Today's Short Story

                     Two Dope Boys in a Cadillac

The two boys slowly got out of the Cadillac and stood at the bottom of the hill, staring up at the house. Matthew took his sweatshirt off, began airing it out, and suggested Nick, who was merely standing watching him, do the same. Smoke still seeped out of the car as the boys put their sweatshirts back on and began their ascent up the hill. “Yo, uh, you got any Visine?”

“I’ll one up you. I got Roto. Feel the burn.” Matt tossed him the eye-drops and watched as Nick struggled to properly apply them to his cornea.

“You’d think I’d be able to do this easily by now.”

“You’d think you be able to do a lot by now.”

Nick finally cleared his eyes and hurled the eye-drops back at Matthew. “Asshole.”

They continued their march up towards the house, neither of them remembering it being so difficult of a walk. They finally stood in front of the cozy confines of Matthew Harris’ family’s home and approached the door. Nick grunted.

“What’s that about?”

“Nothing.”

“No, no, that was like a—some sort of moan or something. You OK?”

“Yea, man, I’m fine.” He rapidly shook his head twice and with his index and middle finger on either side of his nose began rubbing the corner of his eyes. 

“Calm down, dude, she won’t know.”

 “Should I apologize?”

“I’ve done enough apologizing for the both of us.”

Matthew put his hand on the doorknob and slowly turned.  “I’m going to apologize. I’ll just wait till the right moment.” Immediately the smell of finely spiced chicken and steak hit them, and upon entering the house they could see a bucket of chips next to a tray of homemade guacamole sitting on the living room table.

“Dude, my mom makes the best Mexican food. You came on the right night.”

“And it’s cool that I’m here, right?

“We’re about to find out.”

 “Hello?” A motherly voice called from the kitchen. The sound was muffled by the oven vent that simultaneously cleared the room of smoke while adding a good ten degrees of humidity to the scene. Matthew took a few steps further into the house until he could maneuver his long neck around a corner of the kitchen wall to show his face.

“Hi Mom.”

She closed the oven door and turned around. “Hey you. How was your day?”

“Not bad, pretty typical.”

“You decide to bring anyone over for dinner?”

On cue, Nick slid out from behind the wall with an ear-to-ear grin. “Mrs. Harris!!”

“Nick… how are you?” She turned her head towards him but kept her eyes on her son.

“Come on, bring it in for the real thing.”

“What?” Before she could even finish the word, Nick went in for the embrace. He squeezed Mrs. Harris like he might never let go; his way of apologizing. She stood firmly, not bothering to return the heartfelt grip, instead looking directly at her son with confused, angry eyes. She slowly backed away from the hug until Nick got the idea.

“Thank you so much for having me. I LOVE Mexican food.”

“Oh yea?”

“Definitely. Taco Bell, is like—“ he clasped his hands together to show how passionate he felt—“my GO to, late night.” Nick glanced at Matthew, who would not even return the favor. Mrs. Harris turned around and bent down to open a cabinet at her knees.

“Nick, do you think I could talk to Matt for a moment?”

“Yea, no problem. Go ahead.” He did not move.

Mrs. Harris came back up with a large pizza cutter in her hand. “Alone?”

Nick smacked himself on the head, rolled his eyes, and smiled at her. She was not amused. He scrambled out of the room.

“It’ll only be for a moment.”

“Take your time!” His voiced faded off as he went to indulge in some chips and dip.

Mrs. Harris walked to the oven, put the pizza cutter down on the adjacent counter a bit too emphatically, and turned to glare at her son. “What do you think you’re doing bringing him here?”

“You told me I could bring a friend over for dinner. He was the only one I could get to commit on such short notice. ”

“What a surprise.”

Nick tilted his head slightly. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“That drug-addict never has anything to do; he’ll always jump on an opportunity where he can get something for free.”

“Drug addict? He smokes some weed!” His enthusiastic flailing of the arms did nothing to help his argument.

“That is a DRUG, Matthew.”
            Matthew snickered. “Oh, come on—“ But he was now sweating, either from the heat or the fear that he was wrong.

 “Have you not learned your lesson by now?”

“I have.”

“Well then why would you bring him over here?”

“I don’t know, I guess I wasn’t—“

“Oh- you weren’t thinking? What a new development that is…”

“Do you really have to talk to me like that?”

 “Until you start taking responsibility for your actions, yes.”

The distance between them grew as a long silence filled the room. The only audible sounds were the vent and the faint sound of chips crunching in Nick’s mouth from over twenty feet away. Mrs. Harris took this as her cue to begin unloading the spice rack, looking for anything and everything that could make her meal more unique.

            “So what do I do about Nick?”

Almost indifferently, she replied, “Nothing, I guess, there’s enough food for four. You just better hope your father doesn’t come home.”

Five minutes later, Mrs. Harris brought out the last plate of tacos and sat down with the two boys.

            “Thank you again, so much, for having me Mrs. Harris. Really.”

“Oh, it’s my pleasure.” Matt pretended not to notice the half-ass grinned she sent his friend’s way. They ate silently for a few moments; their soundtrack consisted of the hard crunch of taco shells and the painful ringing of glass against glass after Matthew put his water cup down three inches too far to the left. Matthew stared straight down at his food, Mrs. Harris stared straight into Matthew, and Nick, not being able to control himself, stared straight at Mrs. Harris’ chest. She cleared her throat, lowered her head a bit, and locked eyes with Nick. Nick’s attention immediately reverted to the Jackson Pollock that hung on the wall behind her head.

“I saw your sister today, Nick.”

“Oh, really?” He couldn’t look her in the eye.

“I mean her classroom is right next to mine, I see her pretty much every day. Ms. Peterson says she’s learning really quickly.”

“Oh, well, you know little Brenda,” Nick said chuckling nervously, “always just a little bit ahead of the curve.”

“Mmm.” Mrs. Harris nodded, sipped her water, put the glass down firmly, and watched Nick as he unsuccessfully tried to keep his taco from completely falling apart. “You having some trouble there?”

“What? Oh”— Nick hadn’t noticed, and suddenly he was frantically spooning all the meat he had dropped onto the table back into his taco shell, now in shambles. His plate looked like a dog had gone to town on it. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s quite alright. Blame the cook, right?” Nick looked at her and quietly chuckled to himself, quickly looking back at his plate, then up at her again and back down.

Matthew, embarrassed for his friend and himself, was getting comfortable playing the role of silent observer until he heard the faint sound of a car engine. Suddenly, he ran his hand through his hair and started shoveling everything from his plate into his mouth. He grabbed a quesadilla off of the communal plate in between the three of them, knowing he needed to consume as much as he could before what he thought was about to go down did. Nick finished his glass of water and started to stand up. Mrs. Harris, also aware of the car outside, darted her eyes and Nick and got up out of her chair before he had a chance to.

“You need some more water?”

Confused by her sudden enthusiasm, Nick seized the opportunity to stay seated. She walked around him and he handed her the empty glass. As she disappeared into the kitchen she lowered her eyes at her son, acknowledging what was about to occur. The front door opened and Mr. Harris’ figure appeared in the doorway. Nick, seated with his back to the door, leaned towards Matthew and began speaking in a low whisper.

“I’ve got such cottonmouth, bro. You were right though, this shit is good.” Matthew looked at him only for a brief moment, nodded lethargically, and focused his attention back on the tiny amount of food that remained in front of him.

In no time, he heard his father walk into the kitchen to kiss his mother on the cheek. He could tell by his father’s footsteps that he had a pep in his step this evening. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so awkward.

“How was your day, honey?”

“Oh, just great.” Nick, engaged in his taco reorganizing process, suddenly propped himself up in his seat. He glanced at Matthew, who offered no help. “And to come back to a home-cooked meal, AND to get to eat with my family: God, what a treat.” He began approaching the dining room, loosening his tie as he did.

“Hey, kiddo—“ He stopped dead in his tracks.  “What is he doing here?”

Promptly, Nick slid his chair back, stood up, and, with his best military face extended his arm in the direction of Mr. Harris. “Mr. Harris, good to see you again! May I please take this time to apologize for”—

“WHAT IS HE DOING HERE?”

“Excuse me?”

“Matthew, answer me.”

Matthew abruptly sat up firmly in his seat and whimpered out, “He’s just eating dinner.”

“Get out.”

“What? Who?”

Nick, knowing defeat, did not say a word and turned towards the door. Matthew stood up but just as quickly sat back down. “No. Son, you stay. Mr. Vasquez, you get out. And do not step foot in my house again lest you want to see how I handle real business.”

“Yes sir.” And like that, Nick was gone, scampering out the door and down the hill and past the car and into the wooded forest to go finish the blunt that he and his girlfriend had rolled the night before. “Living room. Now.” Mr. Harris’ tone was sharp, as if he were speaking to one of his inferiors rather than his own blood.

Matthew sat on the couch, drumming on his thighs, staring at the bucket of chips. A beat in his head kept him rocking back and forth ever so slightly. His mother had the sink running on high in the kitchen as his father stood on the opposite side of the table, looking down at his only offspring.

            “Why are you still hanging around him?”

Matthew, preferring to look down at the floor than at his subject, replied weakly, “He’s my friend.”

            “What did I tell you would happen if I saw you with him again?”
            “I don’t see why you think he’s such a bad kid.”

            “He got you arrested, son. Almost cost you your future.”

            “And he was the one who came and bailed me out.”

            “Cause he was responsible for putting you in there!”

            “You didn’t do anything.”

            “You’re mother and I were both working. To give you a better future. And you’re fucking it all up.” Mrs. Harris, standing in the kitchen, turned on the sink to full power and began thoroughly cleaning dishes. After a few moments, Matthew mustered up the best response he could.

            “He took responsibility for what he did.”

            “Yet he still hasn’t learned his lesson. And apparently you haven’t either.”

            “Dad…”

            “No, Matthew. Nothing else needs to be said. I think you know how disappointed we are.”

“Give me a chance to talk.”

Mr. Harris gazed at his son, who looked even weaker then he usually does. “Are you high?”

“What?”

“Did you really have the gall to come into this house stoned? A week after getting caught?”

“No.”

“Christ, son.”

Matthew slid forward, now on the edge of the couch. “Dad, just let me say something.”

“You’ve said all you need to.” With those words, Mr. Harris rigidly turned away from his son and went upstairs to decompress from a hard day’s work. Matthew sat in the living room until he finished the entire bucket of chips.

At 2 AM that morning, Matthew Harris snuck out of his bedroom window and drove to his friend Nick Vasquez’s house to smoke some weed and shoot the shit.