The town was a chafing dish set on high. Downtown, five or six squat high-rises caught the late afternoon sun and flamed in a yellow and crimson conflagration. It was early May in the low desert and anything that hadn’t died was withering fast. With their impenetrably black sunglasses, stewed red cheeks and cracked lips, people in the town had a charred appearance. Ordinarily, where a blue sky hung, a wrung out and worn gray dome clamped down, mute and desolate, and without the tiniest filmy wisp of a flimsy cloud or a puff of water vapor. In the heat, the high worlds of the mountains, normally cool and inviting, displayed a hazy pallor that saddened.
Like the rest of the town, the street where the graduation party had been the night before had an element of ensuing death about it. The couch, equipales and bicycles had not been claimed. Heat waves shimmered off the asphalt when a shiny black Jeep careened around the corner and powered up the broiling street. It swung a tight U-turn in front of the old bungalow, the one where the party had been the night before, and crashed the curb, neatly sideswiping several brimming garbage cans, which tumbled over, shooting garbage from the party onto the gravel lawn.
An enormous, jumbo-sized flour tortilla veiled the figure of a girl in the passenger seat. As the Jeep came to an abrupt halt, the huge tortilla swung forward and back in front of the girl’s face.
Stacie, who was the driver, the tortilla veiled girl, who was her roommate, Yadira, and Tiffany, the third roommate, fell about laughing inside the Jeep. Three other girls were packed tightly in the back with Tiffany. “Nicely done, Stace,” said Tiffany from the backseat. Tiffany was larger than Stacie, and she wore more makeup, thick eyeliner and heavy mascara, which obscured her brown eyes. She had long black hair that was curled and she always hung a large silver heart necklace above her ample cleavage.
“Amazing driving, Stacie,” said another friend.
“Home Sweet,” said Stacie. “For twenty-four hours. I’m going to miss the old homestead. The high hacienda…” She looked at the little white adobe with its pair of cypresses guarding the front porch. She’d lived there with Tiffany and Yadira for two years.
“Will you please get out and hurry it? The heat happens to be roasting my rump at this momento and it is most unpleasant! I gots a thong on. Have pity, girl,” said Tiffany from the back.
“Oooo,” said someone jokingly. “A thong, what have we been doing, madam?”
The crowded girls in the backseat stood up and tumbled forward and some of them began to try to clamber over the center console to the front seats but the barest brush of the scalding seatbelt buckle against the flesh on the back of one girl’s hand promptly scalded it.
“Sheesh, this car is on fire!” she cried. She pitched the hunk of molten metal down only to have it plop on the skin of another girl’s thigh. That girl jumped and knocked Tiffany over.
“Watch it!” exclaimed Tiffany, falling sideways.
The burnt girl screamed in laughter and the injured girl squirmed out from under the belt buckle, but this movement put Tiffany’s bare shoulder blade in contact with the scorching black window trim. She yelped, twirled, and felt the delicate skin near her underarm grill on the metal clasp of her purse.
“My arm, oh God.” Her elbows shot up like a chicken and she whacked her funny bone on the back of the front seat.
“Get out, will you, Stace or Yadira? Move it. We’re roasting back here,” shouted Tiffany. Everyone in the back of the car was screaming for the people in front to hurry up and get out.
“Okay, okay, hold on,” said Stacie. “I am so hung over. Why did you make me drive?”
“Ah, dah…the kegs and the tank could only fit in your Jeep. We tried the other cars. Don’t you remember?” said Tiffany. They had gone on a mission to pick up Yadira and to return the laughing gas to the dental assistant who had access to it, but needed the canister back the next morning, and to return the empty beer kegs, which they had taken to the liquor store for their deposit.
“Oh, yeah,” said Stacie.
Wincing, keeping all flesh well away from the anything inside the car that didn’t have sheepskin on it, Stacie rooted around on the floorboards of the Jeep for the bags of fast food and a pile of paper napkins inside. “These things really work,” she said. “Like a potholder.” Using the thick folds of napkins as a hot pad, she carefully pulled the door handle. Once it was open she worked her body out, held the door for the ones in back, all of whom jumped free, spun around, and hopped away from the broiling door as Stacie let it fall with a loud clomp. The flap of a frightened bird sounded loudly on the deserted street.
“Nice work, Stace,” repeated one of the group of girls who began picking up the garbage. Another was helping the tortilla-veiled Yadira out of the car, using the napkins. They then led Yadira slowly up toward her house. Two girls with bags of take-out food followed at the rear. Reaching down to the gravel, Stacie snatched up an advertising flyer by its rubber band and swung it up. Holding it in front of her like a guitar, she plinked the taunt band. “Nah nah nah nah, ne ne ne, goooood-bye,” she twanged. “Whoops,” Stacie shrieked. She had tripped and nearly fallen on the raw holes left by the guide ropes that had held the jumping castle down. Everyone screamed with laughter as she recovered herself awkwardly.
They smelled a slushy mass of old tequila, vodka and vomit which had pooled in the verbena bed. And a single chunk of mud from under a beer keg sat sadly on the gravel. It was already nearly baked to a hot rock. “Okay, which one of you did that?” asked Stacie, pointing toward the vomit pit.
“Teacher, I did it all by myself,” said Tiffany in an infantile voice. She held her hand up meekly.
The porch light glowed a sickly, buttery yellow. Stifling volcanic air hit them when the door opened and girls tumbled through. The house stunk of old beer and something faintly like a dirty aquarium. When they came in, they were temporarily blinded, the usual effect from the intense summer sun.
The heat in the little living room was like being smothered in a flannel blanket wrapped in a muffler with your mouth stuffed with cotton wadding. A weak gasp of cool air floated forward from a distant, high-ceiled bathroom at the east side of the house.
Several of the girls gasped when they looked at the living room wall.
“It’s worse than I thought when I first saw it,” said Stacie.
“Those holes are fucking huge,” said another girl. “Did we happen to buy at least two pails of that filler stuff?”
“One. We screwed up,” said Tiffany. “We’re gonna need two, at least. I don’t think I was thinking straight this morning.”
Slowly, Yadira Armenta lifted the tortilla off her face. She had straight, shoulder length thin brown hair. Her hazel eyes were slightly too close together and they were separated by a narrow bony bridge of her nose. Her body was thin with shoulders that hunched forward slightly. When she spoke her voice betrayed a nasal, Midwestern twang. Without sunglasses and out from under the tortilla shade, her eyes were the last to adjust to the dark in the living room of the little bungalow.
“Is this your burrito?” asked Stacie to her roommate, “Avocado and rice with cheese?” Stacie was opening a big bag and divvying out the burritos, napkins, and salsa.
“I don't think I can eat it,” said Yadira. She flopped on the wooden floor and put the tortilla that had been atop her head on top of the foiled-wrapped parcel that Stacie doled out. The other girls joined her. Stacie handed them their burritos.
“Those fucking holes,” Yadira exclaimed. “I thought I was wasted and imagined those holes.”
“They're huge,” said Tiffany. “You were completely messed up, Yadira. I shouldn’t have left you there with T.J. when you were so messed up. I shouldn’t have done that. That was so fucked up of me.”
“No, it wasn’t. It’s okay. I wanted to be there with him.” Sadly Yadira opened the foil of the burrito and poked the warm, wrapped beans.
“I don’t know why you wanted that,” said Stacie, rolling her eyes at the thought of the disgusting T.J. Sh
e wasn’t over the yam bags crack from the night before.
“I wanted to be with him. His apartment was awesome, I think.” She sniffed loudly, “I can't really remember what happened after you guys took us there. He was awesome, too.” She sniffed and put her hands to her head. “Does anyone have any more weed? I have to do something to get better.”
“You were so messed up last night. Damn, girl, I think you still are,” said Mona Freeman, one of the mutual friends who was joining them for a few last hours together. “But you finally were with your crush. Think of that and be happy. Finally you hooked up with your crush.”
“That’s why she needs her weed,” said Stacie drolly.
“All my weed is gone. I think somebody jacked it,” said Tiffany.
“You like smoked it, stupid,” said Stacie.
“We were so messed up,” said Mona.
“That needs a correction, yes, I AM so messed up,” Yadira said. “I thought I dreamed that hole in the wall happened. And T.J. did that? Why did he try to climb our wall? I mean, why did he do that stupid thing?”
The girls, who were slowly eating their burritos together on the floor, now simultaneously studied the wall. Up the old white plaster, three large holes gaped. Caverns of loosened adobe soil, once in the shape of bricks, showed in each hole. Where the historical energy of the sun’s past had held the mud together and molded it into a rectangle, the installation of rock climbing pitons had dug out three chunks. At the base of the wall where their couch had been for three years (they’d sold it), the streaming cataract of destroyed adobe sand had formed a reddish orange pyramid exceeding the volume necessary to bury a small dog.
“I know what happened,” Tiffany said. “I was right here. First some asshole gave him a suck on the nitrous oxide and you know that makes some people think they can do all this crazy shit and then a guy had these three fucking doohickeys that you use to climb like fucking Alpine rocks or something, that you can put into a brick wall or something, and T.J. said he was sure he could climb our wall if he could put those in the wall and he would go all the way to the ceiling. He said he put some of them up in another adobe house and he climbed those ones. He just stuck them in there, some chick gave him one of her shoes, those big tall things with big heels, and he acted like he was a pro at it or something. He hammered them in and people were screaming at him not to do it, but he didn’t give a shit about what all the people were telling him like he was going to ruin the wall and he was probably going to fall. But he did climb it, actually. It was pretty impressive. Everybody was cheering. You were there Yadira. Okay, I was pissed, but he climbed using those ring things and ropes and then this other guy hung onto T.J.’s legs and he fell off the top piton thingy, I think it was called, and the other ones came out of the adobe, too. And the wall started falling apart. Kinda like it is.”
“Oh, God, I wish I’d been sober through even some of the night, a little bit of the fucking night, when I was with my T.J. This morning I woke up with T.J. in my arms and it was like a dream come true, but I don't remember anything, nothing,” cried Yadira.
“You’re kidding,” said Stacie, munching her burrito in shock. “After all the work we did to get him to the party and you in the bed of your big crush and you like don’t remember any of it?”
“I was in his arms. I woke up in his big arms.” Yadira broke down. “You can’t understand how I feel right now.”
“Don’t cry,” said Tiffany. “He’s not even worth it at all.” Tiffany slid next to Yadira and hugged her.
“He is,” Yadira protested.
“Look what he did to your wall, girl. Dude, he was so cold to you,” said Tiffany.
“No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t. He wasn’t cold. He was stuck with a cactus, that’s all.”
“That part happened later. He climbed the wall before he fell in the cactus,” someone pointed out.
“He was messed up,” Yadira said, ignoring that, “with nitrous oxide and the vodka and watermelon and he couldn’t remember anything, because of the pain of all the cactuses in him everywhere. We should have taken him to the hospital.”
“You told us not to!” cried Stacie. “You begged us not to. We wanted to take him.”
“That’s right. I was there,” said Mona.
“You did tell us not to take him,” mumbled a girl named Morgan with her mouth full.
“I think he was cold,” said Tiffany.
“I agree,” said Morgan.
“Yadira, face it, he fucking ruined your wall,” said Tiffany.
“Yeah, that’s true, Yadira,” said Mona with her mouth full.
“Shut up. Shut up, all of you. I wish I’d even seen that, him climbing my wall and wrecking it and costing me a bunch of money. You know I’ll pay for it if we lose our deposit and I have to wash dishes in Chicago. I’ll work at the ballpark with my little sister and I’ll work and I’ll work every night,” said Yadira. “My little T.J. I’ve loved him for four years. He was my crush and he was climbing my wall. MY wall at MY house. I’m not ever going to get to see him anymore. I feel like I’m gonna be sick, by the way.”
“Take a bite of your burrito,” someone suggested.
“I can’t,” said Yadira.
“Just a teensy one,” someone urged.
“Okay,” Yadira agreed, nibbling carefully. She chewed quietly for a moment. “Why the fuck am I moving back to Chicago?” she said, bursting out with more loud confessions again. “Does anyone here know? To live with my fucking parents? Am I clueless, or what?” said Yadira after she swallowed.
“Or what,” someone said.
“T.J. didn't even know how I knew him from when he woke up. He didn't know who I was. We were in Yuma Hall together in our freshman year and he was right down the hall from me and we shared the same major and all those communication classes. We had a bunch of them together.”
“Huh? Really? You never told me that,” said Tiffany.
“Yeah, didn’t I? Well, we were. We were in so many classes together. I was in Communication 101 and Communication 102 and then I felt so lucky when he was in Communication 245 with me. I was so happy that year. It was like a fucking miracle for me. And I always said ‘hi’ to him. We even did some projects together and I pulled his butt out a sling a bunch of times when he didn’t do his papers and his projects and things and he didn’t even remember me, not at all.”
The girls were silent at this shocking, embarrassing information. What could they possibly say to console her?
“You’re telling us that we got you in bed with your honey, finally, and he like didn’t know who you were?” asked Stacie.
“That’s fucking right,” said Yadira, lashing out. “So laugh all you want to.”
“We don’t want to laugh,” said Tiffany, stifling a laugh. “But you’re saying you don’t remember anything that happened when you were with him?”
“Right,” said Yadira snappishly. “I just remember a few things. I remember waking up. Ah, hell, I need more weed.”
“Where are those beers?” asked Stacie. “Text Itzel. Or Maribel.”
“He called me Jaydee. How the fuck is Jaydee even a name? Who is that shitty broad, Jaydee? Who’s she anyway?” whined Yadira, getting worked up again.
“I don’t know any chick named Jaydee. I know a Kaydee in high school,” said Tiffany.
“Me neither,” said Mona.
“I do not know a Jaydee,” said Stacie. “I’ve never even like heard that name until now. Believe me.”
Nobody confessed to knowing anyone in their entire life named Jaydee. They swore oaths that if they did know someone named Jaydee they would inform Yadira and they promised to ask around to see if anyone they knew remembered a Jaydee girl who might have been hanging around at their party.
“Listen, Yadira. Some other guy actually brought the wall down. It wasn't T.J., technically speaking. It wasn’t actually him. Okay, you got that? And we’re gonna fix that wall anyway,” said Mona.
“Oh,
that makes me feel a little better, since I invited him here. And you need that money for New York, Tiff. And Stacie needs it for Santa Rosita, for California. And I need it, I need it for going back to Chicago. To live with my parents. To work at the ballpark with my sixteen- year-old sister. Me, a communications major. Oh, boy, I am so wasted. Why didn’t you guys stop me before I did all that weed and shit?”
“It’s not so bad really, Yadira,” said Tiffany, optimistically, “don’t feel too bad. We haven’t lost the security deposit yet or been like sued or anything. I think we can all team up and fix it. I’ve got this filler, this plaster—they said it was the right type at the hardware store—fast drying and everything—and we’ll just try to patch it until it doesn't show. Mr. Holmes is never going to know the difference once we get paint on the spot, okay, so don’t worry about it. Besides, he is a really nice guy, Mr. Holmes. Even if he figures out that we patched those spots he won’t get mad. I know him. He’s a push-over. Remember we broke that part of the heater?”
“Yeah, that’s true. He like forgave us,” said Stacie.
“And when somebody we didn’t even know kicked in the door panel? He wasn’t mad. I just told him how much we loved the house and how happy we were living here and all and he forgave us,” said Tiffany.
“And the dog,” someone added.
“Oh yeah, you guys rescued that little doggie and he totally didn’t get mad about it. Even when it bit him in the backyard.”
“Yeah, he’s a real idiot,” said Mona.
“Oh no, he’s a nice old guy,” said Tiffany.
“Better than my creepy landlord,” said Mona.
“He really stole your underwear out of the dryer?” asked Tiffany.
“Really. I think so. I’m moving next month, just in case,” Mona assured them.
Tiffany stood up and walked over to the wall until she stood under the hole. She tried to show the girls who were all looking at her that the biggest hole was less than the span of her palm, but the moment she was close to the holes and barely touched the plaster at the side of one, a large section of plaster let loose on her head.
“Ay, oh God,” she shouted. She jumped back, screaming, and the other girls screeched, too.
A great plume of choking pink dust rose in the room. Dissolved adobe spewed out. Falling, falling, the brown soil rained.
All the girls collapsed in a mass of laughing, giggling and screeching. They protected their burritos from the dust. Tiffany held her arms up for an instant and then jumped away as another large mass of adobe fell.
When the dust cleared, two of the holes were twice their original sizes.
“You are doing a good job on the wall, by the way,” said Stacie, giving the thumbs-up sign, “a really bitching job of it, Tiff.”
“Surprise!” shouted another group of girlfriends, shoving open the front door. “We came to help you pack. This is it! The Big Goodbye Wasted Burrito Party starts now! Is everybody ready?”
“Cervazas, ayeeee! Do you want them, girls,” screamed a little blonde.
“What the fuck is that huge hole in your wall doing?” asked a large girl with extremely thin, pierced eyebrows.
Chapter Five