Looking Little in The Little Village

The bright summer blue sky didn’t mind the heat as not one cloud could be spotted over the Chicagoland for miles. I sat there frozen on the curb listening to the infinite sounds resonating through 26th street. The sounds of accelerating cars were like little vacuums being steered up and down the carpet. One after another, I mindlessly tracked each car and its features until I felt they were judged enough before processing the next. My Chicago method of sightseeing was nothing, and from an outsider’s view, I probably looked rather lost. 

Simply, I looked nothing more than a short, stocky Mexican with long mud-brown hair. Nonsensically, I wore my sandals, purple Baja hoodie, and all-black Nike shorts. Why did I choose a day like today to wear my Baja? I can’t answer but the thick wool just felt safe to me. Almost like a bulletproof vest, this top secured me from anything, and really, anyone. 

From the curb to the apartment the walk was about one city block. Making my way home, multitudes of skinny brick houses with gated yards, gated windows, gated doors squished one another as they neighbored. Cars packed the side of the road, cherishing every inch of available space. People will always comment on how the city is absurdly crowded physically, yet they never mention what it does to the mind. Seeing the one of many identical looking apartments that is mine, I gave a slight grimace. It really does look like a piece of shit. The red bricks were so old they looked as if a child drew the red on them with a crayon. The glass on the windows that should be clear looked more like the plastic for Tupperware. And the ordinary black gate that fruitlessly fortifies our “front yard” (more like a patch of grass with dirt surroundings) has metal bars that are either crooked, broken, or straight up missing. I carelessly entered the apartment, hopping up the jagged wooden steps to break open the unlocked door. 

Like I always did when I came home I casual called, “Hey! I’m back.” Surprisingly, someone called back. 

“Eh who is it?” stridently yelled the voice. 

“Luis.”

“When did you leave?” as it continued questioning.

“About 12:30ish? Maybe 1, I don’t know.” 

“Where did you go it’s already 3?”

Annoyed with answering the questions of a voice, I walked through the family room to the kitchen in the back of the apartment. Our kitchen matches the front of the apartment’s aesthetics. About 100 square feet big, it fits an old battered manilla fridge that partners a burnt stove and stainless steel sink. Wood cabinets of pots, pans, utensils, and food line the back wall, and the dinner table presides in the center of the room. Only one window is in the kitchen, and even then the view is just as good as seeing dry-wall. 

Upon entering I see that it’s actually my Dad sitting at the paper flooded table. Based on the voice’s roughness I expected it to be one of my older brothers, Salvador or Pete since they are at the apartment for the time being, whereas my Dad usually works. He does business as a marketer for nearby catholic parishes in Chicago. Lately, he has been taking night classes at the University of Loyola to earn his master’s degree in something that I would tell if I knew. 

“Oh, hey Dad what are you doing home? It’s Wednesday, shouldn’t you be at work or something.”

“I took the day off to catch up on some things. Where were you?”

“I was just on 26th street for a walk. It’s really nice out. The —”

“You were going for a walk? In that hoodie? On a day like this?” slowly questioned my Dad. The eyebrow on his pale forehead shot up. 

It’s really nothing. I explained, “Ya this hoodie looks actually pretty good on me, and also the sun doesn’t bother me.”

“Okay, I guess. But weren’t you just last night explaining how winter is your favorite season and summer-lovers are soft,” changed my Dad in a joking tone. 

Those piles of papers had really seduced me.

 “What’s with all the papers on the table? Studying?”

Weirdly, my Dad acted as if the question caught him off guard, “Oh um these papers have to do with a big test I got later next week. The reason why I decided to take the day off.”

“Right of course. Well, I’ll be up in my room if you need me.”

But as I tried to leave I knew I had to see what my Dad was looking over. Walking around the table, I peered over my Dad’s shoulder and saw what I feared, thick black lines, red marks, and formal paragraphs. Bill notices of several late payments of what I assumed was for electricity and rent. A hand had reached into my stomach and yanked it out without a struggle. The feeling of guilt bullied me. I knew both my Mom and Dad worked till their brains broke but at the end of the day but we always failed. One day I’ll free my family, earn my existence. 

Pacing up the steps to my room, again, I had to stop myself. In her warming voice, my mother called, “Mom’s home!”

Racing back down the steps I hugged her, “What’s up mom.”

“Hey, little man. You excited for tonight.”

What the hell is going on tonight? 

“Um, ya I can’t wait Mom,” trying to guess what exactly she meant, “What should I wear?”

“Ta-c’mon on Luis. Don’t act as you’ve never played baseball before. We start at 7 at La Villita Park. Marco will be there.”

That’s right. Damn, I completely forgot about her youth minister event. I hate baseball but what else is there really to do.

“Sounds good. I’ll meet you there.”

My mom being a youth minister at Our Lady of Tepeyac gave her a strong presence in the community. Nothing made her happier than seeing kids and teens who were just like her learn to be happy in this cave. It’s tough, not ideal, but in an odd way that’s what makes it unique, what makes us us. 

------------------------------------------------

After cooling myself with an afternoon nap, I got dressed and ready for the night. Like a normal person, I sported simple athletic clothes and Nike sneakers. My mom was there already setting up the concessions and making sure the area was safe for the night. Even though it looked like night, the humidity and ugly heat still policed the streets. Hurrying through the cracked concrete I made sure to keep my eyes down as I passed groups of young men huddled in cliques. Some matched clothes while some matched colors. It was simple, I mind my own business and they mind theirs. After a fast 10 or so minutes I finally came in view of the grassy park that welcomed a crowd of children and teens who aired with energy. 

“Luis!” shouted my chubby friend Carlos from the dugout, “How’s it going!”

“Good. Have you seen my mom?”

“Ya she’s there,” he pointed, “by where 3rd base will be. She’s just setting up. Apparently, there was hella glass in the field that she had to clean.”

“Glass?”

“Ya I don’t know, she said the outfield has been trashed. Though, I think we are good now.”

“Alright thanks, man. I’m just gonna see her. Be right back.”

I nodded and waved to familiar faces that idled around. Of the 30 or so faces I knew about 20. The community was always so close, which I don’t know why but definitely don’t mind. It made me think of a huge Baja hoodie knitted by people instead of cloth. A family of families is what my mom says. 

Reaching my mom, I noticed her face was red and her lips were tightly tucked. 

“Hey, mom? Everything good?”

“WE’LL START IN 5 — oh I’m sorry Luis,” caught my mom as she looked up to realize it was me, “Sorry it’s just who the hell leaves glass in a park! Like c’mon!”

I snickered a little. When my mom tries to swear for some reason I can’t help myself.

“Do you need help? I could’ve come earlier.”

“No need Luis. Thank you though. I just finished setting up the bases and — oh now what!”

She looked beyond me to find two police cars pulling up. I could tell just by the walk and their eyes, especially the eyes, that the two men wanted a fire. They picked out the youngest looking, Marco and a little girl Rosa, asking what I assumed who was in charge. Luckily it was my mom. 

“Mom,” I nudged.

“Don’t worry Luis I’ll handle this.”

My mom approached the two officers, meeting them halfway down the third-base line and providing a center stage for everyone around. 

“Good evening officers,” sternly spoke my mom, “I’m assuming there’s a problem?”

The one cop, who seemed to embrace the officer stereotype, spoke through his steel mustache, “Well madam —

“Name is Maria.”

“Okay,” he judgingly retorted, “Well there is a problem. We’ve got reports that there’s a disruption of peace going on. More so, I don’t see a permit to host this whatever you call it. I need you to disperse your crowd.”

“Disruption of peace?” politely as she could my mom questioned, “It’s a park. A public park in fact.”

“We have people saying the field is being trashed with glass and this group is lacking proper supervision.”

“Wait, first it’s disrupting the peace. Then you add unlawful assembly. Now you are saying we are vandalizing?”

I started breathing faster while my thoughts grew blank. I don’t know why but with every retort the anticipation of something happening grew like weeds. 

“Please calm madam,” finally spoke the second officer. He looked young, gentle with soft eyes. But I couldn’t help feel that maybe that was just how he looked, more so than who he was.

Continuing the second officer, “No need for any trouble. We demand you to leave along with the rest of these people.”

“These people?”

I heard what she heard too. Maybe by definition his words weren’t wrong, but there was some type of verbal smugness that just made him sound off.  

 “We’ve done nothing. Literally. We haven’t even been able to start the game,” pressed my mom further, “You think this is fun? Do you think I choose this park because it had glass?”

I couldn’t help it. 

“Mom,” I weakly pleaded, “It’s alright —”

“Kid quiet,” shot the mustache officer.

“DON’T!” yelled my mom with a dagger finger, “Do not talk to my son. He’s not a kid he’s a person.”

“Okay sure,” harshly followed the officer, “I don’t have time —”

“You don’t have time?”

With such arrogance, the cliche officer looked to his partner, “You believe this? They’re all the same, aren’t they?” before audibly whispering, “Spics….”

Spics? 

No matter my confusion, complete uproar waterfalled from my mom’s people.

“YO!”

“YOU CAN’T SAY THAT!”

“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU TALKING TO!”

The crowd closed in, drowning the officers, my mom, and me in the center. I was lost, nervous, but above all scared. It sounds soft and bland but nothing is more clearer than the word scared. 

“SILENCE!” roared the officers in unison, “BACK UP! BACK UP! I —”

“MARCO! NO!”

I swallowed a rock at that moment and almost threw it up. That stupid fatass!

An invisible rope had choked me as I watched a plump kid try to take down two fully grown officers. I stood while my mom tried controlling uncontrollable chaos. I saw her take a kick to the face, by accident or not I don’t know, as she tried to pull off Marco who had glued his hands to the older officer’s face. Finally, I saw the second officer get up, shove my mom aside, and toss Marco off like he was a crumpled piece of paper. Brutally, the officer pinned him down and cuffed him with such a passionate rage. 

On his feet, red-faced, flames igniting the eyes, the Marco-attacked cop blared, “EVERYONE IS TO LEAVE NOW OR FACE CHARGES! PLEASE BE MY GUEST!”

Instinctively, I and everyone backed away. Everyone except for my mom who stood tall and stone face, ignoring the seeping cut on her lip.

“This is what we’ve become,” she said softly, “He’s a person. You’re a person, we all are a person. It’s embarrassing how simple that is.”

The officer had no reaction. She could’ve been talking to a lamp post for all she knew. No eyebrow raise, no wrinkling skin, no nothing. He kept a face plain as white. 

Like blowing clouds, everyone edged away. My mom squeezed my hand and marched me through the field in the direction of our house, “Luis go home. Straight home. I’m going to the police station for Marco.” She left me on the corner and hustled left while I shuffled right. 

No noise met my ears. The dark bricks, skinny houses, and groups of huddled men all felt different. Not foreign, never that, but changed. The innate hamster wheel of reflection rolled gingerly and I begged it not to. Nothing happened to me and that is what hung me. Nothing, I did nothing. Embarrassing how simple that is. I stood, panicked, and froze myself while life rioted on. My mom said something, the teens who aren’t even blood said something! Jesus Christ even Marco had some power to act!

Step after step, I heavied myself through our pathetic lawn and to our shitty front door. Upon entering, I envied my dad who continued to scan his papers for in it they were just papers. Yes, they had words but words that would never be remembered. Quietly, I closed the door and threw myself back outside, dropping on the rough steps. I observed the street but nothing would process. The only shred of active life in me posed a question. 

“Why?”

Really, just why Luis.