Allura

Allura

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The Sun-lit Cigarette
**(1996 – 1997)**


         I first met Anjelah Rodriguez when I was fourteen years old. It was my lunch period, I was on my way outside to eat under the big oak tree. I pushed open the heavy red door and a quick  gust of freshly cut grass swirled up my nostrils. I took two steps onto the pavement when somebody stopped me.
         “Hey kid, got a light?”
         A girl stood with her back against the bricks, a sharp brown leg bent and planted against the wall. Her metallic gold purse dangled beside the frayed denim of her skirt. She had a sharp jaw line with a cigarette held loosely between delicate lips.
         “You fuckin' deaf?” She asked, muffled by the filter in her mouth.
         “Uh, no I don't. Sorry.”
         She sighed and took the cigarette from her lips. Short dark hair – short enough to make a statement, but still long enough to cover her eyes when she wanted – hung in her face.
         “Let me see that.”
         I grabbed it from her and held it between my middle and index finger. The sun was hot, real hot, felt like it was burning a hole in the back of my neck. I took off my glasses and held the thick lens a few inches from the tip. It lit, the girl grabbed it from me and took a drag. She exhaled a puff of smoke in my face.
         “Heh, that was real dorky of you, but thanks.”
         “Oh, I get it, being clever makes me a dork.”
         “Yeah pretty much.”
         “Then I guess you must be one of those super 'unique' rebellious types that nobody understands?”
         “Something like that. Name's A-rod.”
         “Ha, like the baseball player?”
         I looked at her waist. A tiny piece of sepia skin peeked out from between her mini-skirt and  black tank top.
         “Nah, I had this name before him.”
         “Yeah, sure. Real unique.”
         “Shut up.” She took her foot off the wall and stepped towards me. “So, what ya got in that bag to share with me?”
         We ate lunch together almost every day for the rest of my freshmen year. Me, “the dorky” freshmen, and her, the “rebellious” junior, either way, we had no other friends. Inside the school walls,  when other kids were around, we didn't know each other. But outside, under that oak tree, we talked about everything from Preisdent Clinton to Joey Ramone.

**(1997-1998)**

         The following year, we were inseparable. A-Rod was my best friend and no longer ashamed to let it be known. She was a senior but strangely not embarrassed to be seen with a nerdy sophomore like myself. If anything, it just just added to her overall mystery. Nobody knew her as well as me, or at least I thought.
         We always hung out at my house after school. She never invited me over but I thought I'd surprise her one day. I pulled up outside her house in my mom's '92 Plymouth Voyager. It was around nine O'clock, I wanted to take A-Rod to Michigan's famous Telway Burger System for some late night sliders. All the lights were off in the house, I wasn't sure if anybody was home but I walked up to the front door jangling my mom's keys in my hand. There were ceramic pots with dead plants on either side of the door. The siding was dirty, it was the off-white color of smoker's teeth. I wiped my feet on the dank “welcome” mat and rung the door bell. Nothing. I knocked on the door.
         A-rod opened it, “Petey, what are you doin' here?”
         “Got my mom's minivan, let's go to Telway for a burger.”
         “I don't think I can right now.”
         “Who's that at the door?!” A deep voice barked from inside the house.
         “Nadie hermano.”
         “No esté a mi, Anjelah!”
         A huge guy with a tight wife beater came to the door. He was fucking jacked, had shoulders like a bull mastiff and forearms the size of the hams.
         “You the pendejo that's fuckin' my sister?”
         “Miguel, Se va!”
         “No, we're just friends.” I answered.
         “Ey, then he's my friend too, hermana. Come in and have a drink pendejo.” He motioned me to come inside.
         “No, Petey, just leave.”
         “Callate, Anjelah.” He pushed her aside and showed me the way in. “Come.”
         We walked in and Miguel shut the door. Anjelah lived in a small one bedroom, one floor house. The living room was filled with a light haze and it stunk of cigarettes and Mexican beer. Miguel sat on the tan couch. It was disgusting. Small burn holes and sauce stains everywhere. There was an over-stuffed ashtray with about a dozen empty Tecate cans and a television remote on the coffee table. Flickering lights from the TV lit up the Rodriguez' faces.
         “Sit down niño. Want a smoke?” He tossed me a pack of Newports and I fumbled them onto the floor. Anjelah picked them up and took one out.
         “It's alright, Petey, you don't have to.”
         Miguel laughed, “What's a matta, pendejo, too good for a smoke?”
         “No, I want one.” I took one out and put it in my mouth. She lit it for me and I coughed.
         “What'd he call you, 'A-Rod?' or somethin?” Miguel grinned. His teeth were covered in a clear film and had little brown stains down by the gums. “You know this puta can't even swing a bat, right?”
         “Well that's what all her friends call her.”
         “Friends? We're the only Latinos on this side of Madison Heights. 'A-Rod' ain't got no friends. Cept for you, pendejo.”
         “Why does she have to be friends with Latinos?”
         “White boys only want to get a piece of that Latina pussy. I know.”
         “What about me?”
         “Nah, not you, cuz you're just a caja. My sister doesn't wanna fuck no white caja.”
         “What's that?” I asked struggling to take another pull on the cigarette.
         “He called you a pussy.” Anjelah ashed her cigarette into one of the red beer cans. “He's a cabrón, Petey, an asshole, don't listen to him.”
         “I'm just playin' with the little niño. Chill.”
         “Let's go to my room.” She got up and took my hand. I held on loosely but could still feel the raised scar in the shape of a “Z” near her right thumb. We went into her room and sat on the double bed. The walls of her room were painted sloppily; dark green with yellow trim and little missed patches of white in between.
         “So where do your parents sleep?”
         “No where. My Dad's never been around and my Mom's in rehab.”
         “Oh...I see.” I coughed. “So it's just you and Miguel?”
         “Yeah. He sleeps on the couch.”
         She showed me the vinyl record collection under her bed. It was pretty cool; she had some Elvis, Buddy Holly, Beatles, Kiss, and of course The Ramones. We smoked another cigarette and tried to ignore Miguel yelling at the TV in the other room.
         “You hungry?” I asked.
         “Yeah.”
         “Telway's open 24-hours, let's go get some burgers.”

**(1998)**


         The next year, A-rod didn't go to her Senior Prom. She got Miguel to buy us a couple 40's instead and we walked around Automation Alley drinking them out of paper bags. We smoked cigarettes, drank, and talked then walked down to Austin Dannis park.
         She grabbed my hand and led me quickly through the entrance. I had grown accustomed to those hands, the roughness, the cracks, the couple dry wrinkles. It was about 11:30, the park was empty except for a few stray cats digging through garbage. A-rod pulled me over to one of the park benches in front of the water fountain. She finished the last of her beer and threw it in the water.
         “Come on, caja, finish your beer!”
         I chugged the rest of my 40 and followed suit, throwing it into the fountain but missing and hitting the water spout in the middle. It smashed. The bag of broken glass sank to the bottom of the fountain and rested beside other peoples' wishing coins. A light breeze tickled my wrist and made A-rod's hair blow across her face.
         “I wanna try somethin.” she said and leaned towards me. She kissed me hard on the lips and stuck her tongue in my mouth. She ran her fingers through my hair then rubbed my back while her tongue massaged mine. I tried to do the same back but failed miserably. She pulled away and I opened my eyes.
         “Nope. Don't feel it. Guess we're just destined to be friends, rojo.”
         “Rojo?”
         “Ya know, red, like your hair.”
         My face was sweating a little and I felt this hammering pulse in the base of my skull. I didn't say anything after that.
         “Let's walk to the train tracks.” she said getting up from the bench.
         We started walking over to 9 mile road. There was an empty can resting along the curb, we kicked it back and forth on the way to the tracks. The moon hung low and silver, like an axe cutting through the sky. The breeze had gotten stronger and it stung my face. I kicked the can as far ahead as I could.
         “But I fuckin' love you! What do you mean you don't feel it?”
         A-rod stopped, turned. She paused for a minute.
         “I think we should just head back now, it's getting late.”
         We went back after that, completely silent on the way home. It was awkward for the next couple weeks. We barely talked, acted like we did back when we were “the dork” and “the rebel,” loners against the world, pretending to be strangers. I passed her in the halls and immediately looked down. She never said a word to me unless I did first. This went on for a month until A-rod's graduation. I went even though she didn't invite me. I watched her walk across the stage in the cap and gown. Her eyes were searching for somebody, anybody, to be proud of her, a father or a mother, but there was no one, not even Miguel. After she got off stage and sat back by herself, I got up and left. A-rod never said goodbye before she left for New York.


**(1999)**


         Junior year. My mom finally bought me contacts and I started working out. I, believe it or not, joined the  football team. They accepted me even though I was the weak ass place-kicker, and they even invited me to the parties. Hot girls started shooting me looks, people knew my name. I fucking loved it. One of the guys on the football team asked me if I ever fucked “that punk Latina chick” I used to hang out with. I lied and said yes, I said it was “alright.” Really, I was still a virgin.
         My new friends would ask why I didn't eat lunch with them in the cafeteria, I told them I sneak home to eat like a rebel but really I sat alone under the oak tree.
         On the first Friday in October, I was eating and watching the grounds keeper Mickey ride the yellow CAT mower over a patch of grass by the monkey bars. It was an early Fall afternoon, not quite T-shirt weather but still too warm for a jacket. I pulled a turkey sandwich out of my bag. Flicking an ant off my knee, I slid back and repositioned myself against the ancient tree. I pressed play on my walkman and took a bite out of the sandwich. A piece of mayonnaise dripped onto my shirt.
          As I was looking in my backpack for a napkin, a small brown hand with the words “Fuck You” tattooed on the middle finger tapped me on the shoulder. I looked up and took off my headphones.
         “Hey, got a smoke?”
         Amber eyes stared back at me through shoulder length hair. She wore tight corduroy pants and a skimpy red halter top with an emerald medallion hanging between her cleavage.
         “A-rod?”
         “It's Anjelah now, rojo.” she answered, “How about that smoke?”
         I grabbed a pack of Newports from my bag and put two in my mouth. “Light?”
         She lit them with a Ramones' Zippo lighter and I handed her one.
         “Wow, you look different.” I said.
         “Yeah, you too. Contacts, muscles, shit you ain't no niño anymore, Petey.” she said, her lips curling up around the filter into a smile. “Like my tattoo?” She gave me the finger.
         “Heh, yeah.”
         Same old A-rod.
         “Petey, skip the rest of your classes and go somewhere with me.”
         So we went to my house and hung out in my room like old times. My parents had left to go visit my aunt in Lansing so we played the “Rocket to Russia” album on blast and drank vodka from the liquor cabinet. A few hours passed, and several shots later, the question came out.
         “What happened after prom night, Anjelah?”
         “I was afraid, rojo, I didn't want you crushin' on me.”
         “So you never said bye?”
         “You told me you loved me. That's scary, even though I knew you didn't mean it.”
         “Maybe I did.”
         She looked down at her wrist. My eyes trailed up from her black plastic watch, along her golden skin, over the scars and bumps on her forearm, and up to her collar. Tiny brown hairs stood atop goosebumps on her shoulder, her skin tightened around her collarbone, and her neck was pulsing.
         “Where'd you go?” I asked while she began slipping her arm into her coat.
         “To live with my cousin Maria in New York,” she started. “Petey, it's almost midnight. I gotta go.”
         “Okay....need a ride?”
         “No, I'm good. But do you have any money I could borrow? I'll pay you back, I promise”
         I handed her all the money I had in my wallet; two twenties. She buttoned up her pea coat, put the money in her back pocket, and walked out the front door.

Rubber Soul
**(1999)**


         I went outside a few minutes later and saw her walking towards Glenwood Village, a trailer park five minutes from my house. Nobody ever went there unless they had a good reason. I followed her.
         She walked up to this rusted space-age trailer and I hid in the bushes. Anjelah knocked on the door.
         “Who is it?” a voice grumbled from inside.
         “It's me, Rich. You know what I need.”
         A tall, skinny man with thinning blonde hair opened the door.
         “Oh, A-rod, come on in.”
         “Nobody calls me that anymore.” she said walking in to the mobile home.
         I lay down in the bushes and looked in through one of the windows. Anjelah and the skinny blonde man were in the living room. They were talking about something. There was a rustling by my feet, a gardener snake was creeping toward me. I knew they were harmless; A-Rod and I used to catch them and cut off the heads and time how long it would take until the body stopped wiggling. I looked back up. They were gone.
         I crawled around in the bushes until I was on the other side of the trailer. I finally spotted them through a bedroom window. The skinny man pulled a red sheet in front of the window and the lights went off. Everything was quiet.
         It was unusually warm that night and the stars lit up the sky like Christmas lights. I lifted my head up a little and craned my neck. The lights flicked back on. I could see their silhouettes move over to the bed. Anjelah undid his belt then took off her shirt. He finished taking off his pants and moved her back onto the bed. They laid down and I couldn't see anything but red. I heard moaning and grunting and every so often Anjelah's head popped into view, her hair flying up into the air then bouncing back down onto her shoulders. The trailer squeaked and rattled and the moaning got louder and more frequent. Then it stopped and the light turned off.
         Anjelah walked out of the trailer and tucked a little bag into her coat pocket. She turned and walked back up the street. Again, I followed.
         I caught up with her about a quarter mile from her house. She was walking fast, clutching her jacket tight against her shoulders and shuffling her feet as fast as she could. Anjelah looked over her shoulder a few times but didn't notice me because I had my hood up. Eventually, I caught up to her outside her house and grabbed her by the arm.
         “What the hell were you doing in that trailer?”
         “None of your fuckin' business pendejo!” she turned around, “Why the fuck are you followin' me?”
         I asked again.
         “You really wanna know, huh?” she smirked, I hated when she smirked like that. “Come with me and don't ask questions.”
         We went into her house, it was around one-thirty and Miguel was sleeping on the couch. She went to the kitchen and grabbed some aluminum foil then proceeded to her bedroom and locked the door.
         She put on one of her Beatles records and sat Indian style on her bed. She grabbed a rubber band, lighter, and syringe from her desk drawer. Tying the rubberband around her bicep, she pulled the baggie out of her pants and tapped her vein. She was anxious, I could tell. Happiness shot across her face like a warm gun. She dumped the brown powder onto the foil. A bottle of saline solution sat next to her contact case on her nightstand, she grabbed it and squirted a few drops onto the powder. She lit a flame under the foil until the powder began to bubble then she took the rubber band off her arm.
         The room smelled like a combination of burnt flour and a high school science room. She filled the syringe with the liquid and stuck her vein. Pulling back on the syringe, a little blood seeped up into the plastic tube, then she injected it all in one quick push.
         We all live in a yellow submarine, yellow submarine.
          Anjelah jolted up, infused with an electric charge, and quickly put her tools away. She told me it was like something snapped and popped in her brain and her whole body tingled. She said she was the walrus.
         Then, a few minutes later, it was like she got hit by a mac truck. She fell back onto the bed and closed her eyes. All of a sudden, nothing mattered, not Miguel, not the skinny man, not me. The electric current was converted to a soothing warmth. Her blood, like lava, pumped slowly through her veins. She closed her eyes and listened to the music. It was like I wasn't even in the room.

**(1999-2000)**


         Anjelah went back to New York a couple days later. I had a feeling I would never hear from her again. I abandoned any notion of my old life, of “A-rod.” I gave up on chain smoking cigarettes under the bleachers or hanging out outside Shakedown Skateshop or begging Miguel to buy us beer so we didn't have to go to some stupid keg party and pay five dollars.
         Winter Break came and went with no sign of Anjelah. The rest of the year went smoothly and before I knew it, my senior year was coming around and I was beginning to apply to colleges. I applied to NYU for shits and giggles. I didn't get in. I was accepted to a few schools; Loyola, Penn State, SUNY Bufallo, Syracuse but I didn't go to any of them. Deciding to save some money, I chose to stay home and go to Macomb Community College. My senior year was fun but I still found myself thinking about Anjelah every lunch period.

Alejandro
**(2000)**


         On May 25th, 2000, my 18th birthday, I went with some of my buddies to Yesterday's Paradise in Southfield. We sat at one of the tables close to the stage, the six of us, and drooled over the strippers. It was the first time any of us were at a strip club; us fresh faced young men, straight out of puberty, hiding our boners in our laps as our eyes followed the dancers' every move.
         “These are some hot fuckin' sluts, man.” one of my friends said.
         “Eh, I'm not too impressed.”
         “You kiddin' me?” he replied, “I'd fuck any of those loose bitches!”
         “That's cuz you're a horny fuck, Tommy.”
         We all laughed. Then the DJ made an announcement: “Get that money ready and be prepared for your pants to get a little tighter, gentlemen, cuz comin' to the stage is the sexy, sweet, sultry Allura.”
         Allura walked out from behind the curtain. Red, blue, then yellow lights illuminated her small, dark face. She had the hottest outfit of all the girls; a big leather coat with a glimmering green leaf bikini underneath, sorta like the Bible's Eve but a lot shinier and a whole lot sexier.
         She was graceful and powerful stepping in her high heels to the front of the stage, straddling the pole, dropping down to the floor then back up. The jacket came off and Tommy started throwing his singles in the air. Allura got on her knees in front of some men across the stage and bounced up and down to The Ramones' “She's a Sensation.” She danced around a little more, finished her strip tease, and went backstage.
         When she came out onto the floor, all the guys were already trying to buy me a lap dance. I said no to every girl they offered. Anjelah started getting closer and I quickly got up.
         “Hurry, give me some money, I'm gonna go get this girl before she grabs somebody else.”
         I hoped they wouldn't notice. I took a collection from the guys and ran over to Anjelah.
         “I want a private dance.”
         “Rojo, no, I can't.” she ran her fingers through my hair like she was happy to see me. Bullshit.
         “You want the money, don't you?”
         She led me into one of the VIP rooms. The walls were purple and it stunk of cheap wine and fish. I sat on the red plastic chair and Anjelah pushed a button by the door to dim the lights and turn on the music. She stood there and didn't do anything.
         “Well, you're a stripper, why don't you start strippin?”
         Anjelah began to sway her hips and got closer. Lifting one leg over me, she sat on my lap, and began to grind into me hard. She closed her eyes tightly. I noticed track marks on her arm and touched them with my thumb.
         “You're not allowed to fuckin' touch me, Petey!”
         “Anjelah, what the hell are you doin' here?”
         “I need money.”
         I pushed her off me and stood up, “Meet me outside in fifteen minutes.” I said and walked out.
         I left the VIP room and went back over to our table and told the guys that “Allura” wanted to suck my dick outside by the dumpster. They high-fived me and I went out back.
         Anjelah was already out there smoking a cigarette. I bummed one from her and lit it up. It stunk like hot puke and garbage juice in the alley and I was pretty sure I saw a chihuahua-sized rat run by.
         “So, what happened to New York?”
         “My cousin got into law school in Boston so I had to come home.” she said scratching her wrist and looking down.
         “You never actually went back, did you?”
         She didn't answer.
         “Well, I'm goin' to Macomb next year.”
         “Oh, that's good, good for you, Petey.”
         “How's Miguel?”
         “Back in jail.”
         I flicked my cigarette under the dumpster, “Hey, wanna leave?”
         “But my shift doesn't end for another two hours.”
         “I'll give you the money.”
         “And what about your friends?”
         “They can handle themselves.”
         I called us a cab and we went to Anjelah's apartment in Southfield.
         We got there several minutes later, she only lived a few miles from the club. It was pretty similar to her home in Madison; very little lighting, full ash trays, and vacant Tecate cases. There were some differences though, like dirty diapers in the kitchen waste basket, a few McDonald's toys on the couch, and a crib in the corner of the living room. There was a young girl asleep on the couch. Her hair was bright red, like a tomato, and her pale face was covered in dozens of freckles. I hoped I didn't look like that when I was her age. Anjelah woke her up, handed her a twenty, and shooed her out the door.
         “Got a kid now?” I asked.
         “There was a tan skinned baby with blonde hair sleeping in the crib. He stunk like shit and had snot crusted to his face.
         “Yeah, his name's Alejandro.”
         “I like it.”
         “Hey, Petey,” she started, “wanna go outside for a smoke?”
         We sat on the stoop and talked. She told me her dream of moving to Los Angeles to open a record store. She wants to sell all old, classic stuff on vinyl. I didn't have the heart to tell her it would never work. She finally admitted that she never actually went back to the city, she was just too ashamed of her addiction to keep talking to me. I accepted her and forgave her automatically, she knew I would.
         We went back inside and had a couple beers on the couch. I felt like “the dork” again. We stayed up until three in the morning talking about school and our futures.
         “Ya know, I loved you back then, Anjelah, I knew it.”
         “What about now?”
         “Still do.”
         I leaned in to kiss her, this time I knew what I was doing. Pushing her back onto the couch, I got on top of her. I kissed her neck and ears and rubbed my hand along her stomach. I took her shirt off, she was still wearing the leaf bikini and some of the glitter rubbed off onto my face.
         “No, rojo.”
         “What, you don't 'feel it' this time?”
         “I do, but not here, not near the baby.”
         She took me into the bedroom and began to undress. I took off my pants then remembered the condom in my jacket on the couch. Anjelah got into bed while I went back to the living room for it. I grabbed the condom and a clump of tissues out of my pocket. Alejandro was still sound asleep. Walking over to him, I reached into the crib and wiped his face. I went back in to Anjelah's room.
         “Hey, kid's pretty cute when you clean his face a little”
         Anjelah was in the bed asleep. Her long black hair fanned out on the pillow and left arm dangling off the edge of the bed. I climbed into bed and slept next to her.
         I woke up the next morning to Alejandro crying. Anjelah wasn't in the bed next to me but the sheet was still creased and warm. Walking out to the living room, I smelled coffee. There was a pot whistling on the stove with a mug on the counter top next to it. The apartment was clean; no cans, no cigarette butts, or dirty dishes. I poured a cup of coffee and sat on the couch.
         There was forty dollars on the table in front of me. She actually kept her word. I wondered where Anjelah went and if she'd be back anytime soon. I took a sip of coffee, turned the TV on, and laid back on the couch. A few hours passed and I started to wonder if she was even coming back. I fell asleep and had a dream about her. She was waiting in line at an airport. There was a sign with the scrolling words “12:15 flight to Los Angeles” at the front of her line. She reached the front of the line and handed the airline attendant her ticket. Anjelah looked back for a quick second then turned around and boarded the plane. Then I woke up. I knew it was a dream, but some part of me actually kind of hoped it was real.