Libra - Mr. Romantic Read online

  “First job finished, second job just starting. God, please let this all be worth it in the end… I’m fallin’ apart right about now. I need you to be my glue, ’cause ain’t nothin’ else keepin’ me together right now but faith…”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Family Jewels…

  MOM STOOD ON the small slanted porch made of plywood, partial hopes and splintered dreams. It had to be repaired; this was a temporary fix to keep it from falling completely apart. Standing with long, denim-clad legs crossed at the ankles, she leaned against the stilted beam where a hanging plant floated above her head like some halo made out of foliage. With a cigarette in one hand and a crooked smile on her face, her shoulder length natural platinum blonde hair blew in the slight breeze.

  “What are you doin’ here so early, stranger?” she said as Langston approached. She smiled wide as he drew her in an embrace, kissed her cheek, and took a couple of steps back.

  “I’m off today.” Langston jammed his hands in his pockets and looked about the place, not searching for anything in particular.

  Mom let the ashes fall to the ground, then thumped her cigarette with her pointer finger in a nervous gesture. Her short, dark pink nails shined in the sunlight, and her thin red lips crimped in a pursed grin as she looked him up and down.

  “You’re lookin’ good.”

  “Thank you, so are you. I like your hair… see you got it cut a little.”

  “Yeah.” She took another drag of her cigarette. “The ends were thin. Mabel, down there at the salon, cut ’em, said they was damaged. Takes some gettin’ used to. Your father should be home in a little bit. He went to the hardware store.”

  “What for?” He leaned back on the step and rocked against it, watching her ocean blue eyes gleam when the sunlight caught them just so.

  “Barney keeps gettin’ off his chain so he’s gonna get a bigger one for him, somethin’ stronger and with a better clasp.” Langston nodded. He stared up at the sky then back down at the ground. “Somethin’ on your mind? You’re kinda quiet.”

  “Naw, I’m fine, just a little tired is all.” He didn’t dare tell her that he’d had his ex over and stayed up fuckin’ all night, then sent her on her way in the morning, which resulted in a huge argument. He’d already explained that they weren’t getting back together but somehow, she’d expected more. He felt sorry she’d been so upset.

  “Well, you hungry? Don’t even answer. What kinda silly ass question is that?” She laughed, her voice husky from over three decades of chain smoking cigarettes. He laughed lightly and nodded.

  “Yeah, I could eat… I’m hungry, Mom.”

  “You’re always hungry!” the woman teased, though it was the truth. “Does a rat love cheese? I ain’t got much, but there’s some baked beans and grilled sausages in here… it’ll make a decent breakfast I suppose.”

  “That sounds just fine.”

  Mom motioned for him to bring his behind on. She flicked her cigarette out into the front yard that was nothing but a world of dead, crunchy grass, and he followed her into the house, letting the front door screen slam behind them.

  “I’ll get it warmed up. Should only take a second.” Mom disappeared into the kitchen while he held back, looking into the living room.

  Brittany, his eldest sister, was there, much to his surprise. She flipped her long black hair over one shoulder and rubbed her pregnant, swollen belly as she sat on the large, dark gray couch, staring at the television with big eyes.

  “’Sup, Brit.”

  She looked at him lazily, smiled and waved. “Hi. What are you doin’ here at the crack of dawn?”

  “I’m off today. How ’bout you?”

  “I spent the night.” She turned her attention back to the television.

  He figured she and his brother-in-law had gotten into it again—it happened several damn times a month. Brittany would run over to Mom and Pop’s, leave her other three children behind, and cry and moan to Mom about how terrible Eric was. He knew his sister though, and he knew Eric well, too. He and the man had gone to high school together even though Eric had been a senior when he was a freshman. Everyone knew Eric. He was a good guy—drank a bit too much but everyone surmised that was because he’d lost his job and there were plenty of mouths to feed.

  “Come on in here and sit down, Langston,” Mom called out to him, pulling him out of his thoughts.

  He stood there, falling into some strange trance. The glow of the television shined on half her face in a strange, creepy sort of way. He hated when he got that odd feeling in his gut and the hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention, like a ghost was in the damn room, or worst yet, something bad was going to happen. Now the bad feeling hit him like a Mack truck as he stared at his big sister. How strange. It usually started with a dream, or a vision in his waking state. He wouldn’t call himself psychic—that was crazy talk—but sometimes he just got these strange feelings, and it was usually never good.

  “Langston! Boy, get in here. It’s gonna get cold!”

  He hurried on into the small, cluttered kitchen and sat down at the table covered in papers and an ashtray brimming with cigarette remains. Mom started clanking dishes around, but he kept his eyes on the ones piled in the sink. They looked like a tower of cereal bowls, plates, and cups. Water from the faucet dripped on them and made a musical percussion, while the sun peered through the window, highlighting the small white hairs on Mom’s arms. She was humming and moving real slow and for a second, he fell under her spell. He always felt better when he was in his parents’ house.

  “What do you want to drink?” she asked as she turned away from the sink. With a big silver spoon, she scooped beans into a dark orange ceramic bowl. One side of it was chipped, exposing the white interior.

  “Water is fine.”

  She turned on the tap and filled up a glass to the rim. Moments later, he was eating up a storm, biting into the grilled franks and swallowing fast. Mom lit another cigarette and leaned against the sink, staring at him.

  “You still workin’ out at that one gym? The one over there on Edinburg?”

  “Yeah.” He took a big gulp of the lukewarm water. “I’m still there. Been tryna get José to come wit’ me. They was hirin’ a while ago. He shoulda put in an application, too.” Mom sucked her teeth and rolled her big blue eyes.

  “Your brother ain’t gonna go. You know damn well that’s just a dream. All he does is sit around belly achin’, talking about what the world ain’t done for him. I need him to move out of here… a thirty-six-year-old man still livin’ at home.” She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “I tried to be understanding, but your father is really the one that’s had it up to here wit’ him. I thought your father was gonna kill him last week. I had to break it up.”

  Mom extinguished the cigarette in a nearby ashtray and began to work on the dishes in the sink. He suspected that his older brother José was responsible for at least seventy-five percent of the carnage she worked to get situated in that basin. José Jr., named after their father, had had a hard go of it. Langston had looked up to his big brother for years, but then reality set in. José didn’t have any dreams or goals in life. He blamed everyone and everything for his downfalls and the shit was getting old.

  José was the only one out of the five of them that looked full-bred Mexican, so according to him, he got treated like shit. All the siblings had inherited various combinations of their parents’ features. Being biracial, half White and half Mexican, some looked more European while others, more Mexican. Langston was often told he lay somewhere in the middle, but his light eyes, so light brown that at times they looked orange, sometimes gave people pause.

  None of them had had it easy; it was just the way the damn cookie crumbled. José Jr. was the only one still holding those excuses like ‘Get out of jail free’ cards. His list of ‘shoulda, woulda, coulda’ was extensive. He got messed with and picked on in high school, so he’d dropped out. Shame really, since he’d been at t
he top of his class. He was smart as a whip, but what good was it if he never used it?

  It was one thing after a damn ’nother; now, all the two did was argue. Langston had stopped tap dancing around his big brother eons ago. They’d had a huge blow up and things were never the same after that. He’d lit into him like a camp fire, let him know he was usin’ Mom and Pop, wasn’t helpin’ nobody and getting in the way. It never made a damn bit of difference, so Langston kept his distance, especially after they’d come to blows last Christmas due to him sticking Mom and Pop with a big ass financial burden after he’d used Dad’s truck, got speeding tickets, and never even told anyone about them, let alone paid them.

  The front door opened and the screen door squeaked and slammed shut. The sound of plastic being rattled soon followed. He could tell by the slow, heavy gait it was his father. Langston smiled as he brought the last spoonful of beans to his mouth and relished it. Dad’s cologne instantly filled the room, as it always did. It was some cheap ten-dollar stuff, but it always smelled good on him, and the old guy had worn it for years—in fact, for as long as Langston could remember.

  “Laaaang.” Dad grabbed him in a half nelson, tossed the bag down, and chortled. “My boy! What are you doing here?” Dad removed his big tan cowboy hat and placed it on the counter, then removed his matching tan jacket, exposing a checkered white, black and dark red button-down shirt covering his broad torso.

  “Just thought I’d pop in.” He shrugged. “Come for a visit.”

  “He’s off today,” mom offered as she dried a glass and set it on the drying mat. “You’ve got a birthday coming up, too.” Mom winked at him and turned back around.

  “Thirty-one!” Dad exclaimed as if it were the age everyone was waiting for. The older man laughed and jangled his keys, then ran his wide, cinnamon-colored hand across his black hair, streaked with white and silver. “You wanna go to Bob’s Steak and Chop House or Longhorn again?”

  “Hmmm.” Langston pushed the now empty bowl and plate away. “I don’t know yet. Haven’t really thought about it actually.”

  “Well, you let us know.” Reaching into the plastic bag, Dad pulled out a large metal clip and a new, thick chain, then sat next to him at the table.

  “Hey, where is Barney, anyway? Usually he’s yelpin’ and runnin’ about.”

  Barney was his mother’s best friend, or at least, that’s what he and his brothers and sisters said when they teased her. He was old and his breed undetermined—a hodgepodge of different ones thrown together, no doubt. She seemed to love that dog more than anything or anyone in the whole world, but she was generous with her affections, so they didn’t give Mom too much grief about it.

  “Jacelyn has him… took him to her house last night. Said she wanted some company since Danny is back on the road.”

  Jacelyn was his youngest sister. They were only eleven months apart. She was short with light brown hair and black almond-shaped eyes, and skin the color of snow. A quiet woman, she loved animals just as much as Mom. Danny was her boyfriend, a trucker like their father. He was considerably older than her, but seemed to treat her well enough.

  “You heard from Anthony?” Anthony was the youngest of the five. He’d been in and out of jail for everything from stealing cars to punching a guy’s lights out, the man having been twice his size. He and Anthony got along pretty well, but the guy was a hothead and would slice a fucker faster than your head could spin.

  “Naw.” Mom seemed to stiffen up as she lit up a fresh cigarette. “I went and seen him last month, but he didn’t look right… lost a lot of weight. He gets out in five months. He keep promisin’ this the last time, but it never is.” His little brother was a well-known ‘member’ of the Elsa, Texas Inmate Stay-cation Lodge, better known as the county jail. “It’ll be a revolving door with that boy… he’ll find some other trouble to get into. He can’t seem to help himself.”

  “Mom, ain’t shit to do ’round here. He gets bored.”

  “That ain’t no excuse.” Dad’s unruly black brows furrowed as he wrapped the chain around his hands, pulled, then did it all over again.

  The older man looked pissed as a pig in no mud. Dad was one of those guys who looked scary, but inside, he was sweet as fresh buttermilk. Nevertheless, he too was known to have a quick temper when it came to bullshit. He was a straight shooter, born and raised in Texas. His parents were illegal immigrants who’d come over from Mexico to make a better life for themselves and they did just that. They’d worked hard, had a family and then obtained their citizenship.

  Dad had also worked hard all of his life. His hands were a map of cuts, bruises, and raised flesh that was tough from hard labor. He’d met his mother while in Houston with friends one weekend. He’d become determined to bring her back home, make her his, and that was just what he did. As per his confession, he had a thing for tall blondes, and Mom had been wild and free, stood 6’1 with great big blue eyes, an even bigger heart, and a gorgeous smile.

  Langston loved being around them—they still seemed so in love even after all of their years together.

  “I’m worried about Anthony. He can’t keep going in and out of there. He needs to get a trade or something. He needs to get outta Elsa, Dad.”

  Dad scoffed at his words.

  “Anthony will find trouble in a tumble weed, a laundry basket, and a bowl of beans!” Dad raised his voice as he pointed to the empty bowl sitting between them. “It don’t matter if his ass is in Elsa, Las Vegas, the North Pole, or in a nun’s convent! He will always get into some shit, Langston! It’s his way. Your brother is a loose cannon. It’s not my fault and it’s not your mother’s… it’s his. He needs to start takin’ accountability, show some responsibility. That’ll happen when Hell freezes over.”

  Dad laughed mirthlessly as he slid a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one. The older man leaned back in his chair and smiled after they shared a brief silence.

  “Beans and sausages for breakfast… you’ll eat anything. I used to call you my little garbage disposal,” Dad teased as he reached over and tapped his arm. His rough fingers along his tattooed skin felt oddly soothing. Langston loved his father in ways he could never fully express. He had the type of father many envied—a guy who worked hard to keep his family fed, regardless of the fact they’d grown up poor. They’d still had a roof over their head at all times, even though at times that roof leaked and buckets had to be set out to catch the water. His parents had always been able to make the bad times good; they smiled in the face of pain, and he’d learned to do the same.

  Langston got to his feet. “Well, I better get goin’. Gonna go on to the gym and tomorrow I have some extra hours so I’ll be on the streets for a while.”

  “All right.” Mom wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek.

  He kissed her back. “Thanks for breakfast, Mom.”

  She laughed and patted his back. “We both know it was your second one.”

  He nodded and smiled sheepishly.

  “Bye, son,” his dad said. “I’ll probably see you next week… gotta go out to Alabama for a few days.”

  “All right, Dad. Yeah, see you soon.”

  He waved to his father and left out the kitchen, then paused once again. Brit was fast asleep on the couch, snoring. Lying on her side, her large magenta shirt was slightly hiked up, exposing her pregnant belly. Strands of jet black hair fell in all directions and her rich, tan skin had a healthy glow, the cheeks looking as if they’d been pinched, showing a peachy hue. One arm hung lifelessly over the side of the couch while the other was cradled to her hip. Her lips were partially ajar.

  Stepping quietly towards her, he looked down and smiled. She was pregnant with his niece, a new baby for the family to dote on. After a few moments, he turned away and left out the door, feeling grateful for his family—every single one of them. They were all jewels, regardless of the fact that some hadn’t yet found their light…

  NOAH SAT IN front of her, scratching the sid
e of his scalp. His long, black hair was pulled taut in a low ponytail, affixed with one of her coveted hair ornaments. Right then, that was the least of Yasmine’s worries, though. Standing, she looked down at him with her arms crossed. They’d been getting along for an entire week; she should have known the good time would be squelched. It had been only a matter of time. Funny how that time had commenced right after the boy had just finished Skyping with his father. That man had a way of sucking the joy out of a room, a building, a block, an entire damn city. Wearing a pair of faded dark green jogging pants and a white T-shirt, the boy was fixated on his phone, sending texts, and scrolling in Instagram. Yasmine snatched it from him and started communicating in sign language.

  “Noah, it’s Saturday but that doesn’t mean you don’t have chores before you head out with your friends.”

  “Get off my back! I just finished cleaning the bathroom.” He hitched his thumb in the direction of the lavatory. His thick brows dipped as he spoke, the words choppy and out of tune, but he did it nevertheless as his fingers moved frantically. He was an excellent lip reader, but she signed to ensure he didn’t miss a word she said.

  “Cleaning the sink is not cleaning the bathroom. I will give you your phone back when the tub, toilet and mirror are cleaned and all of that stuff in there is picked up. Now go on.”

  The boy hissed like some enraged rattlesnake, then got up and stormed off, slamming the bathroom door behind himself. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then began to clean up the living room. She picked up magazines here and there, as well as paper plates her son hadn’t discarded. As she approached the kitchen trashcan, her cellphone rang. Plucking it out from her jeans pocket with a sigh, she answered.

  “Mornin’ Uncle Sonny…”

  I know he is about to ruin my entire damn day…

  “Heeey, baby girl! How are ya?”

  “We both know why you called. Get on with it.”