Jose was breathing heavily, chest warm, jaw clenched, and he felt the weight of the entire town crushing him. The seatbelt left a sweat mark across his body. He had driven through the Bosques, Fuentes, Montes, and was crossing the first Writer in Polanco. The traffic was light, with only a few Fords, Tsurus, and occasionally a BMW or Mercedez, roaming the streets. With his very own BMW 2.35 he was cruising past them in a violent, almost suicidal fashion –or what is commonly known as “voy derecho, no me quito”— 1 . It was right after Moliere when he realized that in his rage, he was driving in silence. He picked up his phone at 80 km/h, turned it on, and read the first message almost unconsciously:
Toño: Jos, I think you will like this song: Here’s a song for you… Fans by Kings of Leon”
He hadn’t heard from Toño in four months, but his message was incredibly convenient. Actually, when he thought about it, he had heard from him a couple of weeks ago but for some reason he forgot to reply. He was an asshole to Toño, even if for years Toño had looked over him like a big brother. When Toño left, their paths went in different directions: one focused on studying, the other on being an entrepreneur but in reality, working for his dad. In all honesty, he just didn’t want to talk to him. It was a constant reminder of how far he had gone and how stuck was he both literally in traffic and figuratively in his past. He clicked the Spotify link and a grinding electric guitar broke the silence until seconds later an acoustic guitar took his mind to a street in the California coast. The voice of the singer was high and rusty, something between Dylan and Neil Young. In his thoughts Jaime was thanking Toño for changing his mood from raging murderer to a teenager in a music festival. For 3 minutes and 36 seconds he forgot about the fight with his dad over that stupid order that he forgot to put in three months ago. When the song was over, he said out loud:
“Why the fuck am I even working for him”.
Yet in the back of his mind he knew that it was because first he had dropped out of a pseudo college degree, then got in to an even worse one and dropped out again. Plus, there was the project of the T-shirts from Amsterdam that he tried to import and sell on Instagram and stubbornly pushed until his dad invested. The project was death from the start. The T-shirts were impossible to sell because of their tragic home-printed design and cardboard texture that looked nothing like the photo on Alibaba.com. $50,000 lost just like that, in a second. Fucking Alibaba.com. Jose knew his dad was right, but he was tired: Tired of being the first-born perfect son, tired of having a predestined future since the day he was circumcised, and tired of his girlfriend who was calling for the third time in the middle of the third or fourth song after Fans. He slid his finger, clicked the speaker button and answered:
“Hello love”
“Do I have to call you four times every time I want to talk to you”. He knew what was coming in the toxic anger in her tone. She continued before he could say “ah”.
“Are we going to Ale’s engagement party or are you bailing again? We need to be there by 9:30”.
He checked his clock and it was only 7:30pm, then sighted and said gently:
“Relax, Relax. We are going, I just need to pick up something from the office. I’ll pick you up at 9”.
“9? Can’t you come before? Like 8? Remember, my dad wants to ask you something about his business”
He just wanted to drive for hours, to let his mind go, to forget about them all for a while but it was impossible. Defeated he replied:
“Alright, I’ll do my best, probably around 8:15. I’m getting a call from the office, I’ll see you at your house”. He hung up before she could even try to question him, now over why was he always on the phone with the office? Instead, Jose was ready for her to be upset for the entire evening.
He picked up his phone, slid his finger to get to Spotify, but instead it began calling Toño. Before he could hang up Toño picked up the pone:
“Bueno?”
“Toñito, how are you wey?”
“Jos? What do I owe this miracle to?” Jose could sense the sarcasm and slight anger in his voice, something Toño would never express directly.
“Honestly, I called by mistake. Thank you for the song wey, I appreciate it”.
“Anytime, how is life? I never got my t-shirt”. Jose was so anxious that he wanted to hang up.
“Wey, it was a shitshow, worse business ever. The t-shirts were trash, I ended up donating them to a shelter”.
“Well, at least you did something good with them. And you are working for your dad anyway”. Toño was one of those people that can always look at the bright side of things, while at the same time make you feel guilty for your life choices.
“I don’t work for him remember; he’s just investing in my ideas”. The laugh coming from the speaker irritated him.
“Sure “investing”. How is Natalie?”
He decided to let himself be honest for once and declared:
“Not great wey. She already wants to marry. We are fucking 21, and I don’t even know if I want to be with her forever.”
“Really? I thought you were all in love, at least that’s how it looks on Instagram. I’m here for you, let it out. Maybe you should text Fernanda, you liked her”. Jose proceeded immediately.
“I can’t text Fernanda, you know that. Natalie is making me go to all this parties with her friends that are getting married and then she just complains for hours about when she will get a ring. And is not just her, is my dad, my brother who won’t go to school but won’t study either. He just plays FIFA and jerks off in the bathroom for hours. And then my mom defends him”.
Toño laughed again and interjected:
“Don’t worry about him, he’ll get a grip soon enough. Dude you have a gorgeous girlfriend, your dad would do anything for you. Just worry about you, about being happy, I’ve been telling you that for years. Also, with Fernanda you had something good, she’s brilliant, strong, and likes to live. Just because she’s not Jewish or doesn’t have Natalie’s last name or bank account, you shouldn’t let her go. Nothing against Natalie, but Fernanda is better for you”.
“How can I be happy when I’m 21 and haven’t done shit? Don’t bring in Fernanda. You know what my ddad would do if I bring a goy home” he was exalted suddenly.
“You are only 21 bro, don’t think about your age. You are doing what you can right now. And if not then do it: break up with Natalie, go work somewhere else, meditate, do yoga, flow. Just grab your balls and do it”.
Jose’s anger, frustration, and exhaustion boiled up until he went off:
“Stop, stop, you don’t understand with your hippie shit, with your “flow”.
Life is serious, I need to make money, I need to marry her probably. Maybe I’m not smart like you, maybe I do live in a bubble and won’t get out, but this is real life. Get your head of your ass”.
Toño was sitting in Central Park, eating a gooey chocolate chip cookie, but for a moment he felt like jumping through the phone line, over the cloud and slap the shit out of Jose. Instead he calmly said:
“Look bro, you have no perspective. You have no idea what suffering is. Your life is already made, you just need to enjoy it, and maybe get you own head out of your ass and care for the people that love you”.
“You don’t understand, is not that”. Toño abruptly went off, interrupting Jose:
“I fucking understand. Let me tell you something. Did you know that I dated this amazing girl for a couple of months, everything was fine, beautiful, like a romcom love. And then one day she broke up with me for no reason. She broke up with me the same day that my aunt was diagnosed with cancer, she’s in his third chemo. I’m trying to get a job here, but the visa situation is tragic. I’ll probably have to return to Mexico and work at some shitty office for $20,000 pesos a month. All that after paying $200,000 dollars for a fucking degree. My grandma died last month and I couldn’t fly back because of the visa restrictions. My mom crying on the floor and I can’t even hug her. I can’t even hug my sick aunt. But sure, tell me again about your brother playing FIFA, and about the parties you have to go to. Bro I love you but in six months you haven’t picked up the phone or called me once. When you decide to get your head out of your ass, to live in the real world give me a call”. Toño hung up.
Jose felt a choking sense of guilt constricting his throat. He was indeed an asshole. Toño’s life was crashing down and he hadn’t been there for him. J Cole’s Hello played in the speakers and brought him back to a specific moment. It was a football match in Lomas Verdes, the final. Toño had come just to watch him play. Toño even got into a fight with his girlfriend because he came to the match instead of going to her cousin’s bar mitzva. In the third minute they received a goal, and the crowd cheering to the other team started yelling anti-Semitic slurs. The team was already used to that. Jose scored five minutes later and yelled something incredibly classist to the crowd. The match was intense, the 30-degree Celsius heat was getting inside the crowd and the players. The tackles were violent, and the verbal attacks increased again. The first play after half-time Jose scored the second goal and the beer cups rained from the stands. The referee had to stop the match and clean the pitch. When it restarted the violence continued. In the 80th minute the home team tied the game.
Jose’s team controlled the ball and in the 87th minute Jose received a through ball and had just one defender and the goalkeeper in front. He tried to juggle the defender, but the defender tackled his knee directly with a kick that almost broke it. Then on the floor he felt a kick in the back of his neck and blacked out. Jose heard from friends that in that moment Toño jumped into the pitch and attacked that player with a flying kick to the head. Then he kept punching him on the floor.
Apparently, he had to be restrained by three people. Jose was stretchered off the field and Toño drove him to the hospital. After the penalty was scored and the final whistle was blown, someone from the crowd pulled out a gun and threatened to fire it. Jose’s team had to run off the field into the team’s bus, even without the cup they had just won. Back in the car, Toño drove with one hand holding Jose’s head and the other on the wheel.
Jose woke up and the first thing he heard was J Cole singing:
“And I thought about you today
And I thought about the things you used to say
And I thought about the things we did”
When they got to the hospital the nurses thought Toño was the one that needed attention because of the blood coming out of his hand. He broke two knuckles and his pinky finger. It was his first fight ever. He risked his life to defend him. And Jose hadn’t even picked up a call in months
When Jose came back to reality, he was almost in the Angel of Independence and it was 8pm. There was no way he could make it to Natalie’s house before 9pm with the traffic. He called Natalie, saying that he had been in an accident and that he would try to make it to the party later. Her reaction was of worry, not about him being an accident but what would her friends think of her showing up alone to the engagement party. Jose wasn’t even upset anymore, just numb.
He drove back and unconsciously parked in his favorite restaurant: Puntarena. Last time he had gone there was with Toño, who had insisted on getting tacos because he could not afford such an expensive place, and instead of accepting, Jose had paid the check just to get his way. He turned off his phone and sat at the bar, got a gin & tonic and told the bartender to keep them coming dismissively. After five of those and a tuna tostada he payed and went to get his car. The valet parking brought out the black BMW but before he could get in one of the attendants –a short man with crooked teeth and a thin face— asked him gently:
“Sir, could you blow in the breathalyzer”.
“No” Jose replied in and authoritarian tone.
“Sir, I can’t let you take the car if you don’t blow. Look at the sign, is not us, it is mandated by the government”. The man looked nervous.
“Listen you little shit, give me my car right now. I’ve had a rough day and I won’t argue with a poor valet parking”. The valet lowered his head and said in an almost unlistenable tone:
“Sir, if you don’t cooperate, I will have to call the authorities”.
“Then call them little shit! This is my fucking car, who the fuck do you think you are”. He was yelling like a bully, like someone who has never heard the word “no” in his entire life. Jose grabbed the valet from his shirt and lifted him off the floor when he felt a punch on his side. A police officer showed up just in time. He handcuffed Jose while he drunkenly yelled racist, classist, and homophobic slurs at the valet and the officer. Meanwhile the people around, had recorded the whole outburst. He was almost carried into the police car.
In the “torito” the TV was turned on to “El Canal de las Estrellas”. Right at 10pm the newsreel began and the first thing he heard was his own voice, yelling, humiliating. Jose turned on his phone. Forty-two missed calls and at least two-hundred messages. Twelve of those calls came from Natalie’s father, and the message at the top read:
Carlos Papa Natalie: Don’t even think of coming close to my daughter again cabron”.
Jose was breathing heavily, chest warm, jaw clenched, and felt the weight of the entire town crushing him.
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