightened out the pillows as she spoke, "You left because your father, no?"
I replied, "Does it matter?"
"You are just a boy, Dominic," She sighed. ".. there is no.. no way you could have afforded his place."
I clenched my fists and looked back at her. "What are tryin' to say?"
"Where are you getting the money, mi vida," She paused and dug her nails into the leather cushion. ".. you can tell me."
I walked around he living area with my hands in my pockets as I shook my head, "I've been saving—"
"— That is a lie, your voice gets deeper when you lie."
"I am a grown man, my voice is just deep."
"Look at you," She pointed out. ".. you pace around when you lie too."
"Maybe I'm just fustrated, Mama." I suggested as I stopped in front of the TV.
"Be fustrated, I am fustrated too," She huffed and folded her arms under her chest. ".. I am not a fan of my children lying to me."
"Why can't you just believe me? Just trust me," I murmured and massaged my temple. ".. you never— you never just accept what I tell you. Go question him like this, huh? All he does is lie."
"I do not want you to do something you will regret, Dominic," She confessed with a shake in her voice. ".. the more these lies build up and up the worse the damage will be when it all falls down."
I only groaned and muttered curses to myself.
"Have you ever thought about when you are going tell your father you are not taking over the company? That you want to be a boxer—"
"— Soon, Mama." I said.
"How soon is soon?" Mama asked with a frown.
I couldn't give her an answer.
"You know what," She rose from her spot on the couch. ".. it is late— I should go."
"Mama—"
She raised her hand. "No, it is fine.. that condo? The one your father mentioned; he decided we will be moving there officially now," Mama walked over towards the front door and I followed her. ".. I will send you the address— buenos noches, mi vida, te amo."
"Let me walk you to your car, Mama." I told her.
She sighed, "If that makes you feel better, Domi."
I don't know what was wrong with me then— was it pettiness or immaturity? I still can't be sure.
But for some reason, I tended to not tell my mother 'te amo' back.
Though while doing what I was doing I found myself visiting Mama just as much as she visited me.
In some ways, I think my father moved into such a luxurious condo to make a point to me. To shove it in my face how I should've just stayed with them— with him.
The damned place had an elevator that opened right into the condo itself.
Just those doors sliding apart gave you a perfect view of the living room that was twice the size of my aparment, and the kitchen that actually had an island in the middle.
Still I liked my small place— I knew where everything was, where everything belonged, and I was alone; I was content with being alone.
"Kid," Simon warned me before he put me on my first job. "I can't gauruntee that shots won't be fired doin' what your doin'.."
And the first time I ever shot a man I ended up getting paid three grand for the night as a whole.
The least I'd ever been paid.
I didn't kill him, maybe that was why? It was just in the calve, so the man I was protecting that night may have expected.. more?
I was alone that night in my apartment. I was content with being alone.
I sat on my couch alone, and I counted my pay alone. Like usual. My gun was on the glass table while my foot tapped agressively into the hardwood.
My hands trembled while I counted every dollor in every stack.
Three grand.
It wasn't that I failed, I shot where I aimed. It was perfect hit— just where I wanted.
It was the fact I did it— I was the stereotype my classmates from Richardson thought I would turn out be. Just angry, black boy— just the son of a gold-digger immigrant. I shot a man for three grand. What rich boy needs to shoot a man for three grand? I didn't need three grand I needed more.
I think hated being Dominic Leandre Pierce...
It was just Damian Leander Pierce— I could called be a junior at this point.
... Or I hated it until being otherwise proved everyone else right.
I was alone the night when I first shot a man— and I was content with that; only handling my gun with one hand from then on.
- 2016 -
Offers flooded to me that year, a little bit after I turned nineteen.
I couldn't take on as many jobs from Simon due to my busier schedule, but the ones I did take on gave me enough profit to replace the money of the smaller jobs I couldn't do.
I had to be more careful too— being spotted with the wrong crowd could make those offers dissapear.
The more murmurs my name seemed to gain the less Mama came to visit, and the more it became evident I needed to tell my Father.
My shield of childish ignorance was cracking bit by bit and soon it was going to shatter.
".. Who?" I asked Simon over the phone.
The man he had me watching over had a forgettable name.
Simon tiredly grumbled, "Just dress to impress and refer to 'em Patr. Simple drug exchange— only should last a few hours."
I fired half a clip that night— I see why my Mama didn't like liars.
But it was fine and I was fine; I got eight grand and did my routine. I sat alone and I counted alone— I showered too.
I always showered after a job.
I shot three men that night.
So I stood in my shower and scrubbed my body down three times as hard until my skin stung.
I was content with being alone; I was a grown man with my own apartment.
I'm a boxer; I boxed with ease and joy, it was all I ever wanted, but for some reason my thoughts only revolved around this.
In the ring I caught myself seeing the men I'd shot in the faces of my opponents. That wasn't the way to box— I gauruntee that's how that girl I saw Kirstein that day.
A boxer who puts bullets into others without hesistation yet can't tell a man who he claims he doesn't care about that he boxes.
I think, maybe, I was really just a boy because in that moment I decided I wasn't content with being alone anymore.
The new condo was only ten minutes away. At almost 1AM, my Mama was probably fast asleep. I hoped she was; she had no reason to be up so late.
Still I hurridly drove— and like a boy fresh from a nightmare I would stand by bedside and gently shake her awake. But like a man, I wouldn't crawl in bed with her; I would just simply tell her that I loved her and let her fall back asleep.
I didn't need to burden her with my problems— I just needed to relieve her of her worries for me as my mother.
I hadn't been calling, and I couldn't even remember when I last told her that I loved her.
I didn't have my father's number anymore and Valerie wasn't answering. I didn't want to risk calling Mama in case I woke her up.
Tomas— I think that was the mans name who stayed by the condos private elevator.
"Here to visit so late, Mr. Pierce?" He asked me, though his voice was being drowned out the soft singing of Mama.
What was it? Hijo Del Corazón.
I was truly just a boy.
Her voice was comforting in my head yet it overwhelmed my thoughts.
"Yes—"
You like this, mi vida, this life?
Though I didn't enoy the suddeness of Mama's voice peaking through in such a serious tone.
For us, Domi, do not get in the elevator.
I ignored this unfamiliarity and stepped inside after Tomas pressed the button— hearing voices? I definitely needed to see my Mama.
Don't you let those doors close, Dominic.
Valerie? I stared intensely at the lobby and the outside world the large, glass windows as the elevator doors slid shut. It was as dark as a night in New York could be that night.
Ya can still turn back— press the emergency button, kid.
These voices were overwhelming loud.
Yur okay to just keep dreaming, Dominic, to do what ya want.
He does love to dream, doesn't he Matty?
I just wanted to hear Mama's singing.
You don't have to wake up, kid, you can just dream.
Dad's right, Dominic, you can be a boxer! Just don't wake up.
I stared at the emergency button— if I left this damn elevator would the voices stop?
You never stop lying, Domi, it is breaking my heart.
Just sing, Mama.
Listen to your Mama, just once, and stay asleep.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
You will like it better like that— just sleeping. My sleepy boy.
I don't remember this.
You can be a boxer, Domi. You can always be near me— I will sing to you and cook as much Carne Salada you want.
Stop.
Just go back and leave for tonight— don't wake up, please.
That is not my Mama—
— Dominic, son, I love you.
My eyes shot open, and I clenched my fists.
You need my love, son. So just... press that button. I know, I know you've craved it. You miss it.
I don't miss you; I don't need you.
Press the damn button, Dominic—
— Wake up, please, Domi.
I don't know that voice.
Ding— after a sudden halt those golden doors slid apart.
"... Mama?"
. . .
PART FIVE
. . .
3,001 words.
Hey ya'll...
Thank God— I was tired of writing his long ass backstory.
Jk I was looking forward to writing this for idk how long
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