more ch3

The night summer air was sticky as I walked through the busy streets of Queens, ignoring the schizophrenic homeless people who shouted at me for money every few blocks.  My brain raced, thinking about the drugs, feeling ashamed and dirty for the way that I started the next phase of my life.  Molly would call it a self-fulfilling prophecy — since I always believed I'd never be more than a slutty drug dealer, I ended up sabotaging myself until the belief came true.  But somehow I kept finding excuses for my behavior:  needing the money, the feeling of euphoria would motivate me to apply for real jobs, I'd stop as soon as I was making a steady income again.

How about trying to find excuses against your behavior? my unofficial psychiatrist (and ex-Dom), Toby, had suggested to me once.  And since I had a long walk, I tried to do just that, making a list in my head:

Vic and Molly prefer I stay with them rather than get back into this lifestyle (but what they don't know won't hurt them).
Andy's in a real gang now (but I can handle those fuckers).
Generic reasons like it's dangerous and illegal (but like I give a fuck about that).
This isn't working...
Gabe would beat the shit out of me if he knew what I'm doing.

The last thought caused me to stop in the middle of the block, debating taking it back to Andy's, or texting Gabe back.  Flashing lights from a police car mesmerized me as I pondered, only snapping to consciousness when I saw the two cops harassing a Mexican guy.

"Well, Cesar?  Did you rob the bodega on 36th avenue?" the tall black cop shouted as the shorter Asian scribbled something in his ticket pad.  "What is your social security number?  I bet you don't even have one."

"No, señor," the man responded, head shaking in nervous drunkenness at the thought of deportation.

Before the cop could speak again, I ran up to the trio, conveniently forgetting about the felony amount of drugs in my handbag.  "Hey!  You don't have to answer them!  Usted no tiene que contestarles!"  As I approached them, I stood up straight, looking at the cops with my arms folded.  "You can't ask about his citizenship status." 

"Just who do you think you are?" 

Luckily I had a business card under the shopping bag of cocaine and effortlessly reached for it, shoving it in the officer's hand.  "I'm an immigrant rights activist, and I'd like to know if you're arresting my client or if he's free to go?"

“Your client?  You don't even know this man!”  The pair looked at the drunkard, then at each other, unsure how to proceed.

“Did you bother reading his rights?  Even if you did, I could still call my good friend Captain Johnson of the 114th precinct to let him know you neglected to provide translation services when your perp clearly doesn't understand what’s going on."  I pulled out my phone, watching the cops out of the corner of my eye as I pulled up favorite contacts.  I clicked on the captain's name and photo, flashing my phone screen at the officers so they could see.

"I don't think that's necessary," said the shorter cop, ripping a ticket off his pad and handing it to Cesar.  "Explain to your 'client' that it's a disturbing the peace charge for being drunk and disorderly in public.  The bar kicked him out over an hour ago and we've received complaints about him loudly talking on the phone, trying to start fights with patrons in the outside smoking area.  He needs to go home because if we're called out again, it'll be to take him in."

An impressed smile formed on my lips and I stayed in work-mode, shaking each douchebag's hand as they left, then turning back to Cesar who stood there with a dumbfounded expression.  It only took me a minute to explain the ticket, then I commanded him to go home, even going the extra mile to order him an Uber.

"Thank you, señorita," he said with a thick accent, switching easily between languages.  "I can't be deportado.  My family.  My kids."  He held out his scratched-up phone, pointing at the background of three young children, toothless grins reminding me of the commercials to help babies in third world countries.  "I miss them.  They need me to make money.  Pero no puedo dejar el vicio."  But I Just can't let go of my addiction.

Me either, bro, I thought, swallowing those emotions.  "What part of Mexico?"

"Oaxaca."  When my eyebrows raised, he continued.  "Lo conoces?"

"My mom is from there, the city.  But I've never been."

"Muy bien!  Somos primos!  You must visit one day."  He opened a blank text message and started typing something out, just as his driver pulled up.  "Please, your number."  The phone fell into my hands and I read the message draft:  si necesitas un favor, llamame — Cesar de Oaxaca

For a moment I considered that he was too drunk to remember me in the morning, much less if the favor I needed was years from now.  But you can never have too many allies, so I typed my number in for my new cousin, pressing send and tossing the phone back.

"Be safe!" (or something more foreshadow-y) he called after me, ducking into the black Nissan.  

I stood on the sidewalk for another few minutes, finishing my cigarette as I thought about the grinning girl on Cesar's phone wallpaper.  Why did parents think money was the only necessity?  I'd heard the same sob story thousands of times at work — "we had no choice, we have to provide for our children."  But at what cost?  Not getting to be there for the special occasions like birthdays and graduations, or even missing normal moments like dinners and telenovelas.  At least if you're suffering, you're doing it together.

Maybe being deported would've been a better option for Cesar than helping him get off with a warning.  But after the destruction of my family, I just wanted to fuck the system.

Molly was already sleeping when I arrived home and started my second gram.  My mind raced with ideas of what to do with my life while I shot zombies in a post-apocalyptic universe.  

Is it time to give law school a shot?  Or go the social worker route?  Nah, I'm not nice enough to be a social worker.  But am I smart enough for law?

None of my questions mattered at the moment as I was really more focused on beating Vic's high scores.  So much that I didn't notice the sunrise, nor the next few hours that passed until Molly casually interrupted my game on her way to shower.