Monday, November 27, 2017

Chapter 16: What If You're Over My Sh*t?

Views Magazine presents….
Marc and Rachel Isles
Exposé of a Marriage Uncovered

Being Fair About Rachel
In L.A. we drive long shiny cars that are lime green or cranberry red or almond brown. Everybody does. We listen to slow funk music, the kind that sounds like it should be played at night during summer barbeques, right when everyone is full and playing dominoes and deciding who’ll they be going home with. The dope boys ride bikes everywhere. It’s nothing to see seven family members living in a two-bedroom house; we in Elysian Fields don’t need much privacy and space. When you walk around Elysian Fields, every home has its own noise: music playing, people laughing, kids playing, lovers arguing, lovers loving. It's a mess of sound that's natural, expected.
We live in California so, in the fall, after the summer fog has passed, the stars can be seen clustered in the sky, the moon is always high as a kite, the street lights are always on. The sidewalks are always filled with people walking or riding their bikes to a corner store for another Heineken or for Chinese food. Fellas drive their cars down the street in slow motion because the kids like to get dressed in their bathing suits, open up the fire hydrant, and spray the cars that pass by. The fellas don’t get mad when the kids do that, they just ride slow and put their windshield wipers on. Everybody does.
This is where Marc is from. He lived in a two-bedroom home that housed him, his brother, and both his parents. They didn’t have a dog, like a lot of us do, but that’s okay. Marc’s brother Trev was in a gang, like everybody else. Now, Trev runs the gang. Trev is the head dope boy of Elysian Fields. I heard yesterday, after listening to DJ Diaz’s show, that Trev is supposedly retired. Bullshit. Rachel’s lying. Trev’s not retired. Trust me.
Marc and Trev’s father and mother met in Elysian Fields when they were kids. They married while they were both in college. Marc’s mother became a nurse, and his father became a science teacher. It was normal for them to have at least one kid who was good in math and science. Marc was that kid. He has the gift of math. Give him numbers; tell him to add them, and subtract them, then divide them, and then multiply them. In the end, he'll give you the right answer. Always. No matter how long the numbers are. No matter how complicated the equation is.
We called Marc a genius. Then a teacher started calling him one. Then the school board started calling him one. Then the mayor. Then the governor. But even though all these people acknowledged, awarded, and congratulated him, nobody outside of Elysian Fields had even heard of him. But he was a star around here. The girls liked him for the wrong reasons: he’s better looking than most and acted like he didn’t give a shit about them. They didn’t seem to understand that Marc was more than a walking dick. He was brainy. He was a brainy guy from the hood. He was a brainy guy from the hood, and his brother was a gangster. He was a brainy guy from the hood, his brother was a gangster, but Marc never became one. That meant something. None of the girls in Elysian Fields got that. None of them cared about how smart he was. None of them cared that he just may have had a ticket out of the hood. Nobody cared. Not even his girlfriend, Karla.
But she did.
Rachel, that is.
Rachel cared.

Disclaimer: The above views and interpretations are the opinions of the writer only.

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