Lone Star Legend

by Gwendolyn Zepeda

  Our beloved Chupacabra, Wise Goat Man and Viejo at Large, has suffered a health-related setback that’s been distracting him from advice-giving and his outlaw life. The Chupacabra got his foot caught in the trap called diabetes, and he’s been in a cast for a week now. Worse than that, he’s having trouble with The Man and The System, and that’s making it hard to pay his bills.

  So I’m pimping myself out, so to speak, not for a non-profit full of anonymous faces, but to benefit our own Chupacabra, who’s been like a grandfather or uncle to me these past few months.

  See the video below, and see if you can bring yourself to bid on a date in order to help out our friend.

  READER COMMENTS ON BUT SERIOUSLY FOLKS

  Aw, man, that sucks. I’d bid, but I’m just a poor grad student and it’s already up to more than I can afford.

  Toasty Toes

  Somebody recap the video for me, please! I’m at work and can’t watch it!

  The Girl Formerly Known as Maria

  Maria: It’s Sandy S, trying to interview the Chupacabra. But all he says is “Turn that damned camera off! I’m not begging for any damned hand-outs!” He has a cast on his foot. And Cano’s in the background, barking. Even when he’s doing bad, that old man kills me.

  Boston Mike

  Sandy, can we send donations outside of the auction? I want to help out, but no offense, you’re not my type.

  Julietta

  Oh man, this is like my wish come true! Not that the Chupacabra has diabetes, but that I might finally get to go on a date with Sandy S.! I’m breaking my piggy banks now!

  The Wild Juan

  71

  Within a few days of the announcement, Sandy had collected, in addition to her auction bids, several hundred dollars in separate donations for Tío Jaime’s cause, as well as hundreds of cards and gifts delivered to him in care of Nacho Papi’s offices. She drove to his house that weekend to give him the tribute from his fans.

  “That’s funny,” he said, examining a stuffed chupacabra toy that someone had hand-crocheted for him. “I wouldn’t think all these strangers would care about some old guy they never even met.”

  “Well, they’ve read and listened to your words for a while now. I guess that makes them feel like they do know you. Or like you know and care about them.” Sandy stacked his get-well cards in a neat pile on the little patio table. She’d already presented him with a check from the Levy Foundation totaling all the readers’ donations to date. Angelica had insisted they do it that way, for tax purposes and to protect the old man’s identity. He hadn’t wanted to take it at first, but she’d reminded him that this was payment, in essence, for the work he’d done for the site.

  “Hmm,” Tío Jaime said. “I guess that’s why you do it, then, huh? To make strangers feel good about themselves?”

  Sandy considered the question. She’d never thought of it that way before. “Well, not really, honestly. I started writing for Nacho Papi because they bought my old company, then to get better known as a writer. And I started writing my blog to make myself feel better. But I have noticed that the blog helps other people sometimes. When I talk about stuff they’ve gone through, it makes them feel less alone.” After she’d said all that, Sandy realized the irony of the situation. “It’s too bad I’m not getting paid to write the things that help people.”

  Sandy offered to drive him to the bank to deposit his check, but Tío Jaime refused, saying it’d give Richard something to do later. So, after helping the old man put away his gifts and exacting his promise to deposit the check that afternoon, Sandy drove back into town. It was a beautiful day and she didn’t want to hole up in her apartment anymore. She needed to run some errands and get her nails done, but before that, she had a caffeine habit that needed maintaining. She drove past Calypso, her old favorite coffee shop, and peered in the window. Not too crowded.

  It was safer, of course, to go to the corporate coffee drive-through and then trek out to a suburban nail place where the day time clientele skewed a little older than Nacho Papi’s fan base. But she missed her old hangouts. Was she really going to spend the rest of her life avoiding them, she asked herself, because of the slight possibility that some jerk might call her a name or give her a dirty look?

  She parked the car and strode in bravely, silently daring anyone to say anything. The barista, a young man she’d never seen before, greeted her like any other customer. A couple of the patrons turned their heads and glanced at her as she passed, but that was it. No snickers or whispers. It was almost anti-climactic.

  Half an hour later, Sandy sat at the corner table with a chocolate almond iced latte, checking her e-mail and feeling like her old self. She opened an e-mail from an editor at the Los Angeles Chronicle, knowing that it was most likely a freelance opportunity. She’d received countless offers and calls for submissions from other organizations since Nacho Papi had begun, but was forced to turn them all down because of her contract’s non-compete clause. She was already mentally composing a polite declination when she opened the e-mail.

  Dear Ms. Saavedra:

  I wrote to you a while back about doing a feature on what happened between you and your ex-boyfriend online.

  However, after reading more of your work, I’ve decided that the LA Chronicle has an opportunity I think you’d be perfect for. Would you please call me?

  It was signed Jim Mayer, Online Features Editor, and gave his office number and cell. Overcome by curiosity, Sandy called his cell.

  “Jim Mayer.”

  “Hi, Jim. This is Sandy Saavedra, from Nacho Papi’s Web Site. I just got your e-mail.”

  “Sandy!” His voice was genial, warm. “I’m glad you called. Are you someplace where you can talk?”

  “Yes,” she said. He must have meant somewhere other than the Nacho Papi offices. Now she really was intrigued.

  “Good. Well, as I was saying in the e-mail, we’re looking for an online writer for our new culture blog. It’s a full-time position. Philippe recommended you, and I’ve been looking at your work and think you’d be perfect for this job. It’s similar to what you do for Nacho Papi, but a little less snarky. And for a much wider audience, I imagine. I hope.”

  Sandy felt a shiver of excitement travel through her. She was being offered a job by a major LA newspaper! “I’m very flattered, Jim, but unfortunately, I have a non-compete with Nacho Papi that precludes me from accepting other assignments.”

  “I understand that. This is more than an assignment, though. It’s a full-time position. We would be paying you to spend all your time writing for us.”

  Sandy caught her breath. He was asking her to leave Nacho Papi. A real newspaper editor was trying to steal her away! “Would I have to relocate to Los Angeles?”

  “It would be easiest, yes. Would you be willing to move?”

  “Maybe.” Sandy knew better than to give a definite answer either way. “How soon are you looking to fill the position?”

  “The blog launches in August, so you have some time to think it over. I hope you will. And that you’ll send me a résumé and some formal clips, to show my manager in the meantime.”

  Sandy agreed to do so and hung up, already feeling her elation subside. Unless they were going to pay her way more than a standard staff writer’s salary, there was no way she could afford to move to Los Angeles. She knew this from secondhand experience because her friend Veronica had tried it a few years ago and failed miserably.

  Granted, Veronica had moved into an expensive loft in Hollywood with a flaky boyfriend and not into one of the cheaper areas. But still. Sandy was just cementing her reputation at her current job. It’d be foolish to leave now.

  72

  So my question is, what do you do when you feel like you can’t share anything, good or bad, with anyone anymore?”

  “M’ija, you forgot to turn on your camera.” Tío Jaime’s smile poked gentle fun at her. They were on his porch. His foot was stretched in front of him in its new blue temporary cast.
Cano lay next to it as if he were its guardian. Except that, for the moment, he was snoring.

  “I know. I just thought I’d try out some of your advice that’s so popular with the kids these days.” Sandy teased back. “Now that I have your signature, I might as well take advantage of it, right?”

  He chuckled. But suddenly Sandy didn’t feel like laughing.

  In fact, she had an idea. She stood and moved her chair so that it was next to Tío Jaime’s. Glancing down at herself to make sure she was presentable—no sugar-free banana bread crumbs on her T-shirt—she turned on the camera and took her place next to the Chupacabra.

  “So, I’m thinking today’s ‘Ask the Chupacabra’ will be special,” she said. “This time, it’s all about me.” She turned to the camera and added, “Your hostess, Sandy S., in case you don’t recognize me in a T-shirt and jeans, without all my makeup.”

  Tío Jaime smiled, his eyes twinkling like a rustic Santa Claus’s under his straw hat. “What do you need advice for, m’ija? You’re doing real good, aren’t you?”

  “No. That’s the thing—I’m doing real bad.” Sandy shook her head. Leaning back in the patio chair, she crossed one leg over the other, startling Cano awake. “I haven’t been a very good person lately.”

  “What do you mean?” the Chupacabra asked.

  Sandy considered her next words for a moment. This was strange, being the one answering the questions. “When I first started writing for Nacho Papi, I was an unknown writer. A hard worker, a nice person. It was important to me to go out and find out the truth about things, and to tell true stories to other people.”

  The Chupacabra and his dog said nothing. They simply sat and listened. So Sandy went on. “Now I write bad things about people for money. I don’t search for anything. I look at a picture of someone and make up a bunch of new ways to say they’re ugly or stupid. I point out that they’re hypocrites.” She laughed a little at that. “And, worse than that, I started thinking about people that way in real life, too. My friends. My family.”

  Sandy turned to face the camera. She knew, in the back of her mind, that this probably wouldn’t make it to air. Angelica wouldn’t let it; it wasn’t “Hate-O-Rama” enough. But she was going to say it anyway. Even if no one ever saw it, it needed to be said. “A long time ago, I started this stupid blog—an online diary—called My Modern TragiComedy. It was supposed to be anonymous, but it wasn’t, really. How could it be? It was on the Internet. I used to say all kinds of things, really personal things, in that blog. It was like, I didn’t want to say those things to the people involved, but I wanted to say them to someone. I felt like, maybe if I said them to the world, the words would somehow get through to my boyfriend, my parents, whoever, and make them understand. But without me having to be the one to say it to their faces. You know what I mean?”

  Tío Jaime didn’t nod or say anything. He knew, probably, that she wasn’t talking to him anymore. And she knew that the people she was talking to probably would be nodding, at this point.

  “So of course my boyfriend and my mom eventually found out what I’d written about them. They found out, and so did everyone else. So I ended up having to deal with the issues anyway, but in a much worse situation than if I’d just talked to them privately to begin with. And now I feel like an idiot and a horrible person, and I don’t know why I did something so stupid.”

  “Did you throw away the blog so no one else could see it?” The way Tío Jaime said the word made it obvious that he didn’t say it often.

  Sandy would’ve smiled if she hadn’t been so focused on the unfunny aspects of the situation. “No, I never threw it away. I did delete the personal things about Daniel and my mom, but I haven’t deleted the whole thing.”

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” Sandy sat quietly for a moment and thought about it. “I guess… well, because some people still like it. Some people seem to get some good out of it, despite the fact that I said a few hurtful things.”

  “Hmm.” That was all he said.

  “I mean, it wasn’t all bad. I did try to write a few things that were meaningful at least.”

  There was a long pause while they sat together in silence, in thought. Then the Chupacabra recommenced his role as interviewer. “So what advice do you need? What did you want to ask?”

  Sandy did laugh then. “Nothing, I guess. I already know what to do.” Again, she faced the camera. “Daniel, I’m sorry. We weren’t right for each other, so we broke up, and that should’ve been enough. I shouldn’t have made fun of you online, whether or not I thought you’d ever see it. I’m sorry.” She took a breath. “Mom, I’m sorry to you, too. We’ve already talked it out, but I still want to apologize here, so everyone who read what I said about you can see this, too. And, for the record, you’re an awesome mom. I never said it online, but now I will: You’ve worked hard to keep things normal since Dad left, and you’re always there when I need you. I know that and appreciate it. Now everyone else knows, too.”

  She glanced at Tío Jaime and saw him smiling at her encouragingly.

  She needed to apologize to Veronica and Jane, too, but remembered that she’d never said their names online. So she wouldn’t do it now either. “I’m also sorry to any of my friends I hurt. You guys know who you are, and I’ll be calling you personally after this.”

  And what the hell? Sandy thought. While she was at it: “I also want to apologize to Lucia San Lucas, for making fun of her plus-size Latina vampire novel on the Nacho Papi site. Lucia, I read your whole novel in the bookstore, in one sitting. I couldn’t stop reading it. Then I felt embarrassed, afterward, thinking about what other people would say if they’d caught me with a romance novel. But I’ll be honest now: You wrote the best plus-sized Latina vampire story I’ve ever read, and you deserve your success. And, um…” Was it starting to be overkill now? Sandy wondered. Well, what did it matter at this point? “Amber Chavez, I’m sorry I called you haggard and talked so much about your body. I know you’re trying really hard to be a serious actress, and… uh… I’m glad you’re out there, showing girls what they can do.”

  Sandy heaved a great sigh. She felt simultaneously sobered and lightened, like she had after her first confession. She laughed again, then told Tío Jaime, “You’d make a good priest, you know that? Father Chupacabra.”

  He smiled. “It’s not me. It’s you. I’m just sitting here.”

  “No, you’re doing more than that.” She realized then what would make her feel even lighter. “This whole time, you’ve been listening to our problems—mine and the ones sent in by Nacho Papi readers—and you’ve given us your time and your insight, and you’ve asked nothing in return. And I misled you. Not only did I record these segments, but we sold T-shirts with your picture, and we put you on TV without your permission. And, for that, I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I appreciate that. And I forgive you.”

  After all that confessing, Sandy suddenly felt overwhelmed. Moisture gathered in her eyes and she laughed to cover it, then wiped her cheek surreptitiously. “Chupacabra, what did we do to deserve you?”

  “Nothing, probably,” he said. Then he turned to face the camera directly himself, for the first time in all their interviews. “All of you people watching this need to stop listening to me. You need to quit surfing on the Nets and get back to work. Then, when you get off work, you need to drive to your parents’ houses and your grandparents’ houses and listen to them instead.”

  He turned back to Sandy. “That’s it. That’s the last thing I’m gonna say here. This is my last interview.” His voice was gruff, but Sandy saw the twinkle still firmly in his eye.

  “Okay. Thank you, then, Chupacabra. It was nice knowing you, and we wish you the best.” She stood up then, and put out her hand. Cano’s ears lifted. Slowly, Tío Jaime stood to shake her hand. After a few shakes, Sandy let go and reached over to hug him. “Thanks,” she whispered into his ear.

  Afte
r that, she turned off the camera.

  73

  READER COMMENTS ON ADIOS, CHUPACABRA

  That was so cheesy and lame. What the hell is this now, the Hallmark Card site?

  Monstro

  Oh my God! That totally made me cry!!!

  Fresa Princessa

  Wait, so there’s no more Ask the Chupacabra? What the? Why? What’d we do?

  Jenny Loves Versace

  Can’t say I won’t miss him, but I understand why it has to be done. Bravo, you two.

  Boston Mike

  This site has totally jumped the shark now. I’m never reading it again.

  James Bondo

  Shut up, Monstro. Sandy, I’m glad you’re not taking your blog down.

  La FiliPiña

  This doesn’t make sense. If Sandy’s not gonna talk trash about people anymore, then how’s she gonna keep working for Nacho Papi?

  Diondre

  It’s all staged. None of this is real. They’re only doing it for the page views, don’t you people get it?

  Taco Belle

  Hey, Sandy S, if you’re leaving, can I have your job?

  Mensa

  Sandy S, please don’t leave! We can’t lose you and the Chupacabra at the same time!

  Wholio

  She’s not leaving. Look at all the comments she got here. Wonder how much money she’s making on this post, alone?

  James Bondo

  Hey, James Bondo, I thought you weren’t gonna read Nacho Papi anymore.

  Rene Loves Amber Chavez

  Somebody please send me the link to Sandy’s personal blog. I can’t find it!

  Monkey Girl

  The part where Sandy S almost starts to cry? That part made me cry. Sandy, I hope you don’t leave us. But, if you have to, I wish you the best.

  LB

  74

  On the second blazing hot Saturday morning in July, Sandy sat in her garage apartment and tried not to stress over the impending evening’s events. It was the day of their big charity date, and all Sandy knew was that she was committed to dinner and a show with George, a woman misguided enough to bid on a date with George, and a reader who called himself Harvey Birdman.