Secret Hung the Gold

Ernesto leaned against his locker, waiting patiently. The crowd filed to fit through the doors and he stared into the crowd, looking for only one person.
He wanted to see her face, that look she gets whenever he is near. It is a look of caution more than of fear. Her lengthy brown hair, pulled into a loose bun to show her long, slender neck. Her perfectly tanned skin, like the sun was too afraid to burn her. Her thin, pink lips which today matched her peach colored shirt. Ernesto couldn’t really explain what it was; just that everything about her is so...
So damn perfect.
“Looking for me?”
Ernesto looked to his right to see Genesis. She leaned in for a kiss and, without contest, he allowed her warm lips to greet his.
“You know I was.” It was a lie, but Ernesto swept it under the rug. He really wanted to see that girl from English class. “How’d you get here?”
“Hey, Dwane’s having a chill session at his house right now,” she said, snaking her arms around his waist and completely ignoring his question.
“Oh,” Ernesto didn’t want to go, he wanted to see if he has another class with Princess. But, after glancing around once more, he decided to go along.
“Okay, let’s go.” Genesis grabbed his hand tightly and together they walked to Mama, Ernesto’s motorcycle.
The wind cut through their hair as they rode towards the west side. It was a drastic difference between the East and West side. The East side is the side Princess is from, living large with money to just throw. With big cars and garages the sizes of some of the houses on the West side. The West side is where Ernesto lives, with homes tightly compacted on one street, alleys so tight, cats cannot maneuver through them. If one house is on fire, the slightest wind can pass it on until the whole neighborhood lays in ashes. No garages, no big cars, no money to toss away on mundane things. Hell, the money any mother has goes right to the rent, which, for the most part, would otherwise go unpaid.
How would Princess feel is she had to live through this?
Ernesto pulled Mama to a halt in Dwane’s empty driveway. They walked around the back of the house and knocked twice.
When the door opened, a small gray cloud billowed out.
“Welcome,” Dwane said, motioning for them to enter. The heavy smell of Marijuana was unmistakable.
They walked in and sat on the old leather couch. Burn marks were all over the chair, where people put out their cigs and blunts on the armrests.
“Here you go, man.” Dwane handed Ernesto a joint.
Without a second thought, Ernesto inhaled the sweet smoke again and again, immediately feeling it’s calming effect. His heartbeat slowed, his lungs relaxed. His mind was blurred, but he didn’t care. This was the way out, the best way to cope.
“So how was the first day, nerd?” Dwane asked, puffing once more.
“Same old here,” Genesis said. “I don’t understand why I keep on going.” She paused. “Prolly ‘cause of this guy.” She punched Ernesto’s arm.
“Naw, school was alright for me,” Ernesto said. “Normal.”
“I heard you got accepted into that East Side School,” Dwane said. “‘Cause you a smartass.”
Ernesto laughed. “Yep.”
Dwane leaned closer. “So, what is it like? I’m sure you stick out like a sore thumb.”
Ernesto shook his head. “No, not at all. There are plenty of people there that look like me.”
“But are they from this side ?”
Ernesto was getting flustered. “I don’t know, I didn’t ask.”
Dwane laughed, leaning back into his seat. “Well, maybe you should.”
Ernesto puffed on his joint impatiently and looked at his phone. Only forty minutes had elapsed - it seemed like he had been there for hours. The smoke which would usually envelop him seemed to be choking him. A silence settled over all there, with a thick tension sitting only on Ernesto. He knew going to this school would cause this.
It was his mother’s idea. After she was called to the school and told of Ernesto’s amazing test scores, she was filled with so much pride that before Ernesto arrived home that evening, the entire neighborhood knew.
And that was the bad thing.
He immediately became the poster child for smart Latinos, his name spoken from the mouths of mothers to their sons in angry, muffled voices. “Why can’t you be more like Ernesto?” became one of the most asked questions. People wanted to fight him for being a “traitor” as they called it. Any guy of “his likeness” was to mow lawns and care for gardens. And there he was, invited to the “East Side” to learn with the rich kids. People hated him for it.
Because people have learned to hate a smartass.
“Honestly,” said Dwane, breaking Ernesto out of his thoughts, “I’m happy for you. Not everyday you see a guy like us sitting in a school with white kids. Not to be racist or anything, but normally, we aren’t even invited. If they see us on their street, then they call the cops as a preemptive strike. Any wetback seen on their property must have horrible motives.”
“Yeah?” Asked Ernesto, sensing a little bit of sarcasm in his voice. “Too bad I’m not a wetback.”
Dwane laughed ruthlessly. “Any person with ties to Mexico or Cuba or wherever, and they live in America... is a wetback.”
Ernesto nodded, filled with disagreement, inhaling the smoke once more in an attempt to calm his nerves.
“But I am happy for you,” Dwane repeated, with a slanted nod. It was obvious his drugs were taking effect. “Because it takes some pretty big balls to go to a school like that.” He slowly leaned forward. “Or does it? I mean, didn’t your mother want you to go?” He chuckled. “Wittle Bwaybe Ernesto couldn’t say no to going to schwool?” His voice was whiney as he spoke like a child. Ernesto felt his anger bubbling.
“How about I tell you something,” Ernesto said, with a surprisingly smooth voice. “I mean, who’s really the baby: the guy who is going to school so he can get a job, or the twenty-seven year old man who is still sitting in his mother’s basement smoking weed? And not even the best weed at that.” Ernesto threw the blunt onto the floor. His boot landed on it.
Genesis giggled a little. “Damn, Dwane.”
Dwane stood, angrily and pointed to the door. “Get out.”
Ernesto raised both hands in a surrender. “Whatever you say, Dwane.”
Ernesto grabbed Genesis’ hand and they walked out of the house into the bright sunlight.
“Wow, Ernesto,” Genesis said, grabbing her helmet. “I would have never guessed you to come off at Dwane that way. Ya’ll have always been best friends.”
“Yeah,” Ernesto agreed, not really paying attention, “Best friends forever.”