The Right Side of Reckless

by Whitney D. Grandison

  I took a seat at the curb as he sniffed around to do his business.

  I felt like a child. Troy was only a year older than me, but he was so much more experienced and sure of himself. Tears prickled in my eyes as I thought of having to call Sherry about the internship. I didn’t want to. I didn’t know what I wanted, and I hated it. Hated feeling so powerless. Hated—

  A bark caused my head to snap up just as a pair of Jordans came into my line of vision.

  The boy from the community center was standing in front of me.

  Guillermo.

  Immediately I smiled at the familiar face, but he didn’t return the favor as he gazed down at me.

  His eyes were intense. One minute they were dark, the next they were light. The contrast reminded me of a comic book hero, teetering on the edge between good and bad.

  “We gotta stop meetin’ like this,” he said, a hint of playful taunting in his deep voice.

  My smile broadened. “It’s you.”

  He smirked, nodding. “It’s me.”

  Nothing else was said, and I took the time to study how he looked outside of the community center. He had a decent build, not too bulky and not too scrawny. He could hold his own in a ring, I figured.

  Goodness, I was staring.

  Blinking, I brought my attention back to Tanner, who was snuffling around Guillermo’s feet.

  Guillermo seemed to like dogs; at least, he held out a hand and allowed Tanner to sniff him.

  “So, I guess we’re neighbors?” He observed our surroundings before meeting my eyes again.

  “What a small world, huh?”

  “Something like that.”

  Tanner trotted off to find a spot to get down to business, leaving us be.

  “What are you doing out here?” I asked.

  Guillermo shot a look back toward what I guessed was his house—the one that had been for sale over the summer and recently sold—before returning to me. “The roof was caving in on me.”

  I got that. At times, it felt like my own walls were closing in. We all had our own crap to deal with.

  I glanced up and down the street. An early September breeze lifted my hair, cool but refreshing. The temperatures weren’t chilly just yet. It was dark, the streetlights illuminating the road, and no one else was outside.

  I patted the spot next to me. “You can sit.”

  Guillermo’s eyes fixed on my hand. He took a step back, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. I hoped he never got the sense to cut it. “I, uh, I probably shouldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Guillermo gazed past me at my house. “Wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong idea.”

  “Wrong idea?” I arched a brow, and then to ease the tension, I teased, “Ohhh, you must’ve heard.”

  “Heard what?”

  I leaned forward as if to tell him a secret. “My dad used to be cop, and he keeps a close eye on the neighborhood, so you better stay in line.”

  Guillermo’s eyes doubled in size as his gaze raced to my house again. “Shit.”

  My father had been a cop for almost twenty years before he quit the force, citing a conflict of morals. He worked in the heating and cooling field now, but due to his years as an officer of the law, not to mention the conversations he had with my mother about her work, he was real strict about where I went and who I went with. Avery, too. During my middle school days, when boys had started hinting at wanting to hang out, I always had to decline. I wasn’t allowed to date...until Troy.

  I let out a laugh. “I’m kidding, it’s no big deal. We’re just saying hi.”

  Guillermo looked at me funny, as if there was something I wasn’t getting. “I’ll stand,” he finally said.

  “Okay.”

  “I’m not trouble,” he seemed to feel the need to say.

  “I...I didn’t say you were.”

  “No, but it looks bad.”

  I suddenly got the sense he was talking about his service at the community center. Then I recalled the way my mother had looked at him when she caught us together, and I finally got his meaning.

  “I’m not scared, if that’s what you’re talking about. My mom is understanding, Guillermo. She wouldn’t judge you either,” I said.

  Guillermo shoved his hands deep into his pockets, still seeming uncomfortable. “I better get to bed. Can’t be late for tomorrow.”

  “Yeah,” I said, rising to my feet. “Me, too.”

  Once more, Guillermo’s gaze settled on me. “So I’ll be seeing you?”

  He was my neighbor, and he worked at the community center—there was a good possibility he’d be going to my school come Monday as well. “You going to Arlington?”

  He tipped his head. “Yeah.”

  My lips drew up into a smile. For some reason, I liked this fact. “Yeah, I’ll be seeing you. If you need help getting around school, or the neighborhood, I’m—”

  Guillermo blinked, inching back toward his house. “Bad idea.”

  Although it was no big deal for me to extend a hand and show him around, Guillermo seemed intent on walking away. With a stiff wave, he left me to wait on Tanner alone.

  Guillermo

  Something good was cooking early Sunday morning, waking me up before my alarm. The spices lingering in the air had my mouth watering as I got ready for community service.

  It wasn’t just the scent that had woken me up; it was the sound of music, laughter, and the sizzling of food in a pan that caused me to stir. It reminded me of before.

  My parents didn’t work weekends, givin’ them both the choice to sleep in or get up early. When I was younger, they’d get Yesi and me up and make a party out of preparing breakfast. Music would fill the background as tiny Yesenia stood on the stool at the counter, helping our father chop onions or peppers. She’d wear an apron to complete her look as assistant cook. Me, I’d be at the stove with my mother cooking the food and basking in the jovial atmosphere of my family.

  That was a long time ago. Before high school. Before I started taking interest in being out with my friends as opposed to having “family fun” at home.

  That was before, and this was after.

  My therapist insisted that I could get it all back, that I could start over and regain a relationship with my family. She wasn’t the one experiencing my father’s cold shoulder. Shit was brutal when I already felt bad in my own guilt.

  Still, after getting dressed for the day, I took a chance and went down to the kitchen to greet everyone. I had forty minutes before I was due at Briar Park Community Center.

  The scene before me was pure nostalgia. The music was going and Yesenia was at the island whipping some batter in a mixing bowl as my father put together eggs and his famous chorizo—my favorite breakfast dish. My mother was at the stove, warming up the tortillas, and I could already taste what was to come.

  “Can I help with something?” I asked.

  My father had been smiling at Yesenia as she threatened to flick pancake batter on him. Now, as his attention shifted to where I stood in the doorway, his show of humor diminished.

  He cleared his throat and refocused on his work. “You goin’ in?”

  There didn’t even need to be a draft for the coldness that had seeped into the air. My chest tightened. “I’ve got time.”

  My father was no longer looking at me. “It’s okay, we’ve got it covered.”

  Yesenia frowned, her big brown eyes wounded for me. Our father’s constant reprimanding of me in front of her caused me more shame and embarrassment than ever before. I wasn’t a role model, that was for sure, but each time he took a jab at me, I felt like shit. Like a worthless older brother.

  I bowed out, knowing I wasn’t wanted. “I’m just going to head in early, then.”

  My father grimaced, clearly not at all interested in me anym
ore. “You do that, Guillermo. Keep this routine up. Show them people you take this punishment seriously. And another thing—” his steely eyes focused on me again “—what did I tell you about cutting your hair? School starts tomorrow, muchacho.”

  My father was old-school, equating my long hair with being unprofessional and unpolished. He’d sooner I get a crew cut and wear polos to fit the image that I was turnin’ over a new leaf.

  My old group of friends, back home in Rowling Heights, they would’ve clowned the shit out of me if I ever showed up looking like some prep school dropout. Hell, I’d clown the shit out of me if I adopted a look like that.

  For a moment, I wondered, though...if I did concede and cut my hair, would my father ease up on me?

  Judging by the way he was shuttin’ me out, probably not.

  Without another word, I turned and made my way toward the garage.

  “Wait!” Rushing down the hall behind me, my mother handed me something wrapped in foil. It was hot, fresh from the stove. She said nothing else before kissing my cheek and going back to the kitchen.

  In my car I pulled my hair back into a bun. It wasn’t exactly cutting it off, but it was a start.

  * * *

  It was still pretty early when I made it to the center. I wanted to sit in my car and sulk, but there was incoming traffic in the center already, despite it being early on a Sunday, and I felt too exposed.

  Instead, I gathered my earphones, went inside and waved at the receptionist, then sat in the rec room. It was empty, no surprise there, and I was able to fully retreat into myself as I sank into a sofa cushion and plugged in my music. In moments I was drowning in waves of the music of my favorite hip-hop artists and eating the breakfast burrito my mother had slipped me.

  Whenever Tío Mateo would watch Yesenia and me when we were younger, we’d listen to his choice of music, hip-hop and R&B, as opposed to my parents’ preferred banda and Latin pop. He’d urge us to keep it un secreto, pressing a finger to his lips before playing songs from Tha Carter III.

  Tío Matt’s passion for the urban storytellers resonated deep in me, always catching my attention whenever I was browsing the radio or watchin’ music videos. It sparked an obsession, because I went from tolerating my parents’ musical tastes during car rides to getting my first iPod and filling it with the rappers Tío Mateo would play. The punch lines, the metaphors, the double entendres, the flows, I lived for that shit.

  Listening to hip-hop was how I’d spent most of my time after the Situation. Gettin’ lost in music was more therapeutic than talking. Some rappers were good kids from mad cities. Others, like me, were troubled kids from good cities. Their lyrics spoke to me, tellin’ me I wasn’t alone, tellin’ me that there was a way through this rough patch. From my favorite rapper of all time, Jay-Z, to a lot of the newcomers, music held all the answers.

  And I was so desperately seeking answers most days.

  Soft fingers came down on my arm, and all at once the scent of berries and a hint of vanilla enveloped my senses, jolting me upright. I’d been in my thoughts, not even realizing someone else had entered the room.

  Regan stood by the arm of the sofa, holding back a laugh.

  I removed my earphones and got up, keeping my distance in case Mrs. London was around.

  Regan seemed to notice. “I was just saying hi. You came in so fast and—are you okay?”

  Concern crossed her pretty face, an emotion I didn’t deserve.

  We’d just met, but Regan had this way of looking at me as if she saw something worth looking at. My own family couldn’t stand to look at me for five seconds. Who was this girl who so openly seemed to accept me, or at least, welcome me? The night before, she’d wanted me to sit with her. She’d even been kind enough to offer to show me around.

  You’re not a monster. Her mother’s words echoed in my ears.

  Yeah, right. I snorted to myself.

  I balled up my empty foil and tossed it in the wastebasket behind her. Kobe.

  Avoiding Regan wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought. The world was too small. “I’m gettin’ there.”

  Sympathy tugged on her lips as she offered me a smile. “I’m a good listener, if you ever want to talk.”

  I hadn’t told her when she’d been on her curb last night, but I’d seen her the moment that guy had dropped her off. I’d assumed he was her boyfriend. The car had been dark, but the streetlights were bright enough for me to see their tension. The guy had appeared disappointed about something, and Regan had seemed eager to get away.

  And then she was just sitting there on the curb, balled up and looking gloomy. An itch had drawn me over, too curious for my own good.

  It was clear to me she had her own issues. Who was I to unload all of mine on top?

  “So,” Regan said. Her eyes lingered on my phone, clutched tightly in my hand. I was out of my element here, and for some reason she was making me nervous the more she studied me. “What are you listening to?”

  “Old Wayne,” I said. Specifically Lil Wayne’s classic from Tha Carter III, “Tie My Hands.” Through the song, I could almost believe that overcoming harsh times and persevering was possible, no matter the obstacles in the way.

  “Talk about a throwback,” Regan said.

  I could sense she was trying, even though I insisted on putting space between us.

  There was no denying Regan was a nice girl. I made an effort to appease her with a smile. “Thank you, though, for checking in on me. I’m really into lyrics, and I needed to get lost. Rough start this morning, you know?”

  Regan groaned. “Aren’t they all? I hate getting up early on weekends.”

  Her hand took mine with a gentle squeeze. The sensation melted a layer of ice inside me. “Let’s get clocked in, we can endure this long day together.”

  I examined her hand on mine, the soft texture of her touch somehow so her, from what little I knew. My fingers twitched. If the wrong person saw us even breathing the same air, it would be bad.

  One thing I could read from Mrs. London was that she didn’t take any shit. She seemed almost as tough as Harvey. A friendship with Regan, which seemed innocent enough, was out of the question.

  I could read between the lines: one, Regan had a boyfriend, and I was supposed to be taking steps forward, not back. Two, there was no way in hell I could ever start something with my supervisor’s daughter—that was a risk I wasn’t willing to take.

  Being smart about it, I took my hand back. “Nah, I’m going to hang here for a second. Thanks, though.”

  Regan’s smile dimmed, and she left the room without me.

  I sighed. Seeing that light slip from her face was disappointing, and I didn’t know why.

  Regan

  Long after my shift at the community center, where I’d avoided one moody boy who seemed to think I was a pariah, I was in my room trying to get homework done. This effort lasted all of an hour before Troy texted me that he was coming over.

  Before, I would’ve loved hanging out, but with the way things had been so rocky lately, I just wasn’t prepared for another fallout. I wanted to put it all on the back burner and focus on my schoolwork, but of course, because it was Troy, my father wanted me front and center to play my part as the loving girlfriend.

  Amid the chatter of football, I wondered how Guillermo was doing. Earlier at the center he’d been so down, his dark eyes full of pain. Guillermo seemed guilty, like whatever he’d done had really left a mark on him. Weighed him down into eternal defeat. In time, I hoped he’d see himself in a new light. Some of my mother’s probationers could be jaded and angry about serving time, and others were eager to change. For example, Daren, the facility’s co-lead, had once been a member of the program.

  Anyone could come back from oblivion; everyone deserved second chances.

  “You really threw down, Mrs. London,” Troy said
after dinner, bringing me out of my thoughts. Usually picky, he had dug into my mother’s ham and collard greens, even allowing himself to indulge in the carbs of her homemade scalloped potatoes.

  My mother seemed pleased with the compliment as she leaned back against my father on the love seat across from us. “I’m glad you liked it. Make sure to mention that my cooking made you nice and strong when you go pro.”

  Her remark caused everyone to chuckle.

  Well, not everyone.

  Avery wasn’t really paying us any mind as he sat by the arm of the sofa on the floor, with Tanner at his side, lazily watching some movie on TV. He also had plans after dinner, but our father wanted us all around to entertain Troy. Sometimes it honestly felt like a full-time job with no pay when my father was around.

  “You make sure you tighten up in the gym,” my father warned Troy. “I’d hate to see you get too comfortable on that field. Your aim should be to win by ten more points than the last game each game.”

  That sounded easier said than done, but Troy was nodding along, not at all fazed by the challenge.

  “For sure,” Troy replied. “My biggest competition on that field is myself, sir. Next to that, it’s Tommy. I just know he’s going to be a problem by the time he’s a senior.”

  To this my father didn’t disagree. “Both you boys are going to make this city proud.”

  Talk of Troy’s impending success always got old fast for me. It was inevitable; everyone knew he was going pro someday. It was almost kind of boring to keep talking about it, at least to me.

  My eyes found my mother, who was half-listening and half-watching the movie as she cradled her wineglass in her hand. She looked content, snuggled against my father as he spoke of football with his favorite person in the world.

  I was settled under Troy’s arm, but, as I admittedly didn’t care for football, I felt more awkward than content.

  “Regan’s coming with me, all the way,” Troy was saying. “She gon’ be rich, probably become the team accountant or something.”