Page 18 of Hurricane Love

“I figured with you being an almost-lawyer, you’d done your research.”

“You can tell me about it if you want. Or not,” Wylie said.

There was a beat of silence, during which time Diego contemplated getting intoall that.It was painful, still, and it revealed a side of himself he didn’t like to face. Sharing it meant they were going to be friends, because Diego didn’t open up about that shit with just anyone. Instinct told him Wylie was worth the risk and that he could be trusted to keep his confidence.

“I was a bad kid. Didn’t listen, didn’t like school, didn’t join up with any clubs or sports. My mom tried, but we’ve always had a difficult relationship. By the time I got to high school, I was really sick of it all. Skipped class more than I went, which lasted until junior year. Then I dropped out to work full-time. I’d already gotten into some stuff–weed, whippits, LSD–but the guy who hired me to lay flooring, he’s the one who introduced me to the coke and the pills.” Diego paused there, remembering the first time Todd had brought out the little baggie of cocaine and the credit card he used to cut lines, so casual about it, like having a beer after work.

“He offered me a bump one day during our lunch break. I was seventeen at the time and didn’t give a shit about anyone but myself. So, I said yeah, why not, and it was like an epiphany for me. Like seeing God or some shit. That shit felt so good. Too good.Dangerouslygood. One time and it was like, I’d fallen in love.” Diego figured that was what love must feel like, an all-powerful cocktail of endorphins and desire, one that erased everything else, or at the very least, relegated it to a category of less importance. Both love and cocaine made you sayand do some crazy shit. He turned to Wylie. “You ever tried coke?”

“No, too broke. That’s some upper middle-class shit right there.”

Diego nodded, relieved to hear it. “Don’t try it. That shit will take over your life and ruin everything that’s good about it. Anyway, from there, things escalated fast. My boss was my supplier, which cut into what I was bringing home. I was living with my uncle because my mom had kicked me out. During the week, I held it down, but on the weekends, I was just…out of control. I should have been arrested for some of the shit I was doing.”

“Like what?”

“Driving while high. Stealing, mainly from my mom, but sometimes from the job site. Todd Mevis, that was my boss, he was doing too. One time, the owner noticed, and Todd blamed one of his workers. The guy lost his work visa and got deported back to his home country. Shit was fucked up.”

“Good ol’ Todd sounds like a real asshole,” Wylie remarked.

“He was. Selfish, greedy, manipulative. And even with the decent income I was making, I was always broke, snorting it all up my nose. My uncle knew something was up, but I just denied, denied, denied. We were working at this mansion on the beach, a fancy-as-fuck floor with Brazilian cherrywood, fishtail pattern. It was a work of art, seriously, and Todd made some offhand comment about there being a safe or some shit in the guy’s closet that was probably packed with gold bars…” Diego shook his head. He’d been so naive back then. “I was fucking dumb and desperate to get this asshole’s approval. I don’t know why.”

“Because he was a predator,” Wylie said sharply, sounding pissed on Diego’s behalf.

“Todd told me to take his gun, just in case there was trouble. If there was anything good, he wanted a cut. The weekend after we finished up the job, I went back to the house late at night. I brought one of my cousins with me for backup. Another stupididea. The owner wasn’t supposed to be there, but he was, and he was armed.”

“Shit, man.”

Diego remembered his surprise at encountering the man in his bedroom, lying calmly in bed with a gun trained on them both. He must have known from the moment they broke in through a window downstairs what was up.

“I dropped the gun, but he shot at us anyway, clipped my cousin in the arm. Thank God it wasn’t worse. The cops came, and we were both arrested. I got charged with armed robbery and possession of a stolen firearm. I had some drugs on me too.”

“Stolen firearm?”

“Yeah, that’s what Todd told them, that I’d stolen it out of his truck. He’d been running this racket for a while. Stealing shit and pinning it on his workers. He was like this big Chamber of Commerce business man, so they believed him.”

“Man, that is fucked up. What happened to your cousin?”

“He was under eighteen, unarmed, and had a clean record, so he got off with probation.” That was one good outcome, that his cousin hadn’t had to suffer the same consequences. “His parents shipped him off to military school. He’s in the Navy now, stationed on a submarine somewhere in the North Pole. He sent my mom a picture of a polar bear, which was pretty badass, but we haven’t kept in touch, not with me being in prison and all.”

“Did you have a lawyer?”

“Yeah, we both did. Someone my uncle hired. I plead guilty, took the lesser charge, ten-year minimum.”

“Damn.”

“I deserved it.” Diego could remember his mother crying the night he came home after his uncle posted bail, a quiet, muffled sound that he rarely heard. She was pretty good at holding it together, even though it seemed like he’d been a disappointment to her since the day he was born.

“My mom and I were never very close, and we aren’t on great terms now,” Diego admitted. She’d visited him in prison prettyregularly, but it was always with the same list of questions–had he gone to church and was he getting enough to eat? Was he still working toward his GED? Even her updates on the family were slightly depressing because they only served to remind him that everyone on the outside was living their lives–going to school, getting married and having children, starting their careers. But not him. She always came with a bit of scripture to pray over with him too. Maybe she’d meant for it to be motivational, but there was always an undercurrent of judgement and the need to repent. It got so that Diego began to dread her visits.

“You did your time though,” Wylie said. “Everyone deserves a second chance, don’t you think?”

“I was given several chances.”

“You know what I mean.”

Diego took a deep breath, trying to get to the root of it all. It was impossible to separate who he was from what he did because it was all wrapped up together in the same shit sandwich. “There’s this tension when I’m around my family, even now. Like they’re just watching and waiting for me to screw up.” Diego leaned forward and buried his head in his hands. The weight of their expectations felt oppressive at times. Even with his uncle, with whom he was closest, there was always a wariness to their interactions. Everything he did, or didn’t do, felt like a test. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s all in my head.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder, a gentle pressure that served to both reassure and ground him, just like that night at the pit.