The Barrio.

“How was your day?” Claire jumped ten feet in the air and whipped around to be greeted with a laughing Ramon. She playfully reached out and punched his arm.
“You need to stop doing that!” She giggled and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. “And it was…fine. I think I have a headache from all the Spanish.”
He smiled. “You’re going to have to learn eventually. Maybe I could…give you a lesson some time?”
“Oh. Sure. Yes!” Claire stared at him, mortified that she was so eager. “I mean, that would be nice.” She turned away from him and started to walk back to the bus stop.
He reached out and grabbed her arm. “Wait. I have to walk to work. I’m a chef at a restaurant.
My shift isn’t that long, and I could probably, y’know, make you something and we could…talk.”
Claire hesitated. “It’s alright.” She said delicately, looking down at her hands, “I think I should go home instead.” She looked up and a wave of guilt washed over her. She tried to believe she was imagining the disappointment on his face, though she didn’t think she was. “Ramon, I’m sorry-“
He waved his hands and cut her off. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have asked. You probably have better things to do.” He stood there for a moment, “Well, bye.” He turned and went to cross the street.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” Claire called desperately.
Ramon turned around and answered distractedly, “Yeah, sure.”
He walked around the corner, past scrubby brush and adobe houses. Claire was left with her shoulders slumped, feeling terrible. She knew she would get in trouble if she went with Ramon without permission, but she couldn’t explain the feeling of longing of wanting to go with him and the loss she felt when he left.
Kicking dirt up, she shuffled back to the bus stop. The only thing that had changed since the morning was that this time, she was alone.

She didn’t want to go into her own house. Claire blankly stared at the gecko sunbathing on the first stair leading to the aluminum trailer home. She dreaded taking one step through the crucifix-clad door, knowing that when she did, the last bit of happiness the day had left her would vanish. She would be violently sucked in to the whirlwind of lies, disappointment and unhappiness that her home had come to be these days. She most desperately wanted to stay outside and soak up the sun’s warm rays, get the tan she never had; run away forever; or find Ramon and stay with him for the rest of the day, or better yet, the rest of her life. She knew she was being rash, and these were petty fairytales, but they provided some small comfort as she drew in a breath and marched straight into what was once her home, carefully avoiding the gecko as it scurried away.
The obnoxious sounds of a game show were the first things that greeted her. Then the stench of booze. A worn frown made its way onto her face as she heard her father.
“Summer!” he bellowed with the class that only a drunk man could possess. Claire rolled her eyes, set her shoulders back, and strode into the screened in patio that her father was oh so fond of.
Her eyes lingered on the four empty beer cans littered across the floor, then made her way to the man strewn across the couch. His hair was long, besides a balding spot, his eyes were bloodshot and his beard was unshaven.
“It’s Claire. What do you need?” She said monotonously, not bothering with pleasantries. Her father wouldn’t have responded even if she had.
“Pretty little Claire. Get your Daddy two more beers, would yah?”
She took two deep breaths through her nose to prevent herself from storming into the kitchen. Creating a scene would only make things worse. Instead, she tiptoed her way through the disgusting and messy maze which was her house. She reached the old and familiar refrigerator and made sure to push the door in before pulling because it always got stuck otherwise.
The shelves were bare, which was a bleak thing being a hungry teenager. But the wave of frustration didn’t wash over her due to the lack of food, it was the lack of beer. Only one can. She would get in trouble for this.
Claire grabbed the cold can and walked back to porch and decided to play dumb. If she didn’t say anything, he probably wouldn’t notice. She handed him the beer, cringing when their fingertips touched. He didn’t seem to notice anything, so celebrating victory Claire tried to hightail it out of there, but was stopped by sweaty fingers clamped around her wrist.
“I told you to get me two.” He growled, and his grip tightened.
“There was only one Dad.” She said, equally formidable. “Let me go.” They continued to stare at each other, a showdown of sorts, until Claire had had enough. “That was the last one in the fridge. Unless you want to get off the couch and check, there’s nothing else I can do for you.”
Sensing defeat, her father reluctantly let go.
On her way out, she heard a meek: “Sorry.”
The apology could’ve been for his drinking. For his absentness. For putting all the responsibility on her mother’s, his wife’s, shoulders. It could’ve been for gripping her arm too tightly.
Whatever it was for, it didn’t matter to Claire. Because that was the hard part. His never-ending apologies.
But what was harder was the fact that each time, a small part of Claire’s heart forgave him.