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| Xipe Totec Aztec god associate with rejuvenation and Spring time
Note: First read part 1 http://rodriguezwriter.blogspot.com/2016/08/an-altar-size-of-chichen-itza.html
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Anastasio couldn’t believe he did it in 2
weeks, he got all his shit out of that place in just 2 weeks. Not sure how many
trips, at all times of the day back and forth between East Los Angeles and
Korea town he made but he did it. 2 weeks before his lease ended too. He knew
he was lucky, very lucky; things could be worse. He wasn’t crashing on
someone’s couch or worse back at this mom’s place. Stop, don’t go there. It’s
not like that at all. Anastasio loved his mamacita to death, she was his
“homegirl” he’d tell all his friends. But his mamacita lived in a one-bedroom
apartment that was already way too “cozy” cause his homegirl was a bit on the
pack-ratty side. Plus he knew he couldn’t fully mourn with his mom around, he
couldn’t get all loca descontrolada and go on benders that ended with some hot
tail in his bed, or get lesbian locked down drowning in the wails of Mazzy
Star, Sarah McLachlan, Tori Amos and them. And getting high and watching porn in
in his underwear for those “I need to purge you outta me,” moments was
absolutely out of the question. He didn’t want his mamacita to worry, which he
knew she would. She’d pace anxiously around her boxes and piles of stuff, the
same way she did whenever he got sick as a child. He knew she’d see him, her
brown eyes pierce through his happy-go-lucky façade right through his sparrow
chest to his little corazon and start to pace wondering que tecito she could
make him that would take away the gunk in his alma. Then she’d dig through her record collection
and play something like:
“guitarras lloren guitarras
violines lloren igual
no dejen que yo me valla
con el silencio de su cantar,”[1]
and ask him to dance, the way she used to whenever she tried
to help him shake off his bout of depression that like acne stuck around all
his teenage years. He couldn’t get mad at her for trying but he really needed
his space and he felt way too tender to brave through a Cuco Sanchez marathon.
I mean come on….
Tell me this isn’t just asking for
a big sob session. Anastasio knew it was coming, and he was looking forward to
that day cause he knew that deep down in his chest would feel clean, like an
L.A. sky after rain. But right now he knew he couldn’t take care of his
feelings and his mamacita’s. He knew he was lucky “Fuck, thank you, thank you
Big Al,” he muttered almost in prayer as he headed down Normandie Ave. to catch
the 10 freeway east. He was almost brought to tears thinking how Big Al, his
BFF of all BFFs, whom he’s known since first grade and instantly fell in love
with her when they built that 100 piece outer space puzzle together and she let
him put in the last piece. Even after so many years she was still helping him put
things back together. Big Al, who’s real name was Alexandra, and her partner
Oliver owned a home, a duplex and it just so happened that their back unit
became free so of course Anastasio got first dibs on that rental.
“The Gods and Goddesses only push us as much as our spirit can take, just
to wake our spirit up and remind us that we are descendants of warriors and can
overcome any hardship.”
“Oh shut up, shut up,” Anastasio tapped as his right
temple with his finger to silence Kal’s voice reassuring him in his head. “You
don’t have that right anymore you’re the last person I need encouragement from.”
Anastasio was stopped at a stop light and the lady on the corner waiting to
cross stared at Anastasio almost unsure if she should cross in front of his
car. Anastasio stared at the light waiting for it to change when suddenly he
felt parched and decided to pull over at the liquor store on the corner to get
something to drink.
He had been coming to this corner store for
years, it your was your typical corner store that sold a little bit of
everything including a little bit of old produce- onions, tomatoes, avocados
some bananas. A corner of the refrigerator, that wasn’t reserved for tall boys,
six packs or carbonated drinks, stacked a few dairy products. It was the kind
of space where you stopped by for something to drink and something to snack on;
every kind of fiery, lemony chips lined the aisles. The same ol same ol
borrachitos hung around either on the parking lot or inside chatting it up with
the owner Mr. Hoang.
“Hola Stas, como estas?” said Mr. Hoang as soon
as he saw Anastasio pop into the store making the door entry chime go off.
“Aju jal , gamsahabnida,” replied Anastasio in
his most perfect Korean accent both to make Mr. Hoang proud but also to really
convince him that indeed he was doing “VERY well.” Throughout the years Anastasio and Mr. Hoang
had taught each other a lot of phrases in their respective native language. But
the truth was that Mr. Hoang was the star pupil, in fact he knew Mexican,
Salvadoran and Guatemalan slang. While Anastasio mostly managed to recycle
“Good morning,” “I am Mexican and like spicy,” and “Where’s the beer my
friend.”
Anastasio flashed a smile and walked towards the
back of the store to where the coolers were, he grabbed his favorite sport
drink, red flavor, to wet his throat now dry from the move and the sporadic
crying. He didn’t even wait to pay just snapped open his drink and began to
pound. Such a desperate act he thought.
“Donde esta Kal? Mucho tiempo que no lo veo,”
Anastasio heard Mr. Hoang asking about Kal from the front of the store.
Suddenly Anastasio didn’t have that homesick
feeling he had about moving away, he knew this was not his neighborhood
anymore. He started to feel hot, then nauseous, he rushed out the store and
immediately threw up on the sidewalk, nothing but a big red splatter, his guts
shuddered as he realized the red flavored drink was the only thing he had put
in his body the entire day. He was running on fumes basically. He wiped off the
slobber with a crumbled up tissue he found in the pocket of his jeans. He felt the sun beading against the back of
his neck, and could feel the sweat sliding across his forehead. He leaned
against the store wall, closed his eyes and took deep, slow breaths. He was
inhaling and exhaling to a nice rhythm, enjoying the sound of the traffic
around as it mimicked the ocean when he heard Mr. Hoang’s store bell going off
and before long he heard Mr. Hoang saying “Here drink this.” Anastasio opened up his eyes and reached for
the cup Mr. Hoang handed to him.
“What is it?” asked Anastasio looking down into the clear
effervescent liquid.
“Sal de uvas, to settle your
stomach,” said Mr. Hoang.
Anastasio nodded and sipped the all too familiar
Picot antacid, dang that Mr. Hoang’s Spanish was better than he thought, he was
even down with his people’s remedios. Anastasio drank the rest of the medicine
in silence, not wanting Mr. Hoang to ask him any questions; he felt like any
slight emotional jolt would send him retching again. But Anastasio could see it in the way Mr.
Hoang wrinkled his brow that he was very
curious and that his quivering lips were fighting back the urge to say
something but didn’t.
“Thank you Mr. Hoang. How much do I owe you for my drink?”
Anastasio reached for his wallet in his right back pocket.
“No, it’s
ok amigo. My gift to you.”
“I really
appreciate it Mr. Hoang, everything, thank you. I better get going don’t want
to hit traffic.”
“You sure?
You can wait in my backroom for you to be better,” Mr. Hoang expressed his
concern and put his hand on Anastasio’s shoulder.
“Nah,”
Anastasio flashed the best smile he could muster up “I’m good Mr. Hoang, I’m
good.” He insisted.
“Stas, just
remember bien ama quien nunca olvida.” Said Mr. Hoang with every bit of
compassion he had.
“Mr. Hoang,
you sure you’re not Mexican?” Anastasio giggled a little bit surprised but not
surprised that Mr. Hoang would know some Mexican proverbs.
Mr.
Hoang shook his head and laughed, “Just some things I learned from an old
novia,” he gave Anastasio a mischievous smiled and headed back into his shop. Anastasio
took a few more breaths just to make sure he was indeed fine then headed back
to his car.
[1] “Guitarras Lloren Guitarras,” Cuco Sanchez. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XkH7o16X7Tc
[2] “Anoche estuve llorando,” Cuco Sanchez https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lEbBeYGP1qU
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