CHAPTER 12
RAUL
…18 years old
It's been three months since Dad and I finally got our own place. It's a dingy old trailer, but it's ours. It took a year and a half of running jobs, taking odd work, and scraping together every dollar we could, but we bought it outright. At last, we have a place to call home. I even have my own room again.
Still, weirdly enough, I miss staring at the ceiling in Diego's room, talking about whatever came to mind.
Things have been tense with him ever since that kid died.
Turns out Marcelus had been given some shitty product by our main supplier, B. The pill we passed along was laced with fentanyl and a cocktail of cheap chemicals. We pushed the pills back after that. They threatened us for not holding up our end and selling them, but eventually they backed off. I think they were more afraid of Diego turning them in than anything else. He was the one who took it the hardest.
I don't blame him.
Diego's heart has always been too big for this world. He carries that kid's death like it belongs to him, even though it doesn't.
But things are different now. Not just between us, now that we're no longer dealing or living together. Diego is different too. Quieter. More withdrawn. He keeps himself locked away from everyone, and I hate it.
I need to reach out.
I pull out my phone and type a text.
Hey man!
A few moments pass before it dings back.
¿Qué bolá, cuz?
Unpacking. Come over? Wanna see the new place?
On my way.
I go back to putting together my new bed frame when Diego knocks on the metal door.
"Come in!"
He steps inside with a small bag in his hand.
"DJ, what's in the bag?" I ask.
His grin spreads wide, and he pulls out a box of brownie mix and a box of yellow cake mix.
"Oh, shit." I laugh before I can stop myself.
Diego and I used to scrounge up loose change just to buy both boxes from the dollar store for an after-school snack when we had the munchies too bad to ignore.
"I figured we could use this to christen the place."
He sets the boxes on the counter and jumps in to help me hoist the mattress onto the bed frame.
And just like that, it feels like no time has passed at all. We're two kids again, laughing over a messy cake-brownie hybrid, throwing clothes into drawers, and pretending the world outside doesn't exist. No drugs. No money. No guilt. Just us.
Dad walks in a while later while we're cutting into our sweet disaster from the past.
"Hey, boys."
"Hey, Uncle Ernie!" Diego calls, mouth full of cake and a spoon still in his hand.
