Page 120 of Easy Out

LAUREN

The television blares loudly on the other side of the door. I knock again. I sent a text letting Carlos know I was here, but he isn’t responding. I should have met them at my trailer.

I raise my hand to knock one more time when the door swings open. “What do you want?” Linda, Carlos and Manny’s mom asks with a hiccup. No surprise she’s been drinking.

“I’m here to pick up the boys. Can I come in?”

“Please. Be my guest.” I step into the living room. It’s the same size as mine but appears smaller with the buildup of newspapers and other clutter. She picks up a lit cigarette in one hand and a faded plastic cup in the other. “Can I get you a drink?” I shake my head.

This place is like one of my worst foster homes coming back to life to haunt me.

“No thank you. Are the boys ready?” She shrugs her shoulder. Then plops down on the couch clutching her cup of what I can only guess is cheap wine from the gas station around the corner. “You can check their room.” Linda twirls a finger pointing somewhere in the vicinity of the back room.

I walk down the dingy hallway. The walls are bare except for smoke residue and dirty handprints. Those almost make me smile. A reminder of the precious boys that live here. Then I remember they have to live here in this hell.

There is a shuffle behind the door and then quiet giggling. Manny reminds me so much of myself when I was his age. He feels the weight of everything, yet he manages to hold on to small remnants of joy.

I knock once before twisting the door handle a little. “Can I come in?” Their room is small with two twin mattresses taking up most of the floor. There is no frame or headboard. I should be grateful they have sheets and a pillow.

“Are you ready to go?” I’m anxious to get out of here. I think their dad is at work. I’ve only seen him once or twice from a distance. Both times he was drunk and belligerent. I’m not interested in a third encounter.

“Yeah, I need to get my shoes on.” Carlos hands me two of the baseball gloves Hart gave him. Hart had a warehouse of sports equipment in his parents’ garage. He let the boys raid it one day. They walked away with everything they needed to start their own little league team.

“Do you think Hart will hit a home run?” Manny asks.

“I’m sure he’s going to try.”

“He said he would.”

“Well, then I bet he will just for you. Come on. We need to get out of here before we’re late.”

“Can we get a hot dog? Nachos? A soda?” I laugh at Manny’s constant need to prioritize food.

“We’ll see. You won’t starve. I promise. Vamos. You don’t want to miss anything.”

Carlos ties his shoes and I double check Manny’s laces. A door opens and slams shut at the front of the trailer. My eyes go wide and jerk to Carlos.

Instantly he transforms from a teenage boy excited to have fun at a baseball game to a man ready to protect his family. I hate seeing this hard side of him.

Los stands and peeks outside the door. All I can do is wait and hold my breath.

“Shit. It’s my dad. He’ll be pissed if he catches us leaving.” Damn it. Let me think. My eyebrow begins twitching and it makes me wish Hart was here to make it stop.

“I can text Carter and Emilio. They can create a diversion or something. Then we’ll sneak out.” I reach in my back pocket for my phone. Crap! “I left my phone in my car. Do you have yours?” Los shakes his head.

“Ran out of minutes.”

“Remind me to get you more.” He rolls his eyes. “Okay. I’m the problem. I’ll leave. I’ll tell them I was just dropping by to say hi. Then I’ll get Carter and come back for you.”

“You don’t have to come back for us. It’s too risky. This was a stupid idea. I should have known he would ruin it. He ruins everything.” Carlos kicks the side of his mattress.

Out in the hall there is shouting and dishes breaking in the sink. The noises are familiar. They are the same ones I blocked out over the years. Those were the nights I would hide in my closet with a notebook and pencil and write.

I would write stories about some place far away with magical fairies who granted wishes. A place where moms never died, and dads never left.

“Whose car is out front?” Another dish crashes and brings me back to reality. “Answer me. You hiding someone? I know it’s not a man. There isn’t anyone else willing to put up with your shit.”

“I don’t keep track of everyone in the neighborhood. I don’t know who that car belongs to.”

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