Blue Jeans

I hear the crackle of tires over gravel and Dad’s heeler, Blake, barking up a storm. Mario looks up at the big, navy truck climbing our driveway. Windows up, little blue dog in the back. His eyes drop down to the pot of chili on the stove. He stirs the chili, sets the spoon down, wipes his palm on his new pair of blue jeans. I grab some shredded cheese from the fridge and sigh, “Too bad we don’t have some gallo pinto, huh?” He flashes me a bright smile.

“I like chili, too. I do not want to be too Costa Rican yet.” He pulls a gallon of sweet tea from the fridge. I put the cheese down, bumping his hip with mine teasingly.

“Is that why you bought those jeans?” Mario looks up at me through his eyelashes sheepishly, shrugging, “Tico’s wear jeans, but um, I got boots too.” Blake’s barking has stirred up our dogs. They growl and howl over each other.

“Tico’s usually don’t call my Mom to find out what brand of jeans ‘Cowboys wear’. However, you are cute with those and your camiseta de fútbol.” He pinches my blushing cheek lightly.

“Gracias Amor,” his thumb brushes my cheek again while he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, “Let’s just talk in English for now though. Okay?” A car door slams, the dogs stop barking.

“English won’t make it better Carñio. The moment he sees you nothing else will matter.” I turn away but he pulls me back by the belt loop, looping an arm around my waist, leaning down to kiss the tip of my nose.

“Hey, it’s okay,” He sooths with a soft tone. “I don’t just have English. I have boots and jeans too!” I snort and push his chest away while he cracks up.

“I’m gonna go see what Dad is doing out there; He shouldn´t be talking so long.”

“Okay, I will set the table.”

I stare at him while slipping on my muddy boots. He walks to the table to set bowls down and I can’t help but notice he bought a pair of jeans that fit real snug.

“Those jeans make you look like a bull rider.” He doesn’t even look up from the table to answer.

“I remember your mom telling me something about you dating many of those growing up.”  With a burning face I hurry out the back door.

           I step off the porch to see Dad leaning against his truck. He’s wearing jeans remarkably similar Mario’s, just with a wallet-shaped square worn into the pocket. His arms are crossed over a faded red T-shirt, a ball cap sits low over his eyes. Blake sits at his feet, staring a hole in me as I walk towards them. The dog whines and Dad looks up from the gravel. I stop a few feet away.

“Dinner’s inside Daddy.” He nods once.  

“I don’t much care to stay long enough for dinner.” His voice is rough, decided.

“Oh, I’m sorry I misunderstood on the phone. We thought yo--.”

“I know, Sarah-beth. Your mom told me.” My heart pounds so hard I know he can hear it. I take a half step towards him.

“She told me he called to see what we wear, and to get a recipe for chili. She told me he was polite. He spoke English. With an ac-cented voice.” He almost hissed, but never raised his voice.

“Daddy, he’s nice and he is good t--.” He interrupts again, still calm and cool. Sweat beads start to pop up on my forehead.

“You have known my rules. You grew up with them. You chose to ignore them.” My face flushes red with each of his words.

“Your rules ignore all the best parts of people,” I can’t help but raise my voice. “They don’t consider heart or kindness or anything. Your rules are, are, just stupid!” He turns away from me to let down the truck bed for Blake.

“We are white. You were raised to be with someone white. Period. You know I am an honest man, I meant that. Those rules may be stupid but, well, you don’t have to worry about them anymore.” I furrow my brows in confusion as he opens the truck door to climb in.

           “Daddy, what do you mean?” He pauses. Mouth open, eyes pointed over my shoulder. The porch creeks behind me. Mario coughs gently.  

           “Hello sir-r.” His voice cracks. Dad only closes his mouth. Mario gives another small cough.

“the uh, the chili is ready, sir.” Dad stares at him, eye traveling from carefully combed black hair to clearly just-bought-boots. Mario clears his throat twice. Shifting his weight side-to-side like a horse tied to a post, while he waits for something more from Dad.

           “You don’t have to worry about them anymore, Sarah-beth. You can come over tomorrow to get your things from the attic, to see you mom too, but that’s the end of it.” He slams the truck door. With burning eyes, I go to his window, pleading.

           “Daddy please, just give him a chan--.” He starts the truck and backs up.

           “You can come over, tomorrow. That’s it.” He cuts me off again, same decided voice, the same decision he came to long ago. The navy blue truck is hard to see as the tears fall freely while he starts back down the gravel driveway. Strong, brown arms wrap me in a warm hug.

           “Lo siento, mi amor.” Mario’s clear voice coaxes me to look up.

“I will leave if that will bring him back.” His red-rimmed eyes are wide, hurt. He brushes a gentle thumb over my cheek. A chilly breeze pulls us closer together, then he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. He wipes another tear away and I know there is no way I could ever look away again.

           “Please stay. If he can’t get past the brown in your skin then he doesn’t have to be a part of our future.” My cheeks warm up at the last bit.

           “Oh, uh, you know, if the long haul is something you still, um, w-want. I understand if you don-” I stumble, but stop when he snickers. He brushes away a few more tears on my cheek.

           “Why on earth would I buy these toe-pinching boots if I wasn’t planning on the long haul?”