A Word from Ariceli

     Who can know why things in life happen the way that they do? I have a guilty pleasure in bad TV, particularly the show....
The Bachelor. The cheesy music, fake drama, and manufactured romances all just do something amazing for me. Ironically, the idea that you could go on national TV and compete against 25 other people for what’s supposed to be the love of your life doesn’t strike me as strange. Far-fetched, sure; but people find love in libraries, break-rooms at work, the cereal aisles, at fundraisers; or, like in No Loose Ends, at the employment office. The key to lasting love, in my humble opinion, is finding someone who’s goals and ambition, maybe even just their energy level, is on par with yours. Travis Smith, from No Loose Ends fame, meets a sweet, witty, sexy Latina who is focused and motivated by forces he can’t understand (but is helplessly drawn to anyway).

     Ariceli appears delicate, but has seen more and experienced scenes that have molded her into the driven machine that she can sometimes be. Little Able (her only child, and son of a slain gang member) is her life. While she wants a father-figure for her baby-boy, choosing another love that could be taken away gives her pause. But there I go blabbing again; here’s Ariceli in her own words:

     I’m a Reno girl, whaa whaat! And that’s alright, I guess, but I felt myself slipping into the dead-end trap so many chicas out here fall in. It had been two years since Able Sr. (or Rabbit, as his homies called him) let those same homies take him out of our lives. I was back at home with Mamá and Papá giving Little Able (my baby) a bath; watching his Barney Rubble feet kick and splash while he had a Hot Wheels monster derby in the bubbles. He loved to crash his Hot Wheels with the big, red truck Travis bought him when he found out I had a son. I mixed the warm water with the same lavender baby-wash I used to use when Able was a tiny baby.

     It felt like a trip in a time machine. I could see my beautiful baby boy, with his silky, jet-black hair and tight little fists, splashing water all over the sink. Rabbit used to have really nice hair, too. Before he decided to jump into “street life” fulltime, he was sweet; with thick, shiny hair, and his moustache was just filling in. We all hung out at this bus-stop close to a 7-Eleven in Sparks, NV, and used to smoke and get people to buy us beers. Then I got pregnant, and all that changed for me. Able changed, too; he hung more at “the spot”, and began talking his little homies into doing all kinds of mischief. He became the leader of their little crew; and then he came home bald. It was a bad sign.

     We lived together in a cramped little apartment not too far from “the spot”, and Rabbit started bringing home all the stuff his little homies were stealing and robbing from people. I thought the police would get Rabbit before anyone else. Mamá came over a couple of times, and convinced me that I had to do more than sit around and give babies to a man like this. I listened, and started school when I was six months pregnant with Little Able. I knew it was only a matter of time until Rabbit got himself in trouble. One day, I had a test, and we finished early. So, I caught a ride home with Maria, a girl from my class. (I usually rode the bus, but after my little man started moving and kicking in there, bus rides were the worst.) I almost had her drop me off at the 7-Eleven because I was embarrassed of the ghetto-ass apartment complex we were living in; but, my feet were throbbing, so I had her take me all the way home. I could tell she felt sorry for me, but I was going to school to make a better life for me and my baby; I didn’t care about her pity.

     But you’ll never guess what happened as I’m waddling up the stairs. Ok, so I’m short of breath and holding the raggedy bannister, and I hear the locks on my door open. I’m thinking, “Gracias Dios, Rabbit is coming to help me;” and, instead, he’s kissing some little tramp goodbye out of our house. They’re both all smiling and giggling, like puppy love, until he sees me and starts his bullshit explaining. I’m so tired, I can’t even scream. I just start crying and trying to get away from him.

     “Ariceli, I’m sorry… Chula, let me explain…” Ugh! I still get so angry. I wasn’t going to bring my baby into that situation. My Papá, who wasn’t really an Able Sr. fan to begin with, was there in an instant and moved me back home so I could finish school and have my baby surrounded by love. My Mamá loved it! You would have thought she gave birth to my handsome man. She took him everywhere to show him off. Her new grandchild gave her new life. It was a blessing when I had to study and pour through research labs, but I took my baby back at bath-time. We played and sang silly songs while I scrubbed his toes and his armpits, and taught him English and Spanish.

     I missed Able at first, but Papá forbade me from seeing him; no phones or visits. And when I took Little Able to meet his abuela Rosa (Able’s mother), Papá would stay in the living-room the whole time, watching novellas and making sure Able Sr. didn’t sneak in (somehow) to see me.

     It was the night before finals, and I was giving Little Able his bath. Travis and I were only friends at the time, and the house-phone rang pretty late. I heard Papá’s heavy footsteps go to the phone. He was watching the news, like always, and hated people calling the house after dinnertime. I was singing the Apples and Bananas song with Able, but I tried to listen to see if Papá was going to go off on the telemarketer; he gets mad and starts cussing in English and Spanish. I couldn’t hear anything, so I toweled off Little Able and kissed his nose. I had just wrapped him up like a burrito, and used the loose flap to muss his hair, and Papá was in the bathroom’s doorframe with a grave look on his face. Then my Mamá was by his side, and Able cheered for her.

     “¡Abuela! Abuelita,” he cheered. “Abuela likes to eat, eat, eat,…” he sang and clapped, and my parents smiled sadly at their grandchild. I looked at Papá for a sign.

     “Come here, mejo,” she said, and scraped Able up. “Your Mommy and Abuelo have to talk.”

     My father told me the phone call he had just got was from one of Able Sr.’s uncles. He had been shot and killed by some youngsters from a rival gang. I felt sadness, but not because I was still in love, or wanted him; I cried for his mother. Then, as I really thought about it, it made me really sad for Little Able. Now he would never have the chance to know the other half of his history.

     Travis has been the only man in Able’s life, besides my Papá. He loves my son, and you should see them together… Able loves him; which is why I’m so afraid. He thinks I don’t know. I don’t have every detail figured out, but I’ve seen enough to know there’s more going on than he’s telling me. His past, his loyalty to his family back in the Bay Area… he’s too easy going, too easy to talk to; too smart for his own good. And his eyes... When he looks at me, when those big brown eyes are focused just on me, I feel naked and open. He looks through my defenses, through my doubts, through my objections, and sees to my core. It feels like the air is sucked out of the room. My palms get sweaty, and my stomach dances at the thought of being touched.

     He thinks he can keep it all inside, but nobody is that strong. I can tell by the way he holds me (soft, like I’m delicate, but squeezing me like he never wants to let go) that he needs me. When his strong hands are on my body, or his big, full nose nuzzles my neck, everything inside of me goes cuckoo. I love his lips when we kiss, or he’s talking about his plans. He always wears light, fresh smells; bright and clean, like he’s just showered. Sometimes, I don’t want to know. I don’t want to think he’s selling drugs or doing anything that could take him away from us; but how else could he afford to have all of this. I know he runs a tire stop; but there’s my house, his house, the cars, the cash he makes me put in that stupid shoe-box. I’m not stupid. One job can’t afford all of that.

     Maybe he owns it, and just doesn’t want to tell me, but that doesn’t make sense. We met at the employment office about a year ago, both applying for jobs. In a year after prison, with his cousin’s help, he’s… well, let’s just say he’s done great for himself. I feel myself falling for this man; but do I listen to my body that craves his beautiful brown skin next to, on top of, and inside of me? Or the million sirens and alarms that keep telling me to be cautious, and maybe even consider running away? I want to be open to having a life with Travis, but there’s no way I’ll go down that road again; even for a man I love.

Ariceli