Muerte Con Carne Read Free Page A

himself up, puckered his lips.
    Marta forced herself not to roll her eyes as she kissed him again. “See you later.” And then she escaped, got free of the cinnamon-scented apartment, strolled quickly through the small parking lot to her rusted ‘89 Beetle.
    There was a half-drank Sprite Zero in the cup holder, and even though it was warm, she took a long swig. She studied herself in the rearview, stuck her tongue out at her reflection. She jammed the key into the ignition, but before turning it she glanced back across the parking lot toward Felix’s door, paused there for a moment.
    Go home, Marta.
    She started the car, turned the volume down on the radio before it had a chance to spit sounds at her. Her head throbbed and she thought a little silence might do her good. So much to think about. Her mind raced, full of uncertainties as to what was to come in the next couple of nights. Even though she had her doubts, her fears, she knew there was no way around it, knew it had to be done. Years of planning, and it was finally going to happen.
    She couldn’t tell which emotion was the strongest-fear or excitement.
    The drive home was a blur, and before she knew it, she was parked at the curb in front of her duplex. The people on side B were partying again, bass pounding from their side, rap lyrics muffled by the walls. Marta thought about calling the cops, but it never did her any good in the past, so she just clenched her teeth and walked quickly to her door.
    Her place smelled of mildew, the same dirty towel scent she had grown used to. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly where the smell was coming from or what was causing it. And never got around to calling the landlord to fix it. She stepped over discarded, soiled clothing and food boxes until she reached her desk. Leaned down and powered up the computer. The computer was old, took a while to start up. Marta leaned back in the green plastic lawn chair, massaged her temples. Her thigh vibrated, and she pulled out her cell phone, clicked her tongue as she glared at the display.
    Felix: U sure u don’t wanna stay? I miss you already.
    “Uhhh!” She nearly tossed her phone, but couldn’t risk breaking it, set it down on a pile of papers. The bass from next door rattled her wall, and she saw that the one photo she had hung up was already knocked over, lying face down on the carpet. “Motherfuckers.”
    The computer was still struggling to turn on, and she slapped the monitor before trudging across the living room toward the photo. She picked it up, sighed with relief that the glass hadn’t broken. She ran her fingertip across the faces of her mother and father. This is when the tears usually started. But not now, not today. Today she felt something else as she stared at her parents: anger.
    There were only snippets of memories of either one of them. Her mother more than her father, though she thought she could remember his smile. He wasn’t smiling in the picture. He looked more confused than anything, as if whoever took this photo took him by surprise.
    But she remembered how her mother would hold her, kiss the top of her head, scratch the back of her neck. She hadn’t seen either one of them in over twenty years. Nobody had.
     
    ***
     
    Felix downed the rest of his beer as he pulled a fresh one from the fridge. He slammed the empty bottle on the counter and slid it toward the others. The bottle hit them, knocked them over like brown, glass dominoes, two of them falling off the counter and shattering.
    “Fuck.” He chugged half of the beer in his hand before grabbing the hand broom and dust pan under his sink. His eyes darted to his cell phone again, but the display was still blank. Still no response from Marta. It was only a few hours ago she was hugged up on him, kissing him, giggling and flirty. She was the one who initiated the sex. So what the fuck is her problem?
    He swept up the glass, tossed it tinkling into the plastic trash can, then wiped up the tiny puddles