Birria for Dinner

Emilio

Elena pulls her van up to the brick rancher on Shady Lane. She slowly stops, the sound of wheels crunching on brittle snow. The walkway up to the house is freshly shoveled and Emilio notices an old statue of a dog in the yard. He wonders what kind of person puts a dog statue on their lawn. Obviously, some sort of nut job.

“Shady Lane, huh?” Emilio asks Elena as he eyes up his new residence. “Sure looks Shady to me.”

“Basta, Emilio,” Elena says in her kindest voice. “This one’s gonna work out. Not like the last one.”

“Last ten you mean,” Emilio corrects her. Elena has been Emilio’s social worker since his earliest memory. She’s the one who’s dropped him off at each new foster parent. And she’s the one who picks him up when things don’t work out. Last time, his foster father hit him. The time before that, they starved him. The time before that, they touched him. He’s starting to get them all mixed up now, there’s been so many. So many failures. He does remember one good family. He was about six years old; had just started kindergarten. Paola and Raul. He had his own bedroom, they cooked for him every night, and Paola sang him a song before she tucked him into bed. But Paola ended up getting pregnant and shortly after that he was hauled off to the next foster family. Maybe they thought two’s a crowd.

Emilio watches as a big, surly man opens the door. A giant dog pushes past him and runs towards the car.

“You for real?” Emilio turns to ask Elena. “What is this guy, 80?”

Elena looks down at the paperwork on the passenger seat. “No, he’s 65. Retired tech-ed teacher. Luis Costa. You’re the second foster child he’s had.”

“Wonder what happened to the first,” Emilio questions her.

“You know I can’t tell you that information,” Elena responds with a smile. “Get your bags,” she directs him.

Emilio hesitantly grabs his backpack and duffle bag from the seat next to him and opens the van door. The dog, a German Shepard, jumps up on him and begins frantically licking at every body part it can reach. Emilio jumps back, not used to a dog of this size not trying to bite his face off. One of his foster families a while back had a one-eyed pit bull named Miss Betty that they kept chained out back. Every time he went near her, she lunged at him like a crazy beast. He didn’t know if she was always crazy or being chained out back 24/7 made her that way. Being caged up can make even animals do crazy things.

“I’ll check up on you in a few days,” Elena says as she waves towards Luis as he begins to walk towards the van. “I need to get to my next appointment, Emilio. You’ll be fine. I promise.” Emilio rolls his eyes. How can she not even walk him in? What if this Luis guy is a psychopath with a kill room inside? What kind of 65-year-old wants to take in a 14-year-old foster boy anyways? Some kind of sick pervert, that’s the kind of 65-year-old.

As Luis approaches Emilio, he reaches out his hand in greeting. Emilio hesitantly puts down his bags and raises his hand to meet Luis’s.

“Welcome to my home, Emilio. My name is Luis, but you can call me Lobo. That’s what my friends all call me anyways.”

Emilio forces out a smile and shakes his hand. Lobo? What kind of person is nicknamed after a wolf? The serial killer kind of person, that’s who.

“And this is Oveja,” Lobo says with a smile as he points down to the large German Shepard pouncing in the snow.

“Oveja,” Emilio repeats to himself. Okay so Lobo either has a sense of humor or is insane. Probably the latter. Lobo reaches down and takes Emilio’s bags from him as he turns to go inside. As Emilio follows him, he looks at Lobo’s peculiar clothing. Old jeans. Denim shirt. Black leather motorcycle vest. He looks like he should be sitting in a dive bar drinking a Modelo, not fostering a kid. He follows Lobo in the house and is surprised at how un-Lobo like the interior is. Flower wallpaper. Cream carpet. It looks like a grandmother’s house, not a 65-year-old man’s house. Lobo takes a left and leads Emilio into a bedroom. It’s simply decorated: a twin bed with a blue quilt, a wooden desk and dresser, and a closet filled with hanging clothes that look to be about Emilio’s size.

“This is your room,” Lobo says as he places down the bags and puts his hands in his pockets awkwardly. Oveja jumps on the bed and wags her tail aggressively at Emilio, clearly wanting to play.

“Thanks,” Emilio says, trying to take in the intensely strange surroundings. He’s never had a foster home like this. Never just him and one man in a whole house. Never a closet full of clothes. Did Lobo go shopping just for Emilio? Seems sort of weird.

“I’m making us Birria for dinner. Ever, had it?” Lobo asks. Emilio looks at him blankly. “I’m not much of a chef, but it’s a…family recipe. And I thought it would be nice. Why don’t you get settled in here and I will let you know when it’s done?”

“Sure…fine,” Emilio says, crossing his arms over his chest. He realizes now that he smells something rich and mouthwatering from the kitchen. He hasn’t had a decent meal in a long time.

“You want Oveja in here with you or out in the kitchen with me?” Lobo asks Emilio. Emilio looks over at Oveja’s big brown eyes and his heart melts a little.

“She can stay in here I guess,” he says, trying not to sound too eager. At least if Lobo ends up being loco, Emilio still has Oveja. Lobo softly closes the door and Emilio sits down on the bed next to Oveja. He lays back on the pillow as Oveja puts her head on his shoulder. He pets her quietly as he hears pots and pans clanging in the kitchen. “Well, Oveja,” he whispers to her, “I know I at least like you. Please let this work out for once.”

Lobo

Lobo checks the clock in the kitchen: 4:45. He has fifteen minutes to make sure the house is clean, and dinner is prepped before Emilio arrives at 5:00. He goes into Emilio’s room and makes sure it looks clean. He inspects the closet full of clothes. Will Emilio think it’s strange that he has clothes for him? He just couldn’t see why Jose’s clothes couldn’t be used for someone else. Jose would have wanted it that way. Aida would have wanted it that way. Oveja runs into the room and jumps on the bed. “Abajo,” he directs her “I don’t want you to get your dog hair all over the bedspread.” He brushes the dog hairs off of the bed and goes into his room to put on his lucky leather vest. When Jose was about 10 years old, Aida and he had bought Lobo this as a birthday present. He had really wanted a motorcycle, but Aida refused. “I don’t need my husband dying in a motorcycle accident,” she had told him. This jacket was the next best thing. Little did he know, four years later, she and Jose would be the ones to die in an accident. Not motorcycle, no. Aida would never get on one of those things. But cars are just as dangerous, especially when a drunk driver is the one driving towards you.

Lobo zippers up his jacket and combs his white hair in a part. He hears the sounds of wheels crunching on the snow and walks over to the window to peek outside. He sees a white mini van stopped in front of the house but can’t make out the people inside. He knows Emilio is 14 years old, but that’s about all he knows about him. He had requested an older male child. Not that he is trying to reincarnate Jose. Jose is gone. But it would be nice to have a son. Have a child pick up where Jose left so he could experience what he missed. Highschool. College. Marriage. Grandchildren. He’s been alone too long and has so much love to give if only someone would let him love them again. He tried so hard with the last boy who came two years ago. Steven was his name. But Steven started stealing from Lobo and sneaking out. And then he kicked Oveja in the head and that’s where Lobo drew the line. It had pained him to call the social worker to come get Steven, but he couldn’t have Oveja being abused.

Lobo walks over to the door, stands up straight, and opens the door just as Oveja pushes past him and runs towards the van. Lobo sees what must be Emilio, get out of the car carrying two bags. Emilio is a string bean of a kid. Much smaller and frailer than Jose was at 14. He’s wearing a thin raincoat, much too thin for this snowy weather. Lobo will have to buy him a new jacket and put some meat on his bones. Good thing he’s making Aida’s famous Birria for dinner. It took all day to prepare, but this is a special occasion. He walks over to Emilio and raises his hand up to him in greeting.

“Welcome to my home, Emilio. My name is Luis, but you can call me Lobo. That’s what my friends all call me anyways.” Lobo thinks Emilio looks nervous. Or does he look defiant? Lobo can’t tell.

“And this is Oveja,” Lobo says with a smile as he points down to the large German Shepard pouncing in the snow.

“Oveja,” Emilio repeats. Lobo tries to smile at him, but Emilio looks confused. He hopes that he’s not scaring him. He reaches down and takes Emilio’s bags from him as he turns to go inside. He takes a left and leads Emilio into a bedroom. It’s simply decorated: a twin bed with a blue quilt, a wooden desk and dresser, and a closet with hanging clothes that look to be about Emilio’s size.

“This is your room,” Lobo says, placing down the bags as he puts his hands in his pockets awkwardly. He’s not sure what he should do. Should he give him a tour of the house first or let him get settled? Maybe he should do the tour after dinner? Yes, that sounds like a good idea. Oveja jumps on the bed and wags her tail aggressively at Emilio, clearly wanting to play. Lobo hopes that Emilio likes dogs. Or more importantly, Lobo hopes that Emilio is kind to dogs.

“Thanks,” Emilio says as he looks around the room with wide eyes. Lobo can sense Emilio doesn’t seem happy here. He isn’t sure what to do to make him more comfortable.

“I’m making us Birria for dinner, ever had it?” Lobo asks. Emilio looks at him blankly. “I’m not much of a chef, but it’s a…family recipe. And I thought it would be nice. Why don’t you get settled in here and I will let you know when it’s done?”

“Sure…fine,” Emilio says, crossing his arms over his chest. Lobo takes that as a hint for him to leave the room.

“You want Oveja in here with you or out in the kitchen with me?” Lobo asks Emilio, already regretting it. He doesn’t know if he can trust Emilio yet alone with his dog.

“She can stay in here I guess,” Emilio says, sounding indifferent. Lobo softly closes the door and heads back into the kitchen to check on the Birria. As he stirs the pot, the smell brings him right back to Aida. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

“Aida,” he whispers, “Please let this work out.”