Cemetery Boys

by Aiden Thomas

  He watched Julian as he wandered off toward a girl in a corn costume who had elote in stacks on catering trays she was selling for a dollar. Deflated, Yadriel wondered if he’d ever stop being surprised by Julian Diaz.

  He wove between people, trying to keep up as Julian coaxed him deeper into the crowd. Yadriel wanted to reach out and catch hold of his arm, to drag him closer, but he couldn’t. He had to wedge himself between a pair with elaborate masks of rubber and fur, one a wolf, the other a jaguar. He nearly stumbled right through Julian.

  “I keep losing you!” he shouted, and Julian had to lean down to hear him. The music blared in Yadriel’s ears, but Julian was entirely unaffected.

  “This is my FAVORITE song!” Julian said, his cold breath tickling Yadriel’s cheek.

  “I thought the one in the car was your favorite song?” Yadriel asked.

  Julian only shrugged, grinning ear to ear, painfully charming.

  The loud, pulsing music thumped in Yadriel’s chest like a second heartbeat. He could feel it in his bones. The music was devouring, making it impossible for Yadriel to doubt or second-guess himself as he swayed to the beat. The close press of bodies normally would’ve made Yadriel’s skin crawl. But, right now, the jostling was reassuring, like being nudged by ocean waves, lulled into an ebb and flow.

  Julian’s hips rolled, his head bobbed. Eyes closed and smiling, the firelight danced over his skin. Yadriel was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. To his foolhardy charm and striking features. Julian was achingly beautiful, but in the way a thunderstorm was beautiful—wild, rough, electric.

  And bound to leave devastation in his wake.

  A dancing couple almost separated them again, but Yadriel and Julian surged toward each other at the same time. Julian pressed close, and Yadriel shivered. A thrill shot up his spine, robbing him of breath.

  There was loud singing and bursts of laughter. Push and pull. Hot breath and shuddering chills. Biting ocean breeze on sweltering skin. Julian’s white teeth and dimples melted away to heavy-lidded eyes and parted lips.

  Yadriel let his eyes fall shut, in a heady daze. Icy fingers fit against his hip. They ghosted over the pulse in his neck. He pressed closer still, hungry and aching. Heat rushed low in his stomach. He wanted to reach out and hold on tight.

  Suddenly, bright lights flashed across Yadriel’s vision. When he opened his eyes, flashlight beams cut through the crowd. The music ended. Everyone stood there in a daze, the spell broken. A confused murmur rose in the group. “Cops!” a voice rang out, followed by others.

  Voices crackled over loudspeakers, reciting that it was illegal to have glass containers or alcohol on the beach, and that a permit was required for parties over fifty people. They sounded bored. This was likely just one of many parties to be broken up along the beach that evening.

  People scattered, and someone booed, but Julian just laughed, his face lit with excitement.

  But Yadriel did not need to be stopped by the cops when there was a stolen car a hundred yards away. “Come on!” he shouted.

  They ran, stumbling over mounds of sand, laughing hard and unable to stand upright. They sprinted for the car, shoes slipping on sand-covered concrete. Yadriel threw himself into the Stingray, and she roared back to life. They took off, flying down the PCH.

  Julian whooped.

  Yadriel yanked his mask down and hunched over the steering wheel, laughing so hard his cheeks hurt.

  Julian directed Yadriel to a lookout point. It was just a gravel turnout on top of a seaside cliff. Yadriel pulled up to the short guardrail, beyond which the craggy cliff face cascaded down.

  They got out and climbed onto the hood. The metal was still hot from the engine. It kept Yadriel warm as the crisp ocean breeze rushed in. It rustled the bowing palm trees. He could feel sand in his hair and clinging to his skin. The lights of fishing boats winked out in the sea of black. The moonlight bounced off the distant water. Waves threw themselves against the jagged rocks in lazy rhythm, crashing and rolling. The spray tickled Yadriel’s face. His lips tasted like salt. It was almost enough to lull him to sleep.

  “My dad used to drive us up here,” Julian said quietly at Yadriel’s side.

  Yadriel tilted his head. Julian sat with his feet planted on the hood of the car. His chin was propped on his folded arms, resting on his knees. His dark eyes stared up.

  “Best view of the stars,” he said, squinting one eye shut as he held his palm up, lining up the sparse stars between his fingers. The orange haze of the city lights chased them off to the horizon, where the sky turned inky-black.

  Yadriel watched him silently for a moment, quite liking the mental picture of Julian, his dad, and his brother up there, admiring the view. A trio of boys from East Los Angeles stargazing in Malibu.

  “Who are the pictures of?” Yadriel asked, rolling onto his side and leaning his cheek against his fist.

  “Pictures?”

  “Yeah.” Yadriel jerked his chin toward the pocket on the dashboard. “In the car.”

  “Oh!” Julian slid off the hood and leaned in through the open window. There was some rustling and then he was back, scooting up next to Yadriel.

  “Just old pictures of us and our dad.”

  Yadriel sat up. They sat cross-legged, facing each other.

  “That’s him,” Julian said, holding the picture for Yadriel to see. Yadriel had never heard him speak with such gentle warmth.

  Julian’s dad stood in the center of the photo. He was tall and lean with a buzzed head and some sparse facial hair. His eyes squinted as he flashed his teeth at the camera, somewhere between a laugh and a growl. He held up Julian and Rio under each arm, flexing his strength in front of what Yadriel recognized as the mechanic shop.

  “He looks nice,” Yadriel said, unable to keep from smiling.

  “He was,” Julian agreed, beaming.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Ramon,” Julian told him, his tongue rolling through the r.

  Julian couldn’t have been older than ten. He was doubled over, knees tucked and gripping his dad’s arm as he was held aloft, laughing hard. It was possible Ramon was tickling him, his large hand across Julian’s chest, his fingers pressed into that sensitive spot under the collarbone.

  “Oh man.” Yadriel laughed. “Look at your hair!” Instead of being shaved down, younger Julian’s hair was a mass of unruly, tight curls.

  “Photogenic as hell, right?” Julian grinned. “Rio’s always been a bit camera shy.”

  Rio was held under his dad’s other arm. He was smiling, but his lips were pressed together. He clung to his dad’s shoulder, his face partially turned away from the camera and toward Ramon’s chest.

  Yadriel took the stack of photos and thumbed through the rest. One was of Ramon and Rio leaning over the popped hood of an old Cadillac. Ramon was pointing at something, and Rio’s face was very serious, studious. Meanwhile, Julian was off to the side, scooting around on one of those wooden creepers mechanics used to get under cars.

  There were some school pictures, too. Rio sat with a straight back, another tight-lipped smile, and a tie done neatly around his neck. In contrast, Julian’s eyes were squinted shut and he was smiling in a way that looked like he was trying to show all his teeth at once. His tie was loose and crooked, the left side of his collar sticking up.

  In another photo, they sat in a line on the curb. Julian and Rio sat between Ramon and Carlos—the man Julian had said owned the shop with his father. Ramon sat next to Rio, grinning at the camera while Rio smiled up at him. Carlos was on the other side, a finger hooked over his chin as it jutted forward, mean-mugging the camera. He leaned onto Julian, who bent under the weight of his arm, laughing as he tried to push him off.

  Yadriel stared at the boy sitting next to him. A boy with a bright smile and an easy laugh. Who liked skateboarding the streets of Los Angeles and stargazing on the roof of his dad’s car. Who would do anything to protect his friends. Reckless and brilliant.


  The aching in Yadriel threatened to swallow him whole. Julian was still there, but Yadriel’s body was already mourning the loss.

  But he knew this wasn’t sustainable. No one was meant to last as a spirit floating between two worlds, but especially not Julian. He was a boy made of fire who’d been turned to frost. He was meant to burn.

  “This isn’t how I would’ve pictured someone wanting to spend their last day,” Yadriel said, fiddling with Julian’s medal around his neck. “But it’s very … you.”

  Julian cast him a narrow-eyed look. “Uh, thanks?”

  “I just mean, I feel like most people would want to spend it with their families and friends.” Yadriel thought about how, when someone got sick or grew old, when they neared the end of their lives, their community would come together. Friends and loved ones would stay close, keeping watch over the person. Brujas would offer them comfort and ease their pain. Everyone was there to give their support, to send them off to the afterlife surrounded by their loved ones.

  “That sounds so depressing and boring.” Julian frowned. “Not to mention, none of them can see or hear me. I’m already dead.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Is that how you would want to spend your last day?” Julian asked. “With your dad and brother? Your Lita? Hell, the whole group of brujx?”

  “God, no” was Yadriel’s immediate response, surprising even himself. That sounded like a nightmare. Yadriel hated being the center of attention, even under the best of circumstances. Even his birthday felt like an ordeal. “Maybe you’ve got the right idea.” He looked out over the cliff. Frothy waves broke up and down the beach, as far as he could see. A gust of ocean air pushed through his hair. Yadriel smiled and breathed it in. “Stealing a car and driving off into the sunset is way better.”

  “I’m enjoying it.”

  “Is there anything you regret?” Yadriel’s stomach twisted. A voice in his head told him to stop asking questions. That stuff like this would only upset him. He wasn’t used to death being such a finality.

  But then Julian grinned. “Regret?” Giving a small shake of his head, he leaned closer. “Tch, no way,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, like he was telling Yadriel a secret.

  “Anything you wish you’d done?”

  The smile slipped. “A couple.”

  This was a bad idea. Too much, too close, but when Julian leaned forward Yadriel didn’t want to pull away.

  Yadriel’s lungs felt tight, like he was holding his breath too long underwater.

  A voice in his head told him to stop. That he was getting in over his head. These were treacherous waters and wading into them would only end badly. But a much more powerful force dragged him down like an undertow.

  Julian squinted, the angles of his face tight in concentration. Slowly, he brought his hand up to the side of Yadriel’s face, close, but not touching. His stormy eyes slid to Yadriel’s, holding a question. “¿Me dejas robarte un beso?” he said softly, in the most agonizingly beautiful Colombian accent Yadriel had ever heard. It was pure and melodic, like a song.

  Yadriel closed his eyes. He nodded.

  Cold pressed to his cheek, sending shivers down his neck. He sucked in a breath. Julian’s palm cupped his cheek. He felt each icy finger pressed to the skin below his ear, the soft sweep of Julian’s thumb just below his eyelashes.

  When he opened his eyes, Julian was staring back. The smoldering intensity made his skin flush.

  Julian tilted his head. Cold nipped at Yadriel’s nose. A soft caress ghosted over his lips, and Yadriel let himself drown in it. It was unexpectedly gentle and sweetly slow. His skin flushed, hot and wanting, and Julian’s cool touch sent shivers rolling through him. Yadriel’s soul ached. He leaned closer, his hands reaching out, fingers wanting to knot into Julian’s jacket and pull him closer.

  But they grasped at air. There was nothing to hold on to.

  Buzz buzz-buzz.

  A jolt yanked up Yadriel’s spine and he jerked away. The shuddering of his phone’s alarm shook in his back pocket. He scrambled away, arching his back to grab it. With clumsy fingers, he turned it off. “Jesus.” He pressed his hand against his chest. His heart hammered. The sharp edge of Julian’s medal cut into his palm.

  Julian looked startled, his hand still hovering in the empty air.

  “It’s my alarm,” Yadriel told him, trying to catch his breath. He had several messages from Maritza, asking where they were and when he’d be back. He stared up at Julian. His portaje poked uncomfortably into his lower back. “We need to head back or we won’t get there before midnight.”

  Julian’s hand fell to his lap. He looked out over the water again. The wind tugged at his jacket. He closed his eyes and grinned. Below, the waves crashed. The moonlight painted him in shades of blue. His edges blurred like watercolors spilling outside of their lines.

  “All right, patrón.” With one last deep breath, Julian slid off the hood. “Let’s go.”

  Reluctantly, Yadriel got in the car and started driving back toward the city. Too quickly, the ocean faded from the rearview mirror.

  It was too soon. Even if Julian was ready, Yadriel wasn’t.

  With the windows rolled up, the car was comfortably warm. They fell into an easy quiet. A slow song filtered through the speakers, tinny and slow. Julian hummed along, his fingers tapping the beat out on the armrest.

  Yadriel stole glances. When the chorus started, Julian sang along, voice soft and mostly off-key. Yadriel felt himself smile. Julian’s singing was terrible but endearing. People who sang in front of other people with no sense of self-consciousness were a specific and rare breed that Yadriel was decidedly not.

  The singer’s voice dipped low, and Julian couldn’t follow, forcing the words to drown in his throat.

  He chuckled, and Julian’s eyes flickered to his. The corners of Julian’s eyes crinkled as he smiled back.

  Yadriel wanted to chase down the sunset. To not let it rise.

  How long after he was gone would Yadriel be dreaming about Julian and this drive? Yadriel thought it would be worth the sleepless nights ahead.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Yadriel parked the Stingray a couple of streets over from the cemetery. Partly because the street was packed with cars—all the brujx families would be there to celebrate and welcome the spirits home tonight. Also to buy time until he figured out how to get it back to Rio. But that was a problem for the morning. Right now, he needed to get Julian and himself through the cemetery and back to the old church without being noticed.

  “Just act natural,” Yadriel murmured as they approached the gate. With Día de Muertos little more than an hour away, there was enough spirit energy filling the air that Julian could go relatively unnoticed.

  The doors stood wide open as people funneled in. Brujos stood by, greeting folks as they entered, but to also keep any outsiders from wandering into a brujo celebration, thinking it was a Halloween party.

  Inside the gates, it was like walking into another world of golden light and color.

  “Whoa,” Julian breathed in awe.

  Candles lined all the paths and graves for as far as the eye could see. Towering arches adorned elaborately with marigolds stood at the heads of graves, sarcophagi, and mausoleums alike. Brightly colored banners of papel picado crisscrossed overhead. More marigolds and deep red-violet chrysanthemums lined walkways and covered dirt mounds. Bottles of rum stuffed with peppers, meant to warm the bones of the returning spirits, leaned against tombstones. The cemetery thrummed with energy and excitement. The air felt alive and electric, like before a thunderstorm.

  Ornate ofrendas filled every available space. Some altars were modest, with just a photo, candles, copal incense, and pan de muerto. Meanwhile, other folks took it as a personal challenge to outdo each other every year. Some altars stood seven steps high, piled with food and drinks. There were large, painted portraits propped on top of columbarium walls. Urns were piled with marigolds. More of the sacred flowers spilled over every possible
surface. At a young girl’s ofrenda, a bicycle had been covered in the bright orange flowers, her picture tucked into the spokes.

  As they moved through the cemetery, gritos filled the air. The loud, trilling tongues and sharp “Ay, ay, ay!” cut through the air, growing louder as others in the cemetery joined in. They were meant to lead the spirits back home. As the gritos swelled, the nearby candle flames popped and flared with excitement. Golden sparks rippled through marigolds in shivering waves like a choreographed lightshow. The louder the grito, the brighter they shone.

  Julian’s pleased laughter made Yadriel smile as they weaved through the celebrants, spirits and brujx alike.

  Everyone was dressed for the occasion. Three small girls chased one another between headstones in poufy dresses made of tulle and satin. Younger brujos came in nice slacks and pressed shirts, while the brujas went all out with billowing skirts and intricate hairstyles.

  The older brujos came in sacred jewelry, passed down through the generations. Heavy plugs of jade and obsidian hung from stretched earlobes. An older woman wore a heavy jade pendant on her chest, carved to resemble a two-headed snake. An elaborate nose ornament worn by a man being guided by a young lady was made of turquoise and gold. A bell dangled from each flared side.

  At the steps of the church stood Yadriel’s dad with Lita at his side. They greeted brujx as they entered the church. Lita held herself like a queen, chin tilted proudly. His dad, on the other hand, looked distracted and upset. Between shaking hands and smiling, his eyes searched the crowd, deep wrinkles set into his brow.

  Yadriel knew it was because of him. He hadn’t messaged or called back yet, and sharp guilt urged him to pull out his phone right there and then. Instead, Yadriel tugged his hood up over his head. He could make excuses and ask for forgiveness later. Right now, he had a job to finish.

  “Come on,” Yadriel murmured quietly to Julian, hoisting his backpack higher up on his shoulder. It was packed tight, the zipper hardly able to close. Yadriel ducked his head to slink back into the crowd when someone caught him by the arm.