Muerte Con Carne (4 page)

Felix put the car in drive and continued down the road.

Marta looked up, tears riding the creases on either side of her nose to the corners of her mouth. “What are you doing?”

“We’re going. You don’t have to say another word about it, okay? I get it.” Felix clenched his teeth as they pulled onto the highway. It killed him to see her hurt so bad, and though he wasn’t lying-he was going to help her-the whole idea still felt crazy to him. Suicidal. At least knowing why she wanted to do it helped the logic of the whole thing, but Felix hated the idea.

But I love her. I love her so goddamn much, and if she wants this, then I’m with her.

He glanced over at her and she was hugging herself, leaned against the passenger window. It was clear that telling him about her parents took a lot out of her, so he figured he would just remain quiet until she was comfortable. His hand coasted toward the radio, but he stopped himself, thought a little silence might be good for the both of them.

***

“I need to pee.” Marta had fallen asleep at some point, but didn’t remember doing it. The side of her face ached from where it was pressed up against the passenger window.

“Welcome back,” Felix said, his smile wide and loving. “Dream about me?”

She snickered, stretched. “How long was I out for?”

“At least a few hours. Were snoring and everything. I’d say we’re damn near halfway there.”

Halfway there? Did I really sleep that long?

A yawn stretched her face, and she leaned back. The nap felt good. After sleeping maybe a couple of hours the night before, any amount of shut-eye was welcome. “I really do need to pee, though.”

“I’ll pull off at the next exit. I could use some more coffee too.”

Something tickled her ankle, and Marta found the bag still half-filled with donuts on the floorboard. She pulled one out, and even though it was cold, bit into it.

“Hungry?” Felix raised an eyebrow.

“What makes you think so?” She let glaze flakes purposefully puff out of her mouth as she spoke.

“Your pig-like demeanor gave it away.”

She pushed her nose up with her finger and chewed the donut with an open mouth. “Kiss me, Felix.”

And he did. Quick as a rattlesnake, his mouth darted toward hers. She laughed at first, but he held the kiss, and she let go of her nose, closed her mouth, and kissed back.

He pulled away, sugar and bits of dough on his lips and chin. “Mmmm.”

Marta blushed, fanned herself off with her hand. “Is it hot in here?”

They both chuckled, stealing glances at each other like teenagers with a crush.

This guy really likes me, she thought as she studied the side of his face. He’s putting himself in danger for me and he only just now found out why.

Marta didn’t know if she was more flattered or frightened by it. She had never let anyone get too close to her, and she never really knew why. Probably some fucked up psychological disorder that was going untreated because she refused to seek any professional help. Never had an actual relationship before, just boy toys as she liked to call them. But Felix was different. There was something there, something she’d never felt with anyone else.

It was moments like this, when she found it hard to even look at him without blushing, without having her stomach tingle so hard it felt like worms writhing in her belly, that she started to close down. When the bitch in her started to come out.
But not now
, she told herself.
Be nice, Marta.

Felix drove his Ford Focus off the highway and pulled into a Citgo. “Might as well fill it up while we’re here,” he said as he stopped beside a gas pump.

“Okay, whatever. My bladder’s about to pop.” She noted her tone, so she flashed him a quick smile.

The second the car stopped, she was out of the passenger door and speed-walking toward the store.

“Grab anything you want, and I’ll be in in a minute,” Felix called.

She threw a thumbs up over her shoulder and waddled through the swinging glass doors. The store smelled of old grease and cooking meat. Two obese women wearing plastic gloves and hairnets stood behind the counter, one of them tossing paper-wrapped sandwiches under a heat lamp on the counter.

“Restroom?” Marta said, bouncing from one foot to the other.

The squishy-looking white woman pointed across the store with her silver tongs. “El baño for customers only.”

El baño? Bitch, did I speak Spanish to you?

It was people like this that were the problem in Marta’s opinion, that saw Mexicans as a nuisance, cockroaches scurrying about on their white-only, freshly-polished floors. The woman’s annoyance was obvious, and she wouldn’t so much as look Marta in the face.

Marta felt her face turning red and she fought back the temptation to grab the woman by her wiggling waddle and slam her fat head into the counter. She curled her hands into fists and started toward her.

“Can I help you, sweetie?” the other employee said. She stepped between Marta and her fat co-worker and gave Marta a warm smile. She leaned in toward Marta and whispered, “Don’t mind that cranky old hag.”

“I heard that, Joyce.”

“Well ain’t that what ears’re for?”

Ms. Crankyhag tossed her tongs to the counter and stormed off. “Ed’s gonna hear ‘bout this, you know it? He’s gonna hear ‘bout it right now.” She stomped into a small office and picked up the telephone.

Joyce rolled her eyes, chuckled. “Ed’s my husband. That woman ain’t got no kinda sense.”

Marta had nearly forgotten that she was about to piss herself. She forced a smile. “Thank you. But I’m about to wet my pants here.”

Joyce put her hand to her chest and guffawed as she pulled a key off the counter and handed it to Marta. It was connected to a rubber chicken. “Go on, honey. Right past the soda cooler.”

“Thank you. I’ll buy one of your sandwiches when I’m done.”

“Wouldn’t recommend it, honey. Probably got tire-pressed possum in ‘em.”

Marta snorted as she rushed through the candy isle and past the coolers. She relieved herself, sighing as she sat on the toilet, not bothering to wipe the seat down beforehand. After washing her hands, she walked back out to find Felix at the register, already chewing on the sandwich he’d bitten into.

Marta handed the rubber chicken key to Joyce who eyed the back of Felix’s head and shot Marta a mischievous grin.

“How is it?” Marta said.

“It’s a…it’s good.” He widened his eyes and lightly shook his head. “Tasty.”

Joyce and Marta laughed together, and just then, the other woman stepped back out. Her face was pinched, glowing pink, and she scowled at all three of them before shuffling off to the other side of the store.

Joyce snorted. “She makes ‘em at home, brings ‘em in. Don’t nobody ever buy those things.” She patted Felix on the arm. “Honey, if I’da known you were with this pretty little thing, I woulda warned ya.”

Felix forced the chewed-up mystery food down his throat, politely smiled as Joyce and Marta shared another laugh.

Marta’s stomach growled. “Any good places to eat around here?”

“Diner up the road a ways. Pretty decent food. Good coffee,” Joyce said as she rang up Felix for the gas and sandwich.

Marta patted Felix on the stomach. “What do you say? Take a little break from driving?”

“Sure. Good coffee was all I had to hear. Anything to wash down the roadkill burger I just swallowed.”

“I heard that!”

Joyce snorted, shook her head. “Tell ‘em Joyce sent you. Won’t get no discount, but they won’t stir your coffee with their peckers, know what I mean?”

Marta thanked her again as she pulled Felix along. The diner was less than a mile away, and they pulled in, sat at a booth by the window.

“Nice woman back there, huh?”

“I almost slapped that other one. Racist fucking bitch.”

“I won’t ask.”

A young girl strolled toward them, wiping her hands on her apron. There was one man sitting at the counter, sipping coffee and peering at Marta and Felix over his newspaper, clearly uncomfortable to share his restaurant space with a couple of Hispanics. Marta fought the urge to flip him the bird. Besides him, Marta and Felix were the only customers there.

They put in their orders: Felix a burger and fries and Marta chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes, everything smothered in country gravy. Felix dropped Joyce’s name, and the waitress didn’t acknowledge it. She put on a forced smile, then walked off.

“You like pecker in your coffee?” Felix said.

“Only non-dairy pecker.”

The waitress brought them their coffee, and they both sipped their mugs, not saying anything. Marta thought Felix might be at a loss for words after her little break down in the car. She thought it might be therapeutic to say all of that out loud, to get it off her chest and let someone else know. But she still felt the same, maybe even a little worse.

“Thank you,” she said, reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “Really, thank you.”

“For what?”

“Don’t be stupid. For coming out here with me. I’m glad you’re here.”

He blushed, tried to hide it behind his cup as he took another swig of coffee. “I won’t lie to you. I’m scared…for both of us. I wish you would change your mind. But if this is important to you, then I’m with you. You mean too much to me for me to just let you go alone.”

The way he looked at her after he said it made Marta pull her hand away. She awkwardly scratched the back of her neck, smiled. “Well thanks. This would definitely suck to do alone.”

Their food arrived, and Marta shoved the crispy steak around with her fork. The gravy was too runny with clumps in it that reminded her of vomit. She used her knife to scrape away the gravy, cut a piece of steak, and popped it into her mouth. Though it was way overcooked, it was decent enough and she was hungry enough that she ate it. Felix took a bite from his burger, wrinkled his brow, opened it up and poured ketchup into it. When her stomach was full, she slid the plate away and burped.

“Well that sucked.”

Felix wiped his mouth with his napkin as he nodded, finished off his coffee. “Ready to get moving?”

Marta didn’t know if she was. This was it. They were only a couple hours away from it now. After all these years of preparing for this moment, all the sleepless nights. It was finally going to happen. She suddenly found it hard to breathe as she nodded to Felix and headed outside toward the car.

“You all right?”

“Fine. Can I drive?”

He shrugged. “Sure, if you want. Guess I could use one of those naps myself.”

She had her hand out, waiting for him to throw the keys to her. When he just stood there staring at her, giving her that look again, she stomped her foot, waved her hand. “Well?”

“Okay okay. Here you go.” He tossed her the keys underhand, muttered something under this breath.

She had the car started and was already rolling away before Felix had shut his door.

She thought about the letter from her parents, could still remember the excitement she felt when she tore the envelope open. The envelope was yellow, she remembered that, with some black fingerprints on it that she had imagined were her mother’s. She had kept it, the letter tucked safely inside, but somewhere along the line had misplaced it. She never forgave herself for that, for losing the last thing her parents ever gave her.

Marta would wait up as a child, staring out her bedroom window as if her mom and dad would just walk up the drive, ring the doorbell, and take her away. They never came. Every new home she was forced to go to, she would wait for them, and they never showed. She spent a lot of her teenage years hating them, wishing they were dead, and it wasn’t until she became an adult that she realized they probably were.

She swung the Focus back toward the highway, shuffled through the radio stations until she found some alternative rock, and wiped the tear away that crawled down her cheek.

3

Felix couldn’t sleep at first, but had leaned his seat back and pretended to be asleep. His headache had dissipated some, but still lingered. He could tell Marta was in no mood for company, so he just left her alone, turned his back to her, and closed his eyes.

There might be a lot on her mind, but her tantrums, the instantaneous mood swings were finally starting to piss him off. He’d grown used to this kind of thing over time, but she had been thanking him for coming with her, was holding his hand, only to go silent and get that you’re-fucking-annoying look every time he said or did anything. And in the diner, staring into her eyes, her hand resting on his, he nearly popped the question right then and there. What could possibly be more romantic than proposing with a belly full of shitty food and surrounded by racists?

He could tell this was going to take some strategic timing, and it only intensified his anxiety about it.
Maybe I just won’t do it. Maybe I should wait until all of this shit is over.

Not a bad plan, really. Whatever was waiting for them in the upcoming days of doing this documentary was sure to only bring them closer together. That’s what he hoped anyway.

Once he got his mind to stop racing, sleep started peeling strips of his consciousness away. He rested his head against the door and drifted off.

***

“Hey.”

He startled awake, his leg flinching and colliding with the bottom of the dash. In his dream, he had proposed to her, and she had said yes. Her smile had been so big in the dream, bigger than he’d ever seen in real life, and she had kissed him. They were just about to make love when the harsh tapping on his shoulder pulled him from his fantasy.

“We’re here.” She pursed her lips, raised her eyebrows. They pulled into the small parking lot of a ratty looking motel. Dust seemed to cover everything in sight. The town looked to be in the middle of the desert, dry bushes and cacti sprouting from the dirt all over.

He sat up, adjusted the seat so it was upright. The sun was just going down, melting down in the distance like spilled orange juice on the horizon.