And I can. The assault on my nostrils hasn’t even hit my conscious brain yet. When it does, I want to know how? When? Where? Why?
“What was the reason?” A loud Cardi B meme shouts through my brain.
Who woke up one morning and said that’s my ticket to success: Fart Spray.
“I don’t even want to know the extent of these prankwars,” I say, walking toward the car. This is why the streets aren’t safe. Why I should have stayed my ass home.
I can barely appreciate that familiar smell of leather and vinyl when I get inside the El Camino. My nostrils are still adjusting. I’m not silent by choice; if anything, the trauma from actually tasting a fart makes me fearful to even say anything until I notice Manny passing the turn for my house.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I figured we could cruise for a bit. Get something to drink, maybe some air after the whole pedo thing.”
“I just don’t get why a spray like that even exists.” I shudder.
“Who knows why half the things we don’t need exist?” Manny laughs before turning up the stereo.
I watch the neighborhood pass by through the window as Shining Star by the Manhattans plays in the background. It was one of my dad’s favorite songs. Naturally, I try not to get emotional, but it’s been a long day. I’m emotionally drained from my indecisiveness, and the exhaustion from attempting to get ready, just to be met by no Junior, and a fart bomb blowing up in my face. I want to cry, but instead I just laugh. And it’s the manic kind where you can’t stop.
Manny turns and looks at me, his brow arched. A few tears come out before I can catch my breath and let out a sigh.
“I’m sorry, I’m just—this was my dad’s favorite song,” I say, settling on telling him the breaking point of my laughing.
“Do you want to talk about it? I can change the song.”
“No, I just... Give me a moment,” I say, drying my eyes and shaking my head. “Sorry, I must look fucking crazy.”
“Not at all,” Manny says as he pulls the car into a large parking lot with several food trucks. “How bout I go order us something to eat, and when I come back, if you want to talk about it, we can, and if not, that’s okay too.”
“Okay,” I say, and he gives me a soft smile before he walksto stand in line. I grab my phone in a panic and dial 9-1-1. And by 9-1-1, I mean Maricela.
“Bueno.”
“Hey, it’s me, Isabel.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” She mocks. I can hear the loud music in the background.
“I don’t have a lot of time,” I say, looking at Manny moving up quickly in line at the taco truck.
“I did it. I came to Manny’s, but then Junior wasn’t there. There was a fart bomb, so he took me to get something to eat. I feel guilty now, like maybe this is wrong, you know, because he’s Juan Carlos’s best friend.”
“A fart bomb? What?”
“Never mind that. What do I do?”
“I think you’re overthinking this,” she says calmly.
“Well, what do I do now?”
“I don’t know, Isa, maybe eat some tacos, or let him eat your taco?” She laughs, and I cut her off.
“There will be no eating of my taco. Come on, Mari. I’m on the verge of a panic attack.”
“Okay. Okay. Just let the conversation flow, it’s Manny. You’ve known him your whole life. You’re the one making it weird. And Juan Carlos had his chance. He ruined it. So, who the fuck cares what he thinks?”
She’s right. I am making the weird. And also, fuck Juan Carlos. He had spent months growing his roster while ignoring his own son. He doesn’t deserve my concern.
I look into the mirror and start cleaning up my mascara. There was no reason I couldn’t enjoy whatever this was with Manny. I take a deep breath.
