(no subject)
Thought it would be nice to have a little bit of Joe backstory, at this point. This series of drabbles spans his early teenage years, age 11-14 or 15. Just a few notes, for clarity: Joe's full first name is actually Javier. Nana is Joe's adoptive parent/grandparent. Donny is Nana's grand-nephew; technically this makes Donny Joe's second cousin, if you take Joe as Nana's grandchild. See Joe's backstory for more info.
Worksafe, but angsty.
Austin
Javier remembered his Cousin Antony's funeral very clearly: the corpse's face slack under its powdery makeup, the long line of relatives shuffling past the casket, Donny's suit too tight across his shoulders as he cried silently. After that, Donny stopped coming by to play trucks or take him out for pizza.
Later, he'll remember almost nothing about when Nana died: how he stared at the red carpet of the same funeral home, gritting his teeth so hard it hurt; how, the next day, he'd clung desperately to Donny's coveralls, and had smelled like motor oil all the way to Houston.
*
Houston
For the first six weeks, living with his Aunt Hannah, he pretended he couldn't speak English. He didn't remember until after he started that he'd already spoken to her at some family reunion. But, other than forcing Auntie to exercise her shaky Spanish, he was the perfect guest. He was quiet and polite, did dishes without being asked, came in when called. Every morning he stripped the sheets off the couch in the den, folded them neatly, and put them in the hall closet.
"Isn't it a shame," she'd say, on the phone with her sister, "Isn't it a shame."
*
Galveston
The little apartment was too small for all of them, but there were streets and alleys and mile after mile of hot gray beach draped with lovely women in neon bikinis. Because he looked so young, he sometimes got to run errands for them and their smirking, Corona-drinking boyfriends. They'd pat him on the head and tell him he was adorable while he stared at their cleavage.
In August, two of his cousins held his arms while the big blond boy from next door broke his nose with a baseball bat.
He’d only been invited for the summer, anyway.
*
Taos
"The real parents? Well, I say anyone who would lose their baby doesn't deserve... That's right, hippies, all of them. Anna let that girl run absolutely wild. Something was bound to happen, sometime."
Cousin Frida was always on the phone, and flicked her wrist at him to leave the room whenever he crossed her line of sight.
"Oh, no, dear, I don't blame you at all. You've already got enough mouths to feed."
"Well, there's always the state..."
"No, it's not-
"Why, no, he's very well behaved, but-
"Well, he's not even family, is he? I mean, really."
*
Gainesville
Louisa was twelve and a half, and already wearing bras and eye shadow, sneaking dabs of her mother's Channel no. 5 before school. She said his long hair made him look like a girl, then cornered him behind the garage and tried to kiss him.
The next time, he didn’t stop her. She was taller than him but so soft, close and warm, and they weren't really related. Not really.
School had just let out for summer when her little sister caught them in the laundry room. His duffel bag was getting ratty: fraying along the seams, zipper long broken.
*
Austin
His room had powder blue walls with a parade of cheerful yellow ducks marching around the border. At night, in the orange wash of the streetlights, the ducks would disappear, their black eyes, beach balls and sand pails floating disembodied against the white paper.
The first time he got drunk, he scored with the captain of the lacrosse team, then with someone else's bleach-blond girlfriend, then came home and ripped that border down while Aunt Isabella watched stonily from the doorway. The little trash can by her favorite chair was full of crumpled, powder blue tissues the next morning.
Worksafe, but angsty.
Austin
Javier remembered his Cousin Antony's funeral very clearly: the corpse's face slack under its powdery makeup, the long line of relatives shuffling past the casket, Donny's suit too tight across his shoulders as he cried silently. After that, Donny stopped coming by to play trucks or take him out for pizza.
Later, he'll remember almost nothing about when Nana died: how he stared at the red carpet of the same funeral home, gritting his teeth so hard it hurt; how, the next day, he'd clung desperately to Donny's coveralls, and had smelled like motor oil all the way to Houston.
*
Houston
For the first six weeks, living with his Aunt Hannah, he pretended he couldn't speak English. He didn't remember until after he started that he'd already spoken to her at some family reunion. But, other than forcing Auntie to exercise her shaky Spanish, he was the perfect guest. He was quiet and polite, did dishes without being asked, came in when called. Every morning he stripped the sheets off the couch in the den, folded them neatly, and put them in the hall closet.
"Isn't it a shame," she'd say, on the phone with her sister, "Isn't it a shame."
*
Galveston
The little apartment was too small for all of them, but there were streets and alleys and mile after mile of hot gray beach draped with lovely women in neon bikinis. Because he looked so young, he sometimes got to run errands for them and their smirking, Corona-drinking boyfriends. They'd pat him on the head and tell him he was adorable while he stared at their cleavage.
In August, two of his cousins held his arms while the big blond boy from next door broke his nose with a baseball bat.
He’d only been invited for the summer, anyway.
*
Taos
"The real parents? Well, I say anyone who would lose their baby doesn't deserve... That's right, hippies, all of them. Anna let that girl run absolutely wild. Something was bound to happen, sometime."
Cousin Frida was always on the phone, and flicked her wrist at him to leave the room whenever he crossed her line of sight.
"Oh, no, dear, I don't blame you at all. You've already got enough mouths to feed."
"Well, there's always the state..."
"No, it's not-
"Why, no, he's very well behaved, but-
"Well, he's not even family, is he? I mean, really."
*
Gainesville
Louisa was twelve and a half, and already wearing bras and eye shadow, sneaking dabs of her mother's Channel no. 5 before school. She said his long hair made him look like a girl, then cornered him behind the garage and tried to kiss him.
The next time, he didn’t stop her. She was taller than him but so soft, close and warm, and they weren't really related. Not really.
School had just let out for summer when her little sister caught them in the laundry room. His duffel bag was getting ratty: fraying along the seams, zipper long broken.
*
Austin
His room had powder blue walls with a parade of cheerful yellow ducks marching around the border. At night, in the orange wash of the streetlights, the ducks would disappear, their black eyes, beach balls and sand pails floating disembodied against the white paper.
The first time he got drunk, he scored with the captain of the lacrosse team, then with someone else's bleach-blond girlfriend, then came home and ripped that border down while Aunt Isabella watched stonily from the doorway. The little trash can by her favorite chair was full of crumpled, powder blue tissues the next morning.