The Second House

Reads: 68  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Growing up, I lived in about four houses. One of them, was home. The second house I lived in, was the most memorable.

Enjoy

Submitted: April 30, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 30, 2017

A A A

A A A


Since our arrival to America in 1995, my family and I have moved a total of four times. Out of the four times, the second time we moved, is the one I am fondest of. I was 6 years old when my dad finally had enough money to move us out from the first house we ever rented. Like many Mexican families, my parents had decided to huddle a family of four in a one-bedroom house.

The youngest of my memories in that second house, include Saturdays’ catechism school at Santa Rosa Church. Since my mom did not drive, our travel from that second house started at 7:00 am to make it to class at 8:00 am. “Apurenle” “Hurry” she would shout, “van a yegar tarde” “You’re going to be late”, she’d follow. I really didn't like Saturday school to begin with, I thought it was a waste of time. I felt like god was watching me, like, he knew my secret. I used to feel unwelcomed, like, I didn't belong there. I would question almost every story our instructor, Anita, had prepared for us. Perhaps, at the tender age of 9, I began to question my own religion.

On a normal Saturday, she would find us a ride with one her Christian friends, or my dad would pick us up on his old pick-up truck. I loved it when he did. He’d smell like fresh cut grass, and his face freckled with green residue from the leaf blower he was using. My dad picking us up was very rare, though. On this particular Saturday, my mom decided to walk my brother and I back.  At the time, my mom was pregnant with my little brother. “Se me antoja una Big-Mac” “I am craving a Big-Mac”, she’d tell us. My eyes widened with excitement. We’ve never had fast food – “Si. Si. Bamos” “Yes. Yes. Let’s go” my brother and I would shout.  I couldn’t believe what was happening. We were going to McDonald's for the very first time.

To get to McDonalds, we had to pass through the center of San Fernando, the San Fernando Mall. I called it the san Fernando district for Quincenera celebrations. Anything and everything you ever wanted for a Quince, was at the San Fernando mall. I think 40 minutes had passed when finally, we saw it. “M” Bright as the sun, very wholesome, with even a larger red board illustrating “McDonalds” – we made it.

I knew enough English to order our food. “Can we buy 3 Big-Macs, please?” I asked the cashier. “What size?” he responds. Shit, what does size even have to do with ordering a big mac? I questioned myself. “anything is ok my mom says” I responded. I was nervous. Did I order our food right? I remember telling myself.  After a couple minutes of anxiously waiting, “Order for David” the cashier shouted. I volunteered to get our food. If anything was wrong with our meal, I could tell him, and maybe he can fix it, I panicked. Every step I took toward our meal felt like the giant steps I took walking over here. Slow down, fatass, slow down, I thought. I got there. In front of me were three red boxes with the same “M” I saw outside. Three orders of fries and 3 cups. My eyes widened again. I did it, I had successfully ordered our meals.

She bought us a Big Mac for the very first time.  I thought it was the best invention ever, it was so delicious. The sauce was so creamy and the Ketchup tasted like actual tomatoes. The pickles weren’t dry. The lettuce was watery, and very crunchy. The meat was well cooked, and all different flavors penetrated my taste buds. All running through my throat feeling the crunchiness of the lettuce again, the Ketchup was wild and smeared all over my lips. The big Mac sauce dripping from the burger, but I would save it with my fries.  All washed down with a Sprite. We had devoured that Big Mac in minutes, I think.

Before leaving, my mom asked if we wanted a Mc’flurry. We can’t afford one, I thought. At that time, I assumed Mc’flurries were for the rich. We don't have money for an ice cream and here my mom was offering an ice cream that was not ‘Thrifty-Ice Cream’ from Rite-Aid. Did my dad get paid extra money, are we rich now? I began to question; but my desire to question was short. I immediately said, “yes”. Of course I said yes. I wanted an M&M Mc’flurry and that was exactly what I got. I ate that ice cream so fast, I don’t really remember how it tasted. I simply gulped that ice cream like you gulp water on a hot summer day.

We were 1 mile away from the house. My mom wanted to rest, she was tired and full. I was too.  I remember not feeling well. My stomach was growling at me, like, it was mad at me. I usually played hide-and-seek with my brother. I was good at hiding, but not so good at seeking. “Let’s play, David?” he asked me. I said “No, you play”, I sat. In that moment, as I squatted into a sitting position, I farted. My eyes widened for a third time that day. I knew what was happening – I needed a restroom right away.

“Tengo que ir al bano” “I have to use the restroom” I pleaded my mother. “Ve tu solo, aya estan” “you can go alone, they’re right there” she pointed. The restroom was locked. I ran to the gym, I remembered the restrooms there. Locked, everything was locked.  So I did what any other fat boy would do, I sat. Perhaps, I embraced what was about to happen, and like many moments life doesn’t prepare you for, this moment was no exception. My eyes didn’t widen with excitement. I wasn’t taking huge steps anymore. My eyes glared down, not filled with tears, but with a cover of disappointment. I felt it. It was here, coming out of me like lava. It was the longest two minutes of my life and my body allowed every second of it.

I shit my pants for the very first time.

My brother noticed me sitting there. He approaches me, “my mom said to come back, we’re leaving”. I quietly responded, “dile que ya boy” “tell her I’m going”. “Why are you sitting?” He responds. “Go over there” I shouted back. He does, he leaves me alone but goes and tells on me. My mom returns back and tells me, “dice Carlos que hueles feo, que paso?” “Carlos is saying that you smell bad, what happened?”. I starred at her for about 4 seconds when I started crying hysterically. Projectile tears running down my face, I admitted it, “Me ise del bano en mis pantalones” “I pooped my pants” I cried. 

My mom is a very understating lady. She doesn’t have many rules for us to follow, but the one thing she cannot tolerate is public humiliation due to her kids. The stare she gave me, was killing me softly. When she doesn’t ask, you knew what was to come next.  She picked me up and whooped my ass so hard, I started to cry even more. She took me to the portable restrooms she had pointed out to me when I first asked. When we got there, she whooped me again. “Te dije que aqui estaban” “I told you they were right over here” she screamed at me. Carlos was laughing at me, and I couldn’t wait to be at home and hit him for it. I cleaned myself and we began to walk to the house again.

 


© Copyright 2017 David Quiroz. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments: